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Ah, home finally. I wonder if they delivered that parcel, nope. That's another day without socks then. Three sugars, a little treat, no biscuits though. I wonder who ate them? Bloody Shirley I bet. I'll keep an eye out. Ah letters. Junk. Junk. This one has nice paper, nice and taught. No one sends letters anymore. I'll send a reply even if I hate them. It's a dying art. I could have sausages for dinner. "Congratulations. You have been selected to be the next prime minister. Your term will commence in four weeks." F***. I'm going to need some socks.
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