Nigel lived under a bridge by the Thames, where it always smelled like wet concrete and someone else's chips. His only treasure — an old Ledger Nano S hidden in the pocket of his torn Union Jack hoodie, and 0.0037 BTC he bought back in 2017 with his last benefits money.

Every morning (when the rain eased off a bit) Nigel pulled out his cracked Xiaomi phone and checked Binance: "Balance: £47.12" He smiled like a proper gentleman and muttered in thick British accent: "Still not selling, mate. This is just a dip. Proper British stiff upper lip, innit?"

One day a tourist in a bright jacket approached: — Oi, you alright there? Fancy a tenner for a cuppa? Nigel looked at him like he was daft: — Ten pounds? Blimey, lad, that's like selling at the bottom. I'm waiting for £100k per coin. Then I'll get a proper flat... with central heating. And maybe even a kettle that doesn't whistle like it's possessed.

The tourist laughed: — You're still holding after all these years? Nigel lifted his chin proudly: — HODL since before you were born, sunshine. I've got diamond hands and soggy socks. That's the British way — we don't panic sell, we queue in the rain and complain about the weather.

He opened X and tweeted with one hand while holding a holey umbrella with the other: "Still homeless, still holding. When BTC hits £1M I'll buy the bridge I'm sleeping under. Rule Britannia "

The tweet got 7 likes (4 from bots, 2 from other crypto tramps in Manchester, and 1 from his mum who still thinks he's "in IT").

Nigel wrapped himself in a Deliveroo cardboard box, looked at the rain and whispered: "Cheers, Bitcoin. Another day closer to that Lambo... or at least to a dry sleeping bag."

Stay HODLing, lads. Even if it's pissing it down.