Have to go to a desolate industrial estate pre-hospital to find my new phone in a post office I don't think exists. While I'm searching Rory Stewart emerges from behind a stack of pallets, wanting to talk about industrial policy.
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There’s a knock at the door. The gas man looks up from below his cap. It’s Rory.
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msdawnfoster@gmail.com Tusk is the best Fleetwood Mac album. Only care about LFC.