Age before beauty, here's the gen. His sis, pally old Zoe, played in the sea with little tubby Sandy, backing up there, deep down in sunny Devon his first memorogenies. Home for the hols he was happiest; a dry life, occasionally swept by torrents of tears in the old cold redstone choirschool, carolling on taunted and teased he was ostracised, learned later to be thickskinned, armoured against them, having no jaw to snap back his strength dried up like a potsherd. And weathering all this causing huge quantities of tearful red eyed emotion debris, trubbled Sandy mad.

Ag land! Life had developed consexterably by the middle of this period and when Flora Rhynia appeared from Aberdeen, she an old, vain, and in many ways primative specimen, he looked to her for silvation. In the long hot summer before university, she took him away, weak in Ludlow, and there in a bed, spines and bony ornaments adorning her leathery skin, he found her internal structure well preserved. Here was intense plication; he underwent faulting and fracturing, but escaped Scot free. By the end of his time in Devon, old red Sandy incontinent had been reduced to a low, lying, ullulating pain.

     His story goes on;
     An historian he,
     At Manchester in
     Adversity

Ostracodermic student, he sought to adapt himself to changing conditions but was overwhelmed by the increasing salinity of his environment. All jerk and no way anyone loved such a dull boy. He read history, red politics, got good marx but by the books in his handsaw he was careying a grave burden. And rinking

alone, I see, in his hell of residence late one night a knock. Knock knock and it shall be opened his door, and there were Holme and Hunt, yes yes he'd seen them round but never. Wel, come in I don't get many. Owe the pleasure? I'm a-

-Fraid?

-Well, Knotted. look, between you and me...