Video Blogs, Hedgehogs and The Dickfingers Diet

Welcome to another Boring selfindulgent update to what is still not being called the greatest blog ever. You bastards. We need to raise the profile of this a little bit, if any of you want to make badges or wear tshirts then jump around at the back of Outside Broadcast news reports Im willing to set up a pretty generous PhotoIncentive... I'll wait to hear from you... and before I forget, if you're one of the lovely people that I forwarded this blog to instead of a CV then: Hello, employ me, I'm ever so good and I don't like my job anymore. Go on, let me work for you, it'll be great... I promise. (Big Kiss x)

In an attempt to jumpstart my aforementioned healthy eating drive, and in a bid to reduce the amount of calories that I intake, I have developed the Dickfingers Diet. It's set to revolutionise the way that people eat and is fundamentally very simple. All you need to do is take what ever you would normally eat, and instead of putting it on a plate and gobbling it up until you get bingo wings and cry cause noone loves you, youve suddenly got asthma and you can't find a boyfriend. Oh no, you simply put it in a mug. Mugs are smaller than plates therefore, ergo, concurrently: less food. Here you can see the wondorous sight of Mug Shepherds Pie, containing half the Pie and therefore half the calories of Plate Shepherds Pie...  Maths: helping fight Obesity since about 15 minutes ago...

To celebrate my new found dieting techinique I sat on the floor and baked cakes. This definitely didnt have anything to do with Mrs Dickfingers breaking the blender and food mixer leaving me with the option to throw out about £8 worth of half congealed cake parts or to have a crack at salvaging the whole bloody thing myself. If nothing else it goes to show that I really will stop at nothing to avoid wasting money. Or in this case, sugar, flour eggs and butter. Which were paid for with money so it kind of makes sense. Piss off, this isnt the place for logic...  

I went to Hertford the other day and thought that I would include a picture of my favourite newagents. This shop never fails to make me smile and my only regret is that they dont have a bigger sign... Mrs Dickfingers was away up the road, mortified that I would stop on a corner, whip out my cameraphone, eagerly snap away at a shop  front to ensure I got a good enough photo of a Gay newsagent (you're welcome...)

If it helps, she wasn't any keener on me stopping to photograph what I think used to be a hedgehog either, although to be fair I think she was more concerned with me standing in the middle of the road hovering over the squashedhog...

The conclusion of this wonderful update is something special: the first videoblog update. Not bad considering I've been doing this for about 5 months now... Procrastion is a wonderful thing. I think. 

The following 87 seconds of awesome was filmed in about 30 minutes by My Mate Adam on his lovely sparkly HD fish eye camera type thing and I spent the following 4 hours dicking about trying to get my head around editing software. Unbelievably, the following is the best that I could get it. After many revisions I ditched various different songs ranging from Smack My Bitch Up to Boys Boys Boys, Copacabana to Its Raining Men and decided that it was probably going to look better without Pink Comic Sans titles... 

Behold: the first of maybe many video updates meaning that you can hear my maniacal giggling and pisstaking as opposed to just reading it you lucky little things... 

 

Next Time: Have I Got A New Job? Pigeon Shooting and Whatever Other Shite I Can Think To Write About...

Ps: Employ Me... Thanksinadvance x

The Derbydos Homosexual Skateboarding Display Team & Vernon Kay

When the phone rings and Toby "The Brock" Batchelor asks "Are you busy at the end of September? Do you want to MC at a game of skate?" saying "Yeah go on then" will probably have ramifications. Especially if you completely forget that youre meant to be doing it. 

Somehow, the people at Hooked Extreme Blog managed to get a corner of the Westfield centre in Derby (a 200 mile round trip from Dickfingers HQ) to host an invite only Game of Skate at their NUS Lock In type affair, which is presumably a glorified way to milk the student loans out of a bunch of tax dodging floppy hat wearing arsewipes. They had originally asked Toby to shout things over a megaphone but he wasnt really into the idea, hence recruiting me and after careful consideration I decided that at the very least it would make this blog more interesting that me sitting in my front room in my pants playing Xbox so ducked out of work early and began the drive to Derby. 

Craig "150% man" Smedley was there and was a good 15 years older than any other competitor. I love Smedley. Here we are with Toby, and me in my stinging Fourstar Cardigan (thanks to Crossfire and Revival Distribution *shameless plug*)

Fraser Doughty was also there competing and incidently he is not my son, despite what he might tell you to the contrary. Merry fuck only knows what he is wearing in this picture. I think it was a dare. Or maybe a joke that I'm too southern to understand. Either way he was holding it down in what could only be described as a wizarding shepherd's coat... Strange lad...

This was the set up for the whole deal: a rectangular patch of sticky laminate floor outside JD Sports and Marks & Spencer. Fuck you, The Berrics... 

Everyone knows that the best things in skateboarding are held in shopping centres with swarms of workshy fashion wankers dancing about to horrendous dance music playing 10 ft away...

Here I am being presented with my "loudspeaker." People that have met me will probably testify that I am more than likely the last person you should ever entrust a megaphone to. Fortunately for the student population of Derby and surrounding areas, the megaphone I was handed is the smallest I have ever seen. The megaphone that was in my car was bigger and louder but even that would have been drowned out by DJ Shit-taste blasting out "phat beatz" which sounded like the Pacman tune. Just as well really as I got bored talking about skateboarding and started taking the piss out of Fraser's Goat-herding jumper and Tom Balls fertility threatening trousers.

Despite the fact that no bugger could hear us, we decided that we werent going to let that stand in the way of carrying things off with a vague air of professionalism. We picked the names out of my flatcap. Can't get more professional than that...

We played "Rock Paper Scissors" although more than once there was some mild to moderate confusion and we had to start again. Here we can see Tom Ball listening carefully as I mumble my way through the explanation of a game known by almost every under 5 the world over.

Smedley took his shirt off and threw some maneuvers in a vest. He started landing tricks and throwing gangsigns as well. I love Smedley. 

As amusing as it is shouting obscenities at passing students and hollering at Skaters through a £5 Argos Megaphone, and believe me, it is amusing, there came a time when we had to have a rest. By rest I mean that we went freeloading as apparently there were shops giving away Apple Lanyards. Now, I should take the time to say that, If its free, I need it, so off we went in search of things to pile into my swagbag. Unfortunely there was bugger all to be had, so I made do with signing up to win things by grabbing a load of Quality Street wrappers inside a Hairdryer fuelled Shower Cubicle. 

Pre Grab: 

Mid Grab:

Post Grab: I didnt win but at least it breaks up the skating pictures for you... (You're welcome)

Unfortunately I couldnt stay in the cool refreshing shower cubicle and had to get back out again to shout at folk. I've got no idea why Toby is bending over here. Probably all the excitement. 

Look how satisfied he looks in this one. It must have been the bending over. 

More skating happened. People did tricks, other people didnt do them and eventually it came down to Craig Smedley and Jacob Bettison. Smed didnt make it after a series of close calls and Jacob won. Smedley didnt want his prize as it was a board over 7.5inches wide so I bought him a pint and a bowl of nuts and went home with it instead (the board, not Smedley)

There was a shortlived best trick comp for a Pink Element Board (oooooook) which Ballbag won with a half cab lateflip... I then signed it to potentially increase the value. Maybe.  

... and as if that wasn't enough, I even signed the Hooked Extreme Tshirt joining such luminaries as Lee Blackwell and Ben "As Much Use As Anne Franks Drumkit" Cundall. Ive arrived.

Vernon Kay was meant to show up to do a DJ set, however we finished at about 9 and were told that he wasnt going to get there before 11 and I'll be buggered if I was waiting around for two hours to see some lanky northern goit off the telly so buggered off to the pub to listen to Smedley talk about debt collectors and tricktip videos. Good times

All photos were taken by Mrs Brock who got a Press Pass especially and I'll post a video of the above shenanigans if I get a link. 

Next time: Something else. Can't wait can you? I thought not.

Boredom Prevails...

Right ho blogfans, we've reached a difficult situation: My self imposed obligations to write these things have inexplicably outstripped all the interesting shit that I get up to so brace yourself for an archive edition. It'll be a bit like those shitty flashback editions of America Sit Coms except I'll be the only one that remembers it first time round and there won't be an awkward media documented Vicodin addiction (probably)

As keen eyed readers will know, challenging me to do anything will often result in a brief argument, punctuated with sulking and intermittent bickering that usually ends with me setting my mind to do something, usually foolhardy. You would think that after 4 years, Mrs Dickfingers would be privy to this fact, so imagine my surprise when idly mentioning the cultivation of facepubes, she declared "You can't grow a moustache, you'll look stupid..." Whether or not this was actually a challenge will forever be lost in translation but what we can all agree on is that handlebar mowsers are rad.

Caught In The Crossfire's annual Halloween shenanigans are about to kick off with all the retarded dressing up and offensiveness that you would expect. Last years saw Michael Jackson skating a mini ramp with Leatherface and Two Massive Poo's while a load of pilled up gurners took their shirts off and got sweaty watching Pendulum. And you thought that skate events were gay... It was also the night that it became clear that sleeping in a closed Tubestation at 5 in the morning will not result in a good nights sleep... My costume was rad though. Its all about the details

In other Crossfire related news: my ramblings from the UKSA Championships can be viewed and admired here expect upcoming reviews and various pimpings of other bits and pieces as they happen...

This passing weekend saw me embarking on a Mexican night round My Mate Adam's house, with Mojito's Beers, Karaoke Xbox Games (which I rule at) and Nachos. We then played Scrabble and I managed to convert "Bandit" to "Arsebandit." Photographic evidence below:

Continuing the theme of Dead things from Last Post I found a picture of a dead snake which I thought you would love to see

and also found a picture of a just as dead but slightly happier fox. Look at his startled little face. Bless him...

Thats it for now, tomorrow I'm going to drive up to Derbydos to MC an invite only game of skate featuring Craig "50% extra free" Smedley along with TomBallBag and Fraser "Im not his dad" Dougherty. Apparently Vernon "Bolton" Kay is going to be there to do a DJ set so expect a blog appearence with either a cheerful brush with stardom or a scathing put down depending on if he's a cock or not...

Expect a sporadic update in a few days. Maybe

Salty Balloons, Paddling, Brock & The Hulk...

One week on from the UK Championships and the debacle of poo-sink and gay night, I have decided to make a concerted effort to increase the frequency of posts on here in a vain attempt to keep myself occupied. Having spent a large portion of the last 7 days hustling shoes and trying to track down a Fourstar Cardigan  I decided that the best thing to do would be to go paddling at Ashwell Springs, a very very cold, very shallow, yet still very cold spring. Now, I remember going to Ashwell Springs when I were a lad, and I swear that either I've either grown more sensitive in my advancing years or its got a shit load colder. I jumped in, stood just long enough to prove to a dopey little shithawk who was manlier (have that ratchild, bet you've not even seen a girl naked have you?) then jumped back out again before the shooting numbness of the shitting cold stretched any further up my shins... 

Unfortunately the little toerag got back in again so not to be outdone by someone without pubes, I followed suit and pretended it wasn't killing me. Thankfully he left to go and get his nappy changed or something like that and I commandeered my very own island. 

After a night of soft towels, hotwater bottles and internet explanations of the onset of Hypothermia, I woke up to find a missed call from The Hulk.  This in itself is odd as The Hulk only phones me after I have called him and the useless lummox usually waits about 24 hours to call back. The Hulk wanted to go for a skate (again, its not worth getting into how odd this is, its been about a year since I last skated with him) so collecting TBone, three blokes with a combined age of about 80, went to the Grange to tit about on kids toys... 

To our delight, the council must have been up there early to celebrate the imminent arrival of "The Random Goons (and me)" so decked the place out with balloons and although they didn't blow them up for us but its still the thought that counts... Thank You Letchworth...

A Celebratory Letchworth Balloon...

This is the Hulk: 

He is apparently called the Hulk after a security guard and jobsworth manager tried to throw him and Toby out of their carpark only to piss him off in the process and find themselves simultaneously pinned to the floor by their respective necks while the Hulk shouted "Calm Down" at them or something similar... In short, don't piss him off. 

Here he is, totally shredding the gnar and definitely definitely not posing a photo, we'll have none of that illegitimate bullshit on this blog thankyouverymuch...  

Tbone can be seen next to him, blown away by all the radical that the Hulk possesses and spurned on, did a Crooked grind off the end trying to avoid what we hope was only dog (and not human) poo that we covered up with a HulaHoops bag...

He then got all arty and Myspace and did a backtail just before I got a call from the copywrite people confirming that I do now own the rights to all "Longshot-Portrait-Moodysky-Skatephotos" 

We then went to the pub and walked past a man who let off the wettest sounding fart I have ever heard a human produce, only to wander off as if nothing had happened. Come to Letchworth, not only is it the worlds first Garden City and home to the first roundabout it also lays claim to flatulent Pensioners and is quite close to my house. What a place... 

Defying Toby's claims that I am the slowest Masticator in the World (steady) I also managed to eat a burger in a record 14 and a half minutes... Personal Best followers, personal best... 

After finishing my burger I went to my Mum & Dads house to check their post and burgle their freezer while they're on holiday only to find a dead rat outside. It reminded me of a dead pigeon I saw a little while ago so I thought I'd include them. 

If I find any more dead animals you can bet your arse that they'll be posted up here quick smart...

Next time: Kite flying (weather depending) and What Free Things Have I Managed To Hussle?

How Do You Even Get A Skid Mark On A Sink?

There are some signs that a day is going to be a good one and nothing could be better than starting our journey to the spiritual home of the trouser press, than seeing Jade Goody, two months early for Hallowe'en, sitting in a Ford Fiesta in the car behind us, sorting out her hair. Never one to let a mild case of death or baldness stop her, Jade appears to be back on form, taking it all in her stride. Good for you, Jade, keep chasing that rainbow... 

Arriving at Corby (for all those people who missed the Trouser Press reference) I tracked down Chalk kneed Porsche worrier, Powley, who was in charge for the weekend's proceedings and informed me that I had a very important and wicked cool job to do...

Here I can be seen, in my important (some might say vital) role for a large portion of the day: Chief Vans Waffle Maker Guy. By my reckoning, I must have churned out about 100 tepid, half-set doughy waffles to fat kids and pro skaters alike using a variety of different sales pitches including "Have a waffle, you know you're hungry" to an overweight 12 year old and "Eat one, you cunt" to pretty much everyone else.

Here you can see Powley holding £40 of my takings and pondering the depths one man will stoop to at the very hint of "free shoes"...

 

After a short spell, word must have gotten round that I was straight up killing it at the Waffle stall, and, inevitably, we ran out. This couldn't have happened at a better time as frankly, its fucking boring making waffles, especially when the collected UK Skating Scene is kicking just out of view behind a sea of helmet-wearing fat kids eager for doughy treats, so, having served my time behind a waffle iron, I fucked it off and went to check out the Gnarshredding...

Stu, the inky fingered genius behind the Lovenskate brand and fellow tea enthusiast, made the journey from the big city to stand in front of a Vert ramp so big I'd disgrace myself just peering over the coping. Here he is, looking concerned while Sam Beckett floats a BS Air in the background like its the most natural thing in the world to be dangling 8ft above the coping and 22ft above the floor. A short while later, Beckett pulled a 720 in a run (bearing in mind that he is the first Englishman to do 'em and is still unable to legally drink) 

For non skating lurkers: this is a big deal. Hence Stu's concern. Bless him. To cheer him up, we had a bit of a skate: I won my very own "Longest Slappy Noseslide" Competition as everyone else was too scared to enter (that and I didn't tell them) then we went to play in the foam pit. These things are fucking amazing and despite Grosa trying to put me off with stories of Skateparks finding enough used johnnies to refill a bath in the bottom of one, I still couldn't get enough of the foamy bastard and tried, with some degree of sucess to learn Judo Airs before managing to throw some serious shapes with some kind of Airwalk type thing. Either way, it were pretty rad. 

 

With all the skating for the day taken care of, it was time to relocate all 150 odd sweaty arsed skaters (not me, I had a wash) from the skatepark, to the Rugby Club. For those of you unfamiliar with Skateboarding events, I should point out that it would be a lie to say these things were overpopulated with women. By our very nature, the type of place that we would need to hold these events in in order to attract women, wouldn't let us into the carpark, let alone the bar, which is why we end up in Rugby clubs that look like they were used for the interior shots of Phoenix Nights... and skating being a 98% male passtime, these shitty rugby clubs end up with more blokes in them than Steven Gately...

Powley decided that it would be a good idea to get some music and hired a wedding disco, then deciding to do away with any pretence that it was going to be in any way "straight" and requested "the gayest songs you've got" then pointed at me and said "play what you'd play if it was our wedding." The DJ exceeded himself and managed to step it up to 11 gaying the night away with YMCA, the Spice Girls and the Pet Shop Boys whilst watching the Great & The Good of the UK Skate Scene Conga Line Bum each other and dry hump the shit out of anything with testicles... Good times...

Here I am dancing to Copacabana. Look at my little face, I fucking love it...

Rob "Wob" Smith, Gay Night MVP, decided that stage diving would be a good idea so jumped off the balcony...

...right into YMCA... aka "Too Many Dicks On The Dance Floor"

No caption necessary... just look how scared Fraser looks...

A sausage party cocktail...

Mr Nicholson and I keep it civilised...

...while Powley looks like a sexcrime waiting to happen... 

This marked the end of our night. I went to bed feeling surprisingly upbeat only to be woken a few hours later by a stoned, inebriated youth, who promptly informed me that he was "going to be sick now" and proceeded to cough up his tiny little stomach all over the bedroom floor of our hotel room. I then went back to sleep, as best as anyone can in a room full of someone else's sick, only to be woken by the same youth kneeling next to my bed trying to put his trousers back on. The reasons for him taking his trousers off in the first place were not entirely clear until the morning when I found a mystifying inch long skidmark on the sink and one of the bathtowels inexplicably smeared with the remnants of a brown sitdown. I did take a photo but shame and desparation forced him to delete them for fear of turning up here... Dear oh dear...

Struggling to come to terms with the atrocities of room 4, I had a quiet sit down and read a magazine from Cockleg's car...

...then went inside and pissed off Cates by not opening up the waffle stall for round 2...

Then loads of stinging skateboarding maneuvers went down and I kind of got distracted watching them... Sorry. Although, to make it up to you, I did find a Scoody Doo outfit. So I put it on...

That was pretty much it. I also got a Mini Vans Keyring of an Authentic which I was pretty stoked on. Then I went home and slept for about 12 hours. 

Same time next year... 

Next post: I haven't decided yet...

Crabs, Cream Teas, Poodles & Pasties...

Welcome back blog fans... (Theres 7 of you now, Im thinking about waiting until I get another 5 then renaming you disciples, stay tuned and someone remind me in case I get sidetracked...) 

As you will no doubt be aware, the past 3 postless weeks that you have been forced to endure have been because I have have been fannying around with the long suffering Mrs Dickfingers to some of the furthest and most exotic corners of the Earth... or to be more specific, France and Cornwall. 

To make up for the no-doubt intolerable absence of my fascinating (educational AND entertaining) posts behold a special superduper extra special Holiday Edition length post:

The first week was spent in the charming Medoc region of France, (its near Bordeaux, don't worry, I had to check too)

Arriving in France, I did exactly what any Globetrotting International Cultural Chameleon would do to integrate seamlessly into French life: I hired the smallest gayest car they had, bought a baguette, peed in the open without being drunk, then found a vinyard. Right after these photos were taken, a confused couple asked me for directions as apparently I looked so French they figured I must know my way around (only don't ask anyone as they'll only deny it...) 

The only thing that slightly undermines my otherwise immaculate Gallic Assimilation and betrayed my Brits-Abroad roots, can be seen in the following picture: I went to the beach...

Unfortunately and unbeknownst to me, there appears to be a newly registered French law that dictates any adult male within 50 metres of a large public body of water, should remove all clothing and parade around nonchalantly flopping their hangdowns at everyone, trying to maintain eye contact for as long as possible to make all repressed uptight Englishmen in the area (me) feel as uncomfortable as possible... In one week in France I believe that I saw more leathery European winkies than any man ever should... In short blogfans, don't go to a French beach unless you have a deep-seated desire to see more balls than Elton John's chin...

All this was quickly forgotten when I found a sign to Brest (which bizarrely they don't find funny)

...and shortly afterwards, saw a poodle with a ribbon tied round it... Apparently I just missed the old man with a Beret, bicycle and a Stripy Jumper as he had an urgent appointment at Stereotype HQ but I may have better luck next time

France was amazing, however, for all the things that they do have over England, force fed animals with amazingly delicious fat livers and cavalier attitudes to public nudity being some of them, after a while you realise what you are missing and have to go home. In my case to spend a week in a deserted field in Cornwall and eat more Pies, Scones and Tea than is probably wise...

 

Here is Dickfingers Base Camp: 6 hours and a lot of petrol away from HQ and fucking cold when it rains. Which it did. Often. 

As if being the home of Cream Teas and Pies wasn't enough, Cornwall proved to be a veritible...thing of stuff to do. In between "sleeping in a carrier bag" and "avoiding rain" we managed to get crabs (snigger)

and found the (apparently) famous Jamaica Inn (the site of another Cream Tea) where I proved that no matter what monumental historical site you take me to I will somehow work out a way of posing next to it to imply its my widger...

I also found time to paddle thereby completing all necessary holiday rituals

 

As if that wasn't enough, using my Mr Miyagi-like skills I managed to snatch a fly out of the air using nothing but my shitting hands... find another blog with fly snatching, go on, I dare you. 

Next time: Something else.