Oliver Reed would have been 73 today.
Had it not, you know, been for a life of booze, birds and brawling, and all of it done to the extreme.
Here at chez Agitation, where teetotalism is a dirty word and it is unequivocally accepted that brilliance and self-destruction go hand in hand, a celebratory and non-judgemental glass of the old vino is being raised to the memory of one of Britain’s premiere hellraisers.
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