He was a rigger in recalibration after a stint of night shifts.
A large dram was administered as I sat outside drawing. John sat on the other bench with the bottle of Bushmills. He wore a jumper forgotten on the pulley by another (smaller) hosteler. A couple more draughts were drawn before he disappeared rig-lagged into his room.
I don't know where this drawing is now, possibly on an oil rig miles out into the North Sea. Autumn migration south may have taken it to a different beach hut. A swap: heather and reed thatch for palm.