The bedroom TV is showing Soccer AM: all those middle-class actors pretending to be street kids make him puke. It gives him the same feeling as when he hears swing music on car ads: a vision of anti-PC middle-class boys smoking cigars. Hook can’t watch Sky football without imagining himself on a blind date with Andy Gray, those piercing Caledonian eyes burning right through him over the candle-lit table, that sinister smile contorted with barely-concealed lust...
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