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24 June 2010
On buying razor blades in the Midlands
I am on my travels again, back to that armpit of England known as the West Midlands. I arrived on Monday, spent Tuesday in meetings and then the evening in a pub getting very, very drunk. It really is the only way to survive this part of the world.

Finding myself out of razor blades I went in into the local Morrison's and asked for a pack of safety blades. I am pleased to report that the bloke that I spoke to was a typical Brummie fucktard who had no idea what safety blades were - he just waved vaguely in the direction of the razors. I spoke to a manager who sort of knew what I wanted and he explained that they don't sell them because they are dangerous. Your friendly old Exile replied that they are called safety blades because they are very safe inside a razor, and were a great step-up from the old open razor that the very old men used when I was a boy, but I was wasting my time.

Next week is Leicester: aren't I a lucky old soul?
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