Vince is out of bed again.
He's wandering around Birmingham, dressing gown flapping, gurning into the faces of startled business owners and mumbling, 'What do you think this is, a fucking free country?'
Every few minutes, he shouts at passing buses, 'Rich fuckers! You! Gimme yer money, yer capitalist bastards!'
When last seen, he was gripping the arm of an elderly man in a tweed suit and shouting, 'Don't you know who I am, you fucking Tory, you?'
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