He’s a real live wire
A feisty little man
Standing proud
He’s independent
He’ll fight his corner
He has a murderous glint in his eye
His cheeky smile
His quick wit
His charm will woo you
Jack went down the boozer, all cocky like, a big grin on his face, easily distracted by the new barmaid, ordered a pint and a bag of pork scratchings, sat down on the worn out chewed and scuffed chair near the TV, avidly watching the football, shouting louder than the rest of the punters, a piercing brightness in his gaze, he shoots he scores, Jack goes wild as his team takes the lead, he looks around and sings a chant, waving a fist in the air, sheer joy overtaking him, he is on top of the world, not even suspecting his team would lose 3-1 and he would get into a fight, leave the pub in a police car and spend the night in a cell
This is Jack
A wiry little fellow
A chancer
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