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Iron Filing's. Here we go, here we go, here we go, here we go, this is it.

This is top like junk machine, I am Andy Hot Body Dawson, ba ba ba ba.

I'm saddening till I need so. It's the beginning of another dive into a chart which has been

randomly chosen for us by the random pot blob which is of course caged in the corner of my room here.

It's pink flesh quivering as it prepares to issue us with the brand new chart.

Go on then, random blob, do your job, tell us no, use your gob, tell us how to do our job.

There we are. Wow, he's come up trumps. I think last one of this, you rightly

put when you tweaked it out, it was the worst chart that the pot blob had ever given us and the

pot blob must have taken that as meaning that you were serving it notice because there are other

blobs out there, pot blob and he's treated you pretty well and if you fucking will pay us with

early naughty shit charts then we're not going to be happy. What he's done is he is fucking,

sorry to refer to him as he, I know he's sort of genderless but just for the convenience of what

they've done is they've generated a chart from what we have established in the past is the

greatest year in the history of pop music, 1984. 1984, yeah and it's it's end of May, summer is

approaching. I've got very, very strong fond memories of this era so I guess all we can do is

go through the top 40 and just a quick look at a quick glance at this and you think yeah this

...