The Seaside and Garden Camping Round 2...

After the roaring success of adding culture to the mix a couple in earlier posts, and spurned on by the good old fashioned fun I had trying to fly a shitting kite the other day, I decided that what I, and indeed this already pretty powerful blog needed, was a good old British trip to the Seaside. With this in mind, the long suffering Mrs Dickfingers, who contrary to popular belief is real and has opted out of making her first blog appearance for professional reasons (she doesnt want to the school she works in to know her alterego-by-proxy is "Mrs Dickfingers") jumped in the car and drove the lovely Suffolk town of Aldeburgh. For those of you unfamiliar with the location of many of my childhood holidays, its a lovely little place on the East Coast of England, which has somehow managed to bypass the rest of the quaint ways of the region meaning that unlike Norfolk, there are more than 3 surnames and almost all of the kids there are born without gills.

In keeping with the Great British Traditions theme, we took a picnic and ate it in a Force 3 gale on the sea front because...er... thats why we drove all the way there... (Thats Mrs Dickfingers foot to one side, I doubt that will betray her identity)

We had everything a triumphant picnic needs: Bread, meat, crisps, cheese, a strong head wind and nothing even vaguely resembling cutlery. 

Here I am eating a cheese ham and pickle sandwich after spreading the pickle with the ham.

Revolutionary... 

After our delicious all in one meal, we decided that it wasn't enough to drive for 2 hours to turn around and go back home again, so partly due to my stubborn and stereotypical behaviour of an idiot near a large span of water, I rolled up my britches and waded up to the knees into the cold cold cold cold cold shitting cold North Sea and stood there for just enough time to prevent my toes dropping off. Then got back out again...

Then, hungry again, we went for fish and chips. By the sea. Which somehow, inexplicably made it taste ten times better.

Returning back to Dickfingers HQ, with very little time before our impending summer expedition, I miraculously persuaded my poor lovely missus, that we should have another night sleeping inches away from the ground in my Mum & Dad's garden. Descending with tents at a pace that could scare the shit out of every Daily Mail reader within a 5 mile radius, we (I) converted a small, pretty patch of grass behind a house into a sea of nylon, gas stoves and golf umbrellas...

We then cooked tea, got shitfaced, went to the pub and saw a band of men that sung Led Zepplin songs and all looked like plumbers, watched a guy in a wheelchair that looked like the Fonz rock out to Stairway to Heaven and then had a cup o tea in the morning rocking a pretty suspect headband...

Bring on Cornwall... 

Next time: What's Daisy sitting on? and Mad Mad Monk's Game of Skate...

Stinging...

Kites, Cats & AirRifles...

And here we are, back to the sporadic updates that you have come to expect... Since the last post, Delores Satellite Dove v.1 has returned and more than likely has thumped out another egg. I think this is the case as she came back the other day and hasnt moved since: she's either incubating another ratty chick for me to pester and annoy or she's bone idle... Only time will tell...

In a vain attempt to diversify this wonderful blog before you, I decided to spend the day dicking about and taking photos of it. This is worlds apart from the random dicking about I was doing before: this is premeditated...

What better way to start the day than shooting things? After getting an excited text message from "My Mate Adam" saying "Ive got an airrifle, lets go shoot things..." and lets face it, I don't often need more encouragement than that, I donned my legit oldman flat cap (none of this trendy fashion wanker business, mine is from a gun shop) and trogged out into a field. The field in question was packed full of miserable feathery bastards but before the more sensitive among you start whinging and leaving comments about my bird killing ways, I would like to point out that we left the field with exactly the same number of flying rats as we went in with... The bloody things have better eyesight that we have and by the time we worked out they were there and crawled pretending to be Rambo, or an air-rifle wielding Ninja, the little shits had flown away. 

We wasted a bit of time pestering a kitten with string until it hid under the barbeque and wouldnt come out... luckily (for you) I managed to get a photo of the little rascal before he found his hiding place... Im too good to you, youre welcome...

After going to the pub and having a chicken burger and a pint (the diets going well by the way) we went skating at one of the smallest "skateparks" I've ever been to. I propelled my hefty frame over a hip and "My Mate Adam" got all arty and myspace with a Frontside Boardslide. We really are too rad...

Then I tried to fly a kite. It was shit. 

Next time: What happened when I went to the seaside and Garden Camping with a stove...

A Special Report...

I know, I know, the second post in 24 hours, but today has been a day of amazing revelations, even more revelationaryeryier than the other kind that you 5 (yes 5) love to read about on a nearly weekly basis: firstly, when going to work, to deal with the questions of idiots and generally spend the day trying my very very hardest not to cry, I saw a wonderful amazing heartwarming thing: 

After a few days realising that life too far away from her bearded camera wielding landlord was unbearable: DAISY RETURNED!

...and before one of you smartarses decides to argue and upset me by claiming that its a different one: youre wrong, its not, as I saw her trying to work out how to squeeze her large feathery frame back behind the dish that she fluttered out from... So there. I have become the proud owner of the worlds first Homing Dove...

Imagine how stoked I was seeing my estranged satellite dove had returned... a feeling that lasted approximately 3o minutes until I sat down at work...(Ill begin the work based rantings later, theres plenty to go round) getting up three hours later and wandering to Boots (who incidentally are filthy libelous dirty liars) to get a drink. My mate had to get a prescription so I found myself lurking around with not much to do and 50p to spare. 

So I made the second mistake in my day after "getting out of bed" and climbed aboard the BMI/Weight/Height machine...

 

This was the result. A small piece of the paper that effectively robbed me of an inch and dumped an extra stone in its place... Now I wouldnt claim to be anywhere near Adonis like proportions (at the minute) but I would be lying if I said that I was happy with being nearly 14 shitting stone...

Deciding that I don't want to live the rest of my life wearing sweatpants and having only a vague recollection of what my feet look like, I have set myself a target of getting down to a healthy weight by exercise, healthy eating and all that shit that I'd much rather ignore and play xbox instead of doing but lets face it, will in all likelyhood adopt the Brit Abroad Crash Diet technique and eat a packet of raw bacon... That'll shift it despite what Mrs Dickfingers thinks...

Expect the sporadic updates to resume... Im off to comfort eat my fat self until I cant feel feelings anymore... 

I hate you all, especially those of you that weigh 13st 9lbs or less... (Cockleg Im looking at you)

Village Fetes, Hippydom & A Welcome Return

Last weekend saw the annual Bramfield Summer Fete, which for those people not familiar with the quintessential English Small Town Fete Set up, means that its an excuse to get back to our roots and spend a day doing "quaint" and "good old fashioned fun" things. Depending on your point of view its either a great English tradition, or a collection of spastics in a field throwing wellies, trying to knock a coconut off a stick and spending far too much money trying win a load of tat in a hamper. I managed to find the drink tent and had a bottle of champagne and a hotdog (damn it feels good to be a gangster...) which set me up perfectly to throw wellies, try to knock coconuts off sticks and spend too much money trying to win a hamper full of crap...


Here I am just before winning 2 (thats TWO) coconuts thanks to my amazing coordination and the slightly relaxed rules of the coconut shy run by four potentially special 12 year olds...




I am also pissed off that my favourite Tshirt that I've had for years has been remade by the wankspanners at Topman which means Im going to have to put up with an army of goits wandering around the town nodding at me in recognition for having the same shirt on. Reading that back it does sound a little melodramatic and self indulgent but when it comes down to it, this is my melodramatic self indulgent blog and youre reading it so its your own fault really...


To take my mind off it I reunited with the powerful midafternoon snack that is A Cream Tea...





Then in my slightly champagne fuelled, or should that be "dulled" state, sat around while Mrs Dickfingers decided to spend about 10 minutes poking daisies into what she affectionately refers to as "your ratnest haircut." For about 10 minutes I felt that the Woodstock dream was alive...




I then got bored and vandalised the plant stall, changing the names and prices in a vain attempt to drum up sales. Unfortunately the quiet people of Bramfield weren't really prepared to pay £25 for a "Green Plant" but thats their loss at the end of the day...




I also saw a couple of puppies larking about until one had a fit, seriously, but I was told that it was bad taste to rush back to the plant stall to get the camera. You've all got Mrs Dickfingers to thank for not having a picture of a puppy having a fit. If I get the time Ill try and draw it Tony Hart Style but I'm not making any rash promises...


On the way home I decided to stick my head out the window and take a picture... just because.





Apparently dogs love it so I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Its pretty rubbish to honest. More scientific recreations next time: which might include such fascinating topics as Skateboarding, Gays and "How Much I Hate My Job"

Benihanna's, Puppies & Abandonment...

Christ, 3 posts in under a week, either I'm leading a really fascinating life, or this thing is starting to monopolise my time in a similar way to the Sidewalk Forum, the single best place on the internet for talking about winkies, HalfCabs and casting aspersions on other people's sexuality. It can be found here if you have a few years spare and the patience of a saint, while in other Sidewalk related news, apparently I have reached the giddy heights of Internet Super Hero. It really is a rad day... Im giving some serious thought to tacking it onto the end of everything I sign, along with my Honoury Lordship from Sealand, (courtesy of the the God-Awful Redbull Media Machine which I may well go into another time) my title would be: Lord Dickfingers of Sealand Ba Hons, Internet Superhero...  Standard.

As mentioned in the last post, yesterday saw the Relentless Ride With Us Tour hit up a wet Pioneer, which meant that my only chance of skating anything (the 3ft high Miniramp) was dashed leaving me to do the only logical thing: have a brew and loiter. I managed to talk Chalk Kneed Porsche enthuisiast and curator of Shit Knees, Powley, seen below feeling the burn, into inadvertantly wandering into a retards teaparty and having a brew before realising just how awkward it was to stand around in a special needs day care group wearing flat caps talking about just how useless Cundall really is... (answers on a postcard with "Totally" clearly written on 'em...)

To overcome the weirdness we bullied this guy (whose name escapes me) into performing endless Benihanna's for our eager blogging fingers although I suspect he loved it really. 

Sad news: Daisy The Dove v.2 has finally done one, and has vacated the satellite nest for good. Reasons are unclear: she was either too big to fit in the bloody thing anymore or she might have finally got the hump with a bearded retard leaning in taking photos to update you Four (and Toby) but either way, she is gone. Expect another update this time next year if she returns and pops out an egg assuming I or you havent got bored with reading and writing this shit...

Mofugga, the artist formerly known as Cockleg, (who has asked me to stop calling him that as he's worried that the crushing weight of my influence on the internets might cause it to stick in real life) has only gone and got himself a dog. And not just a normal dog, oh no, his amazing little mate is called Klaus and is pretty much the raddest thing. Ever. Check out the pictures below of me looking smitten and the little rascal eating something that could be a greengage or birdshit. As cool as he was, I dont really want to be around him in 6-8 hours time... Have fun with that...

No idea what the next post is going to contain as Im still unsure whats happening next week but theres a more than good chance it will involve skateboarding and retards... Oh and my best mate in the whole world Toby wanted me to pimp out his blog which is full of interesting and informative stuff which you should totally check out to make him feel better about himself. 

The Dickfingers Collection Of Fine Art

Setting aside the wonderful collection of various dead and stuffed creatures scattered around Dickfingers HQ (and the one living thing out the front that I'll get to later) I thought that this deserved a special mention for sheer radness alone. Hand drawn entirely in biro by the dainty yet talented little fingers of the Sidewalk Forums very own small headed artisan, Alexoner, this beauty was commissioned in exchange for a very wee hat which I offered up for "something interesting" little realising that a few months down the line I would be the proud owner of a one off Dickfingers inspired original. I couldnt be more stoked. Mrs Dickfingers is still undecided (read: "she hates it and wonders why all the things I bring back to the flat have cocks on them")

On an art related tip here is the limited edition print of Horsey's debut graphic on Death which I have hanging next to the board itself. I would have got it framed exactly the same as the Dickfingers original you see above, however the Framing Lady decided that she couldn't be a party to such obscenity and returned it unframed. Please be sure to ask me if you want the details of "Framing With A Conscience" as I'll be sure to pass it on... I hear that Moral Preaching while you wait is a particular speciality

Unfortunately my burgeoning art collection is a couple of pieces away from respectable so Ill have to fill out the rest with pictures of bald rats with massive nuts...

...me performing my one trick...

...and my partially feathered Satellite Dove (v.2). Im pretty sure that we're only a couple of days away from flying the nest so expect me to get emotional, weepy and slightly withdrawn for a while until I recover/forget. 

Tomorrow marks the Hertfordshire leg of the Relentless Ride With Us Tour 2009, a free for all skate tour that's open to anyone that wants to go, and lets face it, that's the only way that I'll be able to get on one anyway, so expect some photos of Cockleg, Jerome, and various other idiots titting about on or near skateboards.

Over and out...

Burton, Gays and The Ugliest Chick Alive...

Holy bloody shitcakes, by some weird twist of fate in the internets, I've managed to collect as many followers as posts... In celebration of this milestone, I have decided to step up my blogging game and enlighten you lovely folk, (Cockleg, Cunt and er...the other two), as to what Ive been up to (although to be fair, Cockleg and The Cunt were actually there for parts of it so I'm not sure at what stage this becomes weird...)

We had a lovely drive up to sunny Burton On Trent, the spiritual home of Marmite and Homosexuality for the Annual Burton Gay Off aka "The Funday"

Somehow, and Christ alone knows how, prizes were organised and I managed to spend an entire afternoon burning my neck and shouting at a field full of idiots with a megaphone. As I didnt get kicked to death by the prat who turned up dressed as a Panda, who then had to listen to me scream "GO ON PANDA!" as loud as possible through a megaphone every time I saw him, I can only assume that I didnt go far enough. Better luck next year. Cockleg won a shirt for doing his only trick,  I won a hat for doing my only trick and Jerome did all manner of things far too easily and got some wheels despite being a showoff...

Matt's One Trick (TM) with Weird Pandaman lurking in the background

MVP of the Gay Day Rad Jam was Smedbench. This is Smedbench. Do Not Meddle with him. He is 50% more manly than me, 100% more manly than Hitler and 150% more manly than a woman. This biological marvel makes him unbelievable on a skateboard, a fact that his nimble little feet proved throughout the day by landing every trick we shouted at him, first go, on demand: switch, regular, fakie and nollie. The guy is a hero and according to those in the know, will shortly be having a skateboard with his name and "Unabomber" written on it which I strongly recommend you buy. 

The Cunt couldnt take the pace on the way home and decided that the hardshoulder of the M1 was the best place to jump out of the car for a wee wee. Unfortunately I was in the outside lane at the time but noone wants a passenger seat full of recycled cider so out he jumped while we took a photo wondering what is the matter with him.

Celebrating the emerging theme of this post, behold the best skateboard graphic I have seen: yes, it really is a Unicorn pooing a rainbow thinking "Im soooo Gay"

Mrs Dickfingers is decidedly unimpressed about this one but theres no way I can't have this hanging on the wall... 

And the final update for today: the Satellite Dove, Delores, has hatched possibly the ugliest living creature known to humanity, Daisy, Satellite Dove v.2, looks like she's been built inside out but will be sure to appear in next weeks update, when she may or may not have feathers...

Stay tuned for the next update which may or may not include Doves, Bummers and Creamteas