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Bizarre dream
My name is Lesley. It was the summer of 73 I was twenty two, size ten and a good figure, in my second year teaching. My husband still a student was working all hours that god sent in the summer holidays. We ran a beat up convertible, which he was slowly restoring, to pristine glory. I was free all day having great fun racing round with the hood down all over the town. At weekends he made regular visits to a car breakers yards in search of prized components and I often went with him. They...