I remember it like it was yesterday - slipping into my tracksuit chainmail and popping down to the Gregg’s with good old Aslan. That was before the Dangerous Big Cats bill.
This would be the gammon equivalent of those inspirational “photos” of African children who built sculptures of luxury cars out of plastic bottles that are all over Facebook.
It was a simpler time, and everyone spoke proper English, y’know, cockney slang. “Melt” was a term of affection and tarmac had no rightful place in our streets.
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