![]() His greeting on this Friday evening in May-a half-whispered “hello”-is barely audible over the noise spilling out of the bars down at street level.īorn Tyron Frampton, his moniker comes from a childhood nickname-or taunt, depending on how you look at it. “I was in my own little world, always zoning out but also mad observant: I’d just sit back and watch,” he explains, thinking back. “And from then I was called ‘Slow Ty,’ because I slurred my words too.” The 23-year-old’s eyes flit around the room as he speaks, and you get the sense of that young kid drinking the world in. His hands stay stuffed in his hoodie pocket, fiddling absentmindedly with a gold coin ring.īut after a bit of back-and-forth (and a couple of coffees), his demeanour shifts, and his responses start shooting back like a stream of consciousness, punctuated with wild, twitchy gesticulations. He talks about bouncing from place to place as a kid, his young mum doing everything she could to maintain some semblance of consistency for her two children as father figures passed in and out of their lives, and money proved scarce. ![]() He grew up on the outskirts of Northampton, a town around 60 miles north of London, in an area known colloquially as Bush due to the wash of greenery that surrounds its suburban maze of low-rise homes and housing projects. ![]()
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March 2023
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