World Exclusive Premiere, A Guide to World Peace and The Long Awaited Return...

I knew it was only a matter of time but after a few short years and only a couple of thousand emails and forum posts, I, and by extension everyone that is living vicariously through this shit hot blog (so that would be you lovely readers), got invited to something. This monumentous occasion happened to be the first ever Vans video, a company that I am totally bent for anyway so it was a pretty foregone conclusion that I would be turning up to lurk, bro-down and see if there was any free stuff knocking about in equal measure... 

As I was retardedly excited at the prospect of being able to do something to allow me to avoid the crippling horror of another fucking minute at work, I decided to make the most of the day so arranged to meet Cockleg and Poosink at Mile End skatepark. The plan was to maximise the time available and all make the most of our surroundings. To Cockleg and Poosink, this meant jump around on skateboards doing tricks, where as I took the slightly more sensible alternative and stood around drinking street beers in between stealing goes on their boards when they weren't looking. This was a much better decision on my part as it meant that more I drank, the less I had to carry and I wouldnt have to worry about leaving my skateboard somewhere when I got appallingly rat-arsed later in the evening. This freed up a lot of time to stand around clutching my carrier bag full of Red Stripe taking blurry pictures of Cockleg skating the moody bowl in front of Vicki Pollard and the obligatory angry looking dog in a skatepark. Youre welcome.

Poosink took advantage of not being at nursery school or the childminders or whatever it is he does all day to play a nail biting edge-of-the-seat game of Head Shoulders Knees & Toes (Knees & Toes.) Then he had some warm milk and went for a lie down before he got overexcited...

Fellow flame haired plaid fan, Jerome from Shiner made the trip up from Bristol or Newport or somewhere like that to watch the film and have his picture taken in front of a great big sign only to turn up on here which surely justifies the 6 hour round trip...  

As if that wasn't awesome enough we bowed down to some subliminal messaging and went for a Chinese Buffet at the imaginatively named "Chinese Buffet" in Soho. Cockleg decided to pretend that the Prawns were trying to crawl into my ear while the Sidewalk Forums very own shouty letter answerer, Joe BEAR Habgood, swears uncharacteristically quietly in the background, shortly before paying for the most expensive glass of coke known to man. 

We retired to a bar on the Corner where Ben Powell, editor of Sidewalk Skateboarding took time out of his fully booked evening job as Fran Healy's body double, to educate me on the various different meanings of red shoe laces. According to his theory, I'm either a devastatingly hard cunt or a colour coordinated mincer, I couldn't decide so I'll leave it to the comments for you to argue amongst yourselves...

Surprising everyone, rotund Barbeque enthusiast, Head Boss of Vans and all round thoroughly nice chap, Steve Van Doren turned up against all expectations and gave a totally motivating and entertaining introduction to the film. Unfortunately he didn't fire up the grill and get round to cooking a selection of delicious treats for the fans... Keen blog followers will remember my pretty truimphant turn on the Vans Waffle stall at the UK Champs this year which on balance, proves that I do more than Steve Van Doren... Well done Steve... Nice one. 

Skate Premiers are the exact opposite to normal films, you go to a cinema with a load of other dudes, drink beer, and shout at the screen while throwing popcorn, skittles and if Habgood is there, pretty much anything he can get his hands on. The only thing stopping him carrying in the moody sweet and sour king prawns from the China Buffet was a lack of pocket space. I took time out of shouting at the screen and calling everyone in range a mosher or a homo to take a blurry pissed photo of the screen to really give you a feeling of what you missed...

Poosink was amazed at the thriving London hipster Fixie which is flourishing due to the almost limitless supply of jazzy clothed gaylords in London.

One half of Jedward turned up and was gutted Powley wouldn't give him a ticket so sat outside crying and wishing he had a fixie...

After the excitement of heading into this nations wonderful capitol, I had to return back to normal life. Fortunately for you, my normal life involves taking the piss out of things and posting about them on the internet to make myself feel better. Occasionally I worry about running out of things to take the piss out of which would surely result in me having to think about interesting and pleasant things to write about on here. That was until I discovered Mrs Dickfingers' kids marking. Mrs Dickfingers is a teacher (I'm not going to say where) and from time to time she gets so overwhelmed with marking that she passes it over to me to do. Payment for this is allowing me to take photos of the particularly special ones so that I can chuckle at them later:

"I allway think about one thing. why can't all the people live in the whole world with out names and no arquements and wars just live all toghether looking after each other !?" as sentiment I think we can all get behind...

One final thing before I draw this thrilling update to a close. Nearly a year after her departure my Prodigal Homing Satellite Dove V2, Dolores, has returned to case out her nest, presumably in preparation for getting fertilised and plopping out a couple more ugly ratty chicks. 

I'll keep you updated with news as soon as she settles down and squeezes anything out. You'll be the first to know, I promise. 

Next time: what I get up to in Brussels where I will be going for a cultural exploration...

War Of The Roses, Kung Fu & Porno...

Yet another skateboarding related update and by "skateboarding related" I mean, taking photos of all of the shit that happens at skateboarding events except the actual act of skateboarding itself, which I think you'll find is actually way better anyway.

Last weekend saw the War Of The Roses, the annual Yorkshire vs Lancashire shindig that has been running for the last 5 years. It started out as an idea Silent Will had to get a load of skaters from Yorkshire & Lancashire together in a park in each county and having a skate jam for money but unfortunately the idea caught on so other folk from the rest of the country started to make the trip too. Unfortunately for me, I do not live in either Yorkshire or Lancashire. I live at the other end of the country, the southern bit, where shandies flow freely and men aren't frowned at for wearing coats when it snows, so getting to Yorkshire and Lancashire is a right fucking ballache... 

After deliberating and waiting in vain for someone else to offer to drive me up there so I could have a quiet 3 hour catnap in the passenger seat, I picked up Cockleg, who since his last blog appearance has ventured out into the big bad world of university. While he is there wasting my hard earned tax money, he enjoys getting into fights and getting stabbed with house keys and is doing his level best to burn through his student load as quickly as he can by spending as much money as humanly possible on Stripclub Specials, Jeremy Clarkson outfits and experimental treatments to stop his legs looking like pornstar cocks in the hope that I'll stop calling him Cockleg. Poor Cockleg. 

Nantwich's premier Nicholas Cage impersonator, Grosa also made the effort, as did Brighton's preeminent hairy freestyler, Mr Darren Nolan, who gave me a Heel Toe Magic hat in a transparent attempt to bribe me into driving him up there... Fortunately, keen eyed readers will notice I fucking love hats so it worked. Bribery is awesome. Plus he kind of looks how you would think the Ultimate Warrior would look if he was only 15 and didn't bosch a load of steroids and hoover up a load of coke, so I didn't want to wind him up incase he went mental and tried to suplex me or something... In case any of you don't believe me I have photographic proof just to strengthen my claim...

Uncanny. I decided to get all the skateboarding in the weekend out of the way in one fell swoop so had a game of skate in the carpark with Ronny and Cundall. There was footage of it but Rich aka Voodoo of t'forum decided that it was far too shit gnarly so deleted it off the face of the internets. Which is probably for the best... Rest assured I was throwing down some preeeetty tidy maneuvers

Ron looked excited and Cundall just looked confused. 

This dude wandered down from Newcastle with some kneepads, writstguards and a home made tshirt to stand next to Powley and throw the horns. Powley really does love Mosher Drops, but then again, who doesn't?

This is Porno Paul. Here he is, inexplicably reading some kind of Mother & Baby Magazine. God only knows how that could ever end up in a skatepark but it definitely was and Porno was loving it. I can't work out what was more disturbing: the weird naked baby centrefold lying back on a bed of lego or how funny Porno found it... 

It was only a matter of time until it went a step too far... 

After we had finished defacing Parenting Magazines with some borderline content and improvised glory holes, Porno and I decided to play our game. It doesn't have a name although I am angling for "The PornoDickfingers Stroking Game" and the rules are very very simple. When someone walks past you, whoevers turn it is, has to stroke them (strength of contact is variable although anything that veers towards heavy petting might draw attention). Once you have successfully stroked your target, it is your opponents turn and they have to stroke the next person, regardless of who they are. This repeats until one player gives up and decides not to stroke the next person. The winner is the person that doesn't bottle it at the last minute. Think of it like Chicken but with people that don't know they're playing. Its best played in crowds. If it takes off we can have a championship. I'll keep you all posted although I should warn you that Porno does have a real aptitude for this game which coupled with a pathological desire to touch people is pretty awe inspiring to behold...

Action Shot

Sooner or later though unless you have a conveyor belt of new targets, you will run out of people to touch and sure enough, we did, so had no option but to turn back to the Premier Travel Lodge Tavern to ditch our gear and wash our balls (individually, its not a team sport) before heading out the afterparty, which is pretty much the main reason that people go to these things anyway... The only problem is, that as soon as you put a number of unattended skaters in a hotel room hundreds of miles away from home, its only a matter of time before they start bouncing off the ceiling like a kid giddy on lemonade...

Sure enough, Cockleg didn't fail to deliver, and precisely 15 seconds after unlocking the door and turning the telly on, proceeded to jump up and down on the bed at a breakneck pace and kick out like a retarded caucasian Bruce Lee in a ropey wolfshirt...

When the appeal of beating off fighting off a hoarde of imaginary angry baddies had faded, Cockleg, Grosa and The Ultimate Nolan proceeded to make an assault obstacle course in the bedroom before we all went downstairs and had burgers for our tea... 

Cockleg was stoked that he would get a chance to wear his Jeremy Clarkson costume of chinos and a sensible shirt and confused a group of young lads who mistakenly thought that he was their dad come early to pick them up... Look how sensible he looks. Grosa was too busy concentrating on squinting at the bottom of his glass on the off chance that it might refill itself to pose for this picture but he was later heard to say how sensible Matt looked and expressed his surprise that such a nice looking young man would spend £130 on Special Dances at Legs Akimbo Lapdancing in Skegness...

The Clarkson outfit soon paid off when Su Pollard took her geggs off long enough to try and woo him... 

Its not immediately clear what is happening here but the guy that looks like he is french kissing his own hand is a Silvergult, which to anyone frequenting the Sidewalk Forum should be explanation enough, who spent a good 5 minutes doing a deeply erotic and pretty sensual dance entirely on his own much to the disgust of the weird trendy birds that were already in the bar trying to ignore the 50 odd skaters that descended like a sweaty plaid covered plague... 

Some other shit happened, Smedley gave it 150% on the dancefloor as usual and did a few righteous headspins before the almost entirely white population of the skateboarding afterparty entourage forgot that we weren't born in South Central LA or Queens and started bobbing around at the very slightest hint of HippyHop... We're so urban and that... I didn't take any more photos because I was busy drinking. It was tops. 

The following morning we discovered that it had snowed a good 6 inches overnight and Powley thought that it would be the best time to unveil his pretty incredible sleeping bag suit which has spurned me into action and I am now in the process of trying to blag one for myself. If by some remote chance anyone from www.Lippiselkbag.com is reading this then get in touch. I'll promote the shit out of it for you, I promise. 

We (and by "we" I mean "I") drove to Blackpool, hung out with Big Woody who runs Rampcity and ate chilliburgers which are a pretty efficient way of purging almost every liquid from your body at the same time. 

Thats about it, I saw some other people, some other people saw me, some guys jumped around on skateboards and then everyone had to go home. I spent a long long time driving and spent the following day laying about in either the bath or in bed. It was pretty triumphant. 

More updates coming soon, I saw Delores the prodigal dove return and case out the nest so there may well be some Satellite Dove updates in the pipelines... I'll keep you posted.

Megaramps, Clay Shooting and Backroom Additions...

Right, I've stayed true to my word, more or less, and have actually ventured out of the flat long enough to try and compose an interesting day out that you might want to read about from the comforts of wherever you might be... 

After getting myself armed, you'd be surprised how many people ask to go and shoot things, so partly because it's fun as shit and partly because I'm a totally awesome kind of guy, I agreed to take a selection of folk including Toby, My Mate Adam and Dan Cates, pro skater and pisstaker extraordinairre, to go shoot at things. Unfortunately, trying to organise skaters at the best of times is about as much fun as herding cats, and as I was trying to organise a hung over rabble from as far afield as Derby & Harrow it slowly dawned on me that the day was unlikely to run like a swiss fucking watch. 

To his eternal credit, Cates defied all expectations and actually turned up, so our fun day out in the country shooting things could begin, like all good things, with a nice cup of tea. 

After the essentials were handled, we set about shooting things, in Cates' case with some minor concerns for his own personal safety. To be fair these concerns were probably unfounded as he managed to go almost all day without shooting anything at all, although it generally helps if you look in the same direction that you are pointing the gun in if you want to actually hit something... 

At the very least he managed to deftly avoid the look that I unfortunately stumbled into which I would say falls neatly into the Countryside-Care-In-The-Community-Case-Study category

but at the very least I managed to look and shoot in the same direction at the same time which is definitely the first step to actually hitting something.

Cates was so stoked on his countryside day out and nearly shooting a load of clays that he gave me a board which is now hanging, surprisingly, in the back room, due in no small part to the fact that it has the words "Dickfingers" "Asshole" and a small boy bending over on it...

In other news, I found a decoy to stop the keyweilding little shits that roam around my village scratching the buggery out of cars. That'll show the pubeless tracksuit wearing cunts... 

I was also delighted to have discovered the Dickfingers Mega Transfer Gap. 

I've still got to iron a couple of kinks out with the transition but I'm thinking 2010 is going to be the year of the homemade outdoor megaramps...  You heard it here first. 

Right, as fascinating as this has been, all mildly narcissistic selfimportant things must come to an end and I've run out of pictures. I did spend the other night letting off £40 worth of fireworks in My Mate Adam's garden but didn't have the foresight to take my camera but rest assured it was pretty aweinspiring...

I'm still open to suggestions for what to include in the next update, partly because I think it will be nice to get some audience participation although mainly it's because it saves me thinking of something. Matt Mofuggacockleg has frequently promised to send through some interesting topics for debate but apparently thinks that stealing his flatmates multipack bags of Freddo's and complaining about things far and wide on the Sidewalk Forum is far more important than entertaining you. 

Something else might happen soon so there's always the chance that I'll go to it and take photos... If you comment it will probably convince me that there are people actually reading this bloody thing and it might spur me on to write something half decent. Don't hold your breath though...

Skyrape, Crying Angels, Mullets & How To Stuff A Pufferfish...

Happy New Year followers and welcome to the first post in what will hopefully be a full year of blogging. Inexplicably, despite the month long hiatus which has been spent pretty solidly sitting down doing nothing, I have managed to build on the ever increasing momentum of this pretty triumphant blog and reach the giddy heights of 16 followers. After some fairly rapid mental arithmatic, I have worked out that based on "the Bible" I am, at the time of writing, 7 years younger than Jesus, yet have 4 more disciples, which means that if we get into a league type situation I will have the advantage of being able to choose substitutes. Which is always a nice thought should there ever be a league for blogbased disciple fights... Gimme 2000 years and I may well have my very own church. We can but hope. 

Following on from my earlier comment that I have been sitting around doing nothing (and I'm not joking, I've pretty much done fuck all apart from shoot things and eat other things since the last post) I've decided that its hightime for another retrospective trawl through my harddrive to uncover something that might be vaguely interesting for me to write about... Unfortunately this is all I could come up with... If you don't like it, tough, you'll have to wait until the weather's not so shit for me to get out and start doing something a bit more interesting... so brace yourself for another wander into the Dickfingers Archive...

As some of you may know, a few years ago, I spent a good three months taking time out of my busy schedule of bumming about in England to fly to America and bum about over there. My reasons were pretty straight forward: its hotter and the portions are bigger. Add to that I wouldn't have to learn another language and as I wasn't keen on the idea of accidently eating dog I opted against the Orient and went to 'Merkka instead...

While in that fine and proud land, I decided that it was going to be a good idea to get all the things that I had been wanting to do for years out of the way in one fell swoop and skydiving was definitely top of the list. Bearing this in mind, when we rolled through to Vegas, I concluded that there probably wouldn't be a better time to do it. Up we went, out of the plane we jumped and photos were taken to mark the occasion. Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to me as I was plummeting groundwards at terminal velocity, the instructor, who I can only assume was bored with jumping out of a plane for the tenth time that day, decided to spice up the picture with what I can only guess to be a joke. Quite how funny it is to pretend to be thumbing in a softie at at 10000ft remains to be seen, however I have to conclude that it is a joke as the alternative is to accept that I narrowly avoided being the first person to be raped in the sky...

Other stuff happened, but I was there for 3 months and some light fingered gobshite stole my camera in LA just before I flew home, most of the pictures I do have are someone elses with me in the background so you'll have to make do with Skyrape for now... Anyway, I came back (obviously) and as I wasn't in any particular rush to start work, I carried on bumming about over here... Toby "Formerly The Brock" Batchelor (who incidently doesnt want to be known as The Brock anymore) was working as TM for iFive Distribution so I ended up spending a few months tagging along, not really doing anything other than listening to "The Squirters" horrendous stories about clawhammers and decapitations while postponing actually getting a job. The following photo was taken at the Park in Great Yarmouth where we went for a demo, and is the first documented example of someone asking for my autograph. Admittedly the kid in question was overweight, had glasses like milk-bottles and as well as having a mullet that could make a German envious, he was rocking a pretty suspect earring and to top it off, smelt like dogshit but everyone has to start somewhere and it still definitely counts and I signed the shit out of him...

The only thing that  can follow on from a doughy mulleted child, is Puffy.

Puffy is yet another abomination/decoration that adorns Dickfingers HQ and is on a not-exactly-exclusive list of things that the poor, long suffering Mrs Dickfingers has banished to "the back room." The Back Room, for anyone interested,  is the grown up version of blu-takking a picture to the fridge "so that everyone can enjoy it" which is really a glorified way of keeping it out of the way. It is basically home to all of the really horrible things that Mrs Dickfingers doesnt really want to have to carry backwards and forwards every time her Mum & Dad come to visit. As such, it includes the assembled Dickfingers Collection of Fine Art, most things skateboarding related including any occasional houseguests and a stuffed pufferfish. (For the record, Hank the Christmas Owl is in constant threat of being sent to the back room.) Puffy is the product of my brother's trip to Croatia I think, Im sure it was somewhere like that and when faced with the prospect of getting something thoughtful and useful he used his initiative and got me a stuffed dead fish instead. The best bit, after the fact that "its a dead pufferfish" is that the eyes are the googley eyes that you used to get on stuffed toys and if you look in his mouth you can see the cotton wool they stuffed him with. God only knows how you go about taxidermyingying a pufferfish but if I had to guess, (and as we're doing this, I'm going to,) I'd say you'd probably want to get a whisk in there to churn up the innards and separate everything on the inside of the pufferfish from the outside of the pufferfish. Pour the insidey bits out then sling a balloon in it, blow it up until you've got the rough shape youre after and then varnish the fuck out of it as quick as you can before you sling on some googley eyes. If anyone would like to donate their eldery or recently deceased pufferfish, we can test the theory. I'll even make you a cup of tea when you bring it round and you can take photos for the blog... enticing eh?

The next few pictures were from a visit up to Yorkshire to visit Mrs Dickfingers elderly and very northern Grandad. Fortunately, I have the tastes of an old man anyway so was pretty stoked to spend the day pretending I was 80 by gurning out of the top of a open topped bus in between eating pub lunches, drinking beer, having cream teas and complaining about having to walk. It was tops and York wasn't nearly as grim as the media would lead you to believe. I hardly saw a single whippet and it didnt rain once...

Here I am enjoying what I was assured was the very best Cream Teas in the land at Betty's Tea Room in York. This is the starting point of my fascination with Cream Teas and as Tea rooms go its a pretty good place to start really as they've had about 200 years experience in fattening up folk with scones and brews so they know what they're doing. They bring you out shit loads on dainty little silver trays and there are flowers on table and everything, its ever so refined...

The rest of the time in York, (other than the sitting and the eating of Pub Lunches) was spent ambling around Yorkminster, which to the uninitiated is a bloody great big cathedral, slap bang in the middle of York. On the surface it looks fairly normal but upon closer inspection there are some pretty suspect looking decorations in there. I'll start off gently and happily admit that I was actually kind of stoked when I found these sculptures commemorating the brave and noble Muppets that ruled over York in the 17th Century. The did a very good job especially considering they were made of felt and most of them didn't have legs...

However its a shame that the Muppet Bishop Kings were overshadowed by one of the creepiest statues I have ever ever seen. And thats including those weird bastards that paint themselves gold and stand in Covent Garden begging or performing or whatever it is they claim to do... (Honestly, don't get me started on mimes, if I spent my entire working day keeping as still as humanly possible whilst doing nothing, someone would have a nuclear shit-fit instead of handing me money and Lord knows its not as if I havent tried) 

Now, I would be lying if I said I knew a lot about the fine and no doubt intricate details of interpreting Statues but I have no idea what was going through the sculptors mind when he decided that the best way to decorate a Church would be with a recumbent Vicar gazing dreamily into the distance while two angels, who happen to be naked children, stand either side... Crying.

...the worst part was that noone else seemed to have noticed it so I spent a few minutes staring at it in disbelief while an entire tour walked past it without breaking stride. Maybe reclining priests surrounded by traumatised infants are more commonplace up north... Mindblowing... 

Other random things on my harddrive include my foray into the art world after Mrs Dickfingers parents got me some Art Stuff for Christmas. I'm not sure what they expected me to come up with but I think that they're grateful that I haven't ended up with a sketchbook full of veiny cock and ball combos... 

My new found status as an artist also qualifies me to take pictures of trees and horizons at sunset. 

Oh and I got a gun. It's this one. It's ever so good and if you're ever in the area I will happily take you out to shoot things with it. Youre welcome... 

I'm actually in the process of starting another half assed website that will more than likely include sporadic updates and general nonsense in a slightly different format so if I'm not updating this as often, that will be why... But don't worry,  you'll be the first to know as soon as I get off my arse and sort it.

I've got no idea what the next one will be about. If you have any suggestions I'm open to requests, although if you don't come up with anything good I'll have to empty and varnish a pufferfish... You have been warned...

An Open Letter To Skateboarding, Sealand & Mosherdrops

Last weekend saw the annual CaughtintheCrossfire.com Christmas get together hosted at the Bay66PlaystationXbox park and like most skateboarding events, I made the effort to drag myself along to drink tea on the side lines, hussle free product and scream obscenitites to all and sundry as they flew past.

Unfortunately there is something that has been bothering me for some time (and it's not a rash) and it has reached a point where I can't really ignore it anymore. Now I would be the first to admit that skateboarding is a pretty homo passtime as was ably demonstrated by the Congo Line Bum Off at Corby earlier in the year, but there is no need to make it any worse than it has to be. I am talking about skintight jeans. Someone, somewhere, probably for a laugh, suggested that it would be funny as all fuck to suggest to some impressionable spastic that skin tight jeans or manleggings as they have become make you look damn near irresistable to the opposite sex. Probably something to do with wanting to look like Donny Tourette or some other AIDS riddled junkie with a topman shirt and a wonky haircut. Evidently this is not the case. To my knowledge there is not a world wide shortage of denim so there really is no excuse to see the snug outline of someones hangdown when theyre skating. Or walking about the town for that matter. The only possible upshot of it, is that it gives me something else to shout obscenitities about from the sidelines whilst drinking my tea. This time, I was joined by Rodney Clarke who helped me compile the top 3 Fertility Threateners on show whilst also drinking tea and shouting from the sidelines.

The next few pictures should be avoided by anyone who doesnt want to see a pretty suspect array of lycra legwear... 

Honestly, I'm surprised they don't have to get the fire bridgade to cut them out of there...  It got so bad at one point that a pair of battylenders turned up all excited cause all the winkies on display through the hideously tight trousers had triggered their Gaydar... 

Rodney was on hand to help commiserate the fourth place contender who was devastated to learn he didnt get a podium finish. Look at his little face. Gutted. Still, looking on the brightside, at least he hasn't neutered himself by wearing little girls trousers. Better luck next time twinkle...

Let's all agree for 2010, plain shoes, jeans that dont display any of your reproductive organs, hats that cover your ears and I'll let you do your own things for shirts. You're welcome.

The Moshers turned up and shredded... 

and I saw Croydon's finest Dom Marley.

I met Dom a while ago when we were both contracted to go and spend a day on Sealand and write about it because Redbull have more money than sense and thought it would be a good idea to take skateboarding to a second world war seafort. Clearly, this is a pretty fucking stupid idea which is instantly obvious to anyone that isn't a total divvy. Thankfully, the PR department of Redbull is populated almost exclusively with divvies so were overjoyed to ship us out to watch a few skaters jump about on some shitty ramps and try not to fall 40ft into the North Sea. All went well until we started an argument with the German filmcrew who couldnt tell the difference between their collective arse and a hole in the floor and ended up pissing off the Redbull Marketing Machine by telling them we wanted to go home. When that didnt work we bribed a fisherman and Redbull felt so embarrassed they decided to buy us honorary titles making us Lord Marley and Lord Dickfingers of Sealand respectively and then promptly paid us a lot of money to write some bullshit about how great it all was. Unfortunately, I also wrote another less than positive article on it which aggravated matters somewhat, and left Redbull and Dickfingers Freelance Journalists on fairly sketchy ground, for all intents and purposes, shooting myself in the foot, buggering any chances I had of being shipped around to write bullshit for Redbull... You live and learn...

In other news my brand new gun licence turned up in the post so I am now a Police Certified Gun Carrier and as of tomorrow, I am off to have a look at getting myself a gun... the Olympics are only a few years away so I'm getting the practice in now. 

and it snowed

so I think we both know what happened next...

Happy Christmas and all that crap. Hope you get everything that you want. Im going to spend the festive period eating as much as is humanly possible in between shooting things and sitting down. Good times. Ill have a think about writing something better in the new year, I know that despite giving him some new shoes, TobyBrock is pretty bummed on the deteriorating quality of this here blog so I am going to do my utmost to make sure it's nothing short of bloody tops for 2010... 

Over and out until the new year...