As expected, the unstoppable march of the ballot sees Newnham Bombsite - sorry, I mean House - filling up. My condolences go, in particular, to GS in Nh28. When she arrives in October, I wouldn't be surprised if there was a funny smell. Well, you're in luck because that smell - should it exist - is the delightfully heady aroma of blood, sweat, tears, very tight lycra and and a years worth of flatulence from a crazy man who consumes a concerning amount of Weetabix. Genuinely, he got through a tube of 12 for each breakfast. Let's call the scent Eau de Reauwer No. 5.
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