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Picture this

Imagine the scene: a Sunday evening near the river in Battersea, and a young architect is wandering around Norman Foster's riverside office, admiring the curtain wall. Without warning a bald-pated man vaults over a wall and runs off down the road. A cat burglar? No, Norman himself out for a late-night jog, wearing what Astragal's spy describes as '70s-style running shorts'.

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