George, who doesn't do magic tricks but would like to try stand-up comedy, doesn't have any brothers or sisters.
He lives in Ottery St. Catchpole in a small flat, and sometimes thinks that the family over the hill look a bit like him, but they never come into the village so it's hard to tell. Distant cousins, probably.
George works in a pharmacy. He's very good at his job; he's a great salesman and would like to own his own shop one day.
Now and then, the strangest feeling comes over him, but he can never quite put it in words.
He'd be looking at the sky and then have the daftest notion that he remembered streaking through it, or he'd suddenly get a mad craving for pumpkin juice though he was sure he'd never tasted it.
What confused him the most was when he'd see his reflection, staring back at him from mirrors and car windows, and he'd go to greet it, like it was a person. He'd always catch himself in time, but that was weird.
George didn't mean to do any of these things. He was just a little different, he supposed.