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And one Sunday lunch time in Gosport, for want of absolutely anywhere else to eat, I watched with ghoulish fascination as several naval problem families staged a party for their children. The adults were
verbally threatening, massively hung over, the children were snot-encrusted, foul-mouthed.
Woolwich in one of Greater London’s anomalies. Like Gosport, it is, or was, a garrison town. Such towns tend to hermeticism and violence.
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