I'm reminded of all those hot summer days in Portmeirion, dressed as the Prisoner-No.6. Stopped now and then, as I used to be, by people who asked to have their photograph taken with me, and that happened more often than not. Promenading around the village, through the woods, naughty, naughty, but always keeping to the paths. And out on the beach, to the island in the estuary beyond the village. Trips into the Prisoner shop, and see the look on the customers there to see No.6 walk into his cottage.
I'll be seeing you
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