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I figure there’s a good reason why Lou grew up to be such a miserable bugger. Lou grew up in Freeport, New York state, a former oystering community, now famous for being the home of Lou Reed, but not for anything else apart from the fact that Flavor Flav, the nutloop from Public Enemy, also grew up there. I grew up in the Welsh equivalent of Freeport, a former fishing port that I’ve always assumed was God’s idea of a practical joke, played on those unfortunate enough to have to live there.

They used to come from miles around to see him perform, some as far as Cardigan. Swarming crowds would gather at the local bus station. You could have cut the atmosphere with a cricket stump as Chris warmed up to his act.George Winter, who had a small part in 1979’s Scum, was also born there.Not forgetting the contralto Helen Watts who made a name for herself singing opera and who was awarded the CBE in 1978.He’d then remove his not inconsiderable member and, with molten concentration, turn to face the bus. Then he’d let go, producing a fabulous, foaming, green-yellow arc that would climb and climb with eager acceleration, and keep climbing, like it would never stop, like it would surely hit the ample sky and keep climbing, beyond gravity’s steedy drag, beyond the sun and the moon and all the stars, shuttling, rocketing, gathering, climbing into the fast expanding, fast disappearing universe, climbing in unceasing glory until it reached the threshold of infinity, until the last cold star had crashed to earth. When my brother was pissing over a bus, miracles were in the air.The crowd would stand rigid with expectation, ready to be tickled by the rub of pure spectacle. They would watch as he gripped his testicles with one hand, his member in the other. His performance completed, the crowd would break into a Cup Final roar.

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