The following evening George returned to the area, this time disguised as a jogger. Dressed in some old tracksuit bottoms, trainers and a cap, he ran up and down the length of the main road.
I dreamt of The Digbeth Tripe House The building seemed to sigh and creek Beneath the warping Tudor beams And weary men who stand in line The frankest of nourishments they seek
Black ice on the road again Me and my dog Bob Chasing down the night riders Carving up the fog This road could take us anywhere There's promise on these bends And even on the darkest nights
Summer 88 Peer Pressure Aztec Camera, Deacon Blue I didn't even fancy you The others did, why didn't I? I was childish and frigid Awkward and shy Sticking safely to the impossibility