| We demand a universal Grid! |
| We demand a universal Grid!
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| We demand a universal Grid! |
| We demand a universal Grid!
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| ID — Ray High, Gridlife Chronicles. |
| November the tenth, 1992. I’m working on my
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| own in here, going over some old music I did in 1970.
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| It’s got something, something special. |
| I could really dream then.
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| It ain’t such a bad dream either.
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| I’ve been completely degraded by chasing publicity. |
| Degraded! |
| Yeah,
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| I’ll never go back.
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| I know too much, I know how it’s done. |
| I can’t discover it all over again,
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| make it seem new.
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| You’re great, Ray. |
| You know that, man. |
| Here, hold up. |
| This is the place.
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| What? |
| Can’t go in here. |
| That bloody cow Ruth Streeting uses this club.
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| She hates my guts.
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| It’s her job to hate your guts; |
| she’s a journalist. |
| It’s nothing personal.
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| Oh sod it, I forgot, of course she won’t be here. |
| She’s in the States.
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| Oh c’mon, well let’s go in anyway. |
| We’ve got to get back in the mainstream
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| sometime. |
| Come on, you own shares in the place.
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| That cow wrote that I’m ugly.
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| Well, you are ugly.
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| I’m not.
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| Yes, you are.
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| No, I’m not!
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| Well, you are, actually.
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| Oh bollocks. |
| Oh, let’s go in. |