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Nobody ever warns you about Michael Elphick. The other day I was minding my own business in the Smithfield area when up pulls Elphick on his motorbike, hops off and advances towards me like some kind of squat ogre, arms outstreatched. He was wearing a colourful bermuda shirt under a leather jacker and his neck was twice the width and breadth of his head. "Aven't yer got a hug for yer Uncle Harry?" he growled, the stench of his stout-flavoured breath preceding him. |
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