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Dazed, confused and peering through a fog for a glimpse of truth...and other similar flowery poetic sentiments. At heart I'm a sceptic when it comes to a man in a suit, a crap anarchist, a collector of live music, pebbles and stones, a friend of the Peaks, an enemy of the State, who suffers with perpetual cold feet. My hair is too long, my legs are too short and my knees are fucked up. I'd be an archaeologist if I could put my mind to studying, didn't have a bad back, and could handle cold weather. I want to buy a stone circle with a house in the grounds and have Phil Harding round for tea...
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