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It was a cold and frosty night in January 1940 when our hero entered this world at a bungalow in Grigg's Lane in Headcorn, Kent. He was allotted the designation of "Capricornian", supposedly inferring that he would become taciturn, bloody-minded, independent and anti-social. (Yup - one up for the star gazers there, then.) Apparently, he was a miserable little tyke; screaming his head off at all hours of the day and night, causing his mother to cry out often in frustration: "Pipe down you little *!%^!**, don't you know there's a war on?"
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