Last night, I watched a TV programme reconstructing the life of Hughie Green, a megastar show-host of the 60s and 70s.
What struck me most about him is that he became an old scrote while still young, and the world moved on, isolating him and embittering him, because, as is well known, old scrotes become set in their ways.
Poor old sod. Loved by millions he didn't know, and not loved by the people who did know him.
It's a bugger, life.
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