Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now
After an idyllic provincial 70s childhood, the 80s took Andrew Collins to London, art school and the classic student experience. Crimping his hair, casting aside his socks and sporting fingerless gloves, he became Andy Kollins purveyor of awful poetry, disciple of moany music and wannabe political activist. What follows is a universal tale of trainee hedonism, girl trouble, wasted grants and begging letters to parents.
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