The interior mindscapes of Fred West/1

This is the real heady wine of amateur psychology, mapping the potent inner music of Fred. The proposition is this: Fred rocks up at Downton Abbey on a rainy morn in a horse-drawn carriage. He steps down with the water dripping from his greasy locks. The master of all he surveys. Fuck you and your Sunday night telly. The horror starts now. This is where we gotta get it all out…

 

 

 

 

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