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Monday, 19 December 2016

Running For The Hills

The water was crystal clear, the parliament buildings behind me were of solid stone, clean stone, plain stone; the building getting its presence from its bold stature, a rigid protective structure, in an otherwise deregulated place

The steps, onto the yacht, had thick guide ropes, one felt steady just by wrapping ones hands around them. The champagne, poured out to greet you, was a surprise to a northern working class chap, but a neat touch nonetheless

Your hosts, businessmen hoping to make money out of your wares, sat you at the head of the table, at the head of the twelve seater, cotton and crystal covered table, with place settings of sterling silver

Anders, with his waxed curled up moustache, raised a toast "Here's to Christopher; I give you a toast to Christopher"

Christopher was thus so easily impressed


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