Down in the mouth, down at heel, downcast and downtrodden, he's always got a complaint on the go, something to moan about. My aunty calls him Sad Sack. He can work himself up from a whinge to a diatribe in under sixty seconds.
We've had some unpalatable news about the content of beef in the nation's favourite burgers.
"Turns oot it's hoarse," Sad Sack's saying, "ye've no idea what they put in that stuff. Sawdust, bones, hooves, ears. Ach, that's what they should be servin doon at Westminster. A' they greedy pigs snufflin aboot wi' their noses in the trough. That's what they're fit for.
See at Christmas, Ah was up at St. Enoch's n there was a big barbecue stall sellin a' kindsa meat. Kangaroo burgers, would you believe. These two fellas took a bite and last Ah seen was them hoppin like mad doon towards the Clyde."