He acknowledged the strangers all around that made way for him as he strode through the park, it was the least they could do, there was no in the country who hadn't know what he had done, and here was where he would receive the most love. He had knocked those smelly bastards off their perch. He had won.
Suddenly his phone rang, he frowned, he had told his assistant not to call him earlier that day, and no one else had the number. Hello? he said into the phone. "Hello Mr Ferguson," said the other Scotsman with the much better hair impishly, grinning toothily as he did, "race you to number 20."
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