At ease with the November rain falling on his tarpaulin, The Television Man inspects the valves and counts the resistors. A small cushion provides comfort from the pavement; an ashtray, rest for his habitual Kents. Clean boots, trimmed moustache, jeans worn - but not worn out. From the shine of his leather jacket alone the street punters know he is no vagrant, but a man of simple pleasures. With a mild manner and friendly knowing smile he fixes TVs on a street market in Tbilisi, Georgia.