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This is a story with a happy ending. But first, the unhappy beginning. Picture the scene. Although not too clearly 'cause it might make you cry.
A bloke is slumped at a piano on the top floor of an old toffee factory in Stockport. He's been in this space, now a recording studio, for five 'intensive' weeks. He's barely seen his missus and kids. Spring has turned to summer. Twenty rough'n'ready songs, played live by a band, have not turned to album-worthy gold. Many Marlboro Lights have been held in trembling fingers. Things ain't good. It is last year.
'I think I lost grip on what I was actually trying to do,' says Damon Gough, softly. 'I had this goal in my head of putting ...