i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i
didn’t watch it then
i want to do that too
and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging
I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.