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When I was five, I was playing around in the sitting room, making a fort out of VHS cassette tapes. All of a sudden I rolled backwards a bit, and my hip came into contact with a clothes iron, which my mother had (pretty stupidly, if you ask me) just set down there. I had an iron print on my hip right up til the mid nineties - the burn-marks lasted nearly ten years.
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Marvellous banter; I am bereft of ribs.
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