Last weekend, (leste Wochenende for any germans who might be reading), I voyaged on the good ship aircoach to "de Narrrth"My Ipod died before I got on the bus, so I amused myself by looking in front of me. I must admit I was a little skeptical as the last two times I ventured to Belfast I ended up at either St Annes or the Waterfront, and if like me, your mass density makes an acid drop off a cerb feel like a base jump, then neither of these spots are your bag.
However young Mini "Keith" Brown did assure me that there were "planny ee spats", so some faith was instilled in my faithful brother.
After he picked me up from the bus stop (I almost got off in Newry by accident) we stopped off at Lidl's boutique to pick up essential supplies such as this sex panther energy drink.
As the Chief in Police Academy would say "Many many many spots were ripped " including these rad rad rad bank yolks by the hospital, unfortunately I didn't take many more spat pics as I was bust pullin' the trigger. Fortunately both cameras are not equipped with microphones so you won't be subjected to the rapid fire gob of young Mennis Lynn. Man that kid can yap, but he evens the yap out with rip so its all good.
Next day i was up before dawn as promised to Ol' Dirty Mini. "You're actually serious, yewanna be up at aaaate?". Too right! I need every minute of light, especially considering its winter and Ireland and light is imperative to exposing the radness.
"Riiite, you'll have a haaard time gattin me outta bad" True that. I have a theory about Mini, i think he may be a new breed of super human that instead of sleeping just dies every night. I don't know anyone else who's daily consumption can consist of 15ish black coffees, fried food, dozens of smokes and a few beers- EVERYDAY! No exception! It was to no surprise that when his reversing-truck-a-like alarm went off it woke his house-mates but not him..twice. He said the only way he'd rise would be if I had his new board set up for him, a fresh cwafee and a smile. I dutifully obliged and he begrudgingly rose again (on the third day).
It was rad gettin' out while the sun was still rising, no one was on the streets and the light was delicious, so we made the most of it. First spaat was a tree-ride! The powers that be cunningly skate stopped the tree's run up with knock knocks, my resulting attempts to move it made supermini wretch. The lengths I'll go to, huh.. Part- poo art
After hitting a really fun wallride spot under a bridge we picked up cake baker JB (who's sprogs had him up since the wee wee hours) and made him jump down stuff, which he did very well, very well done.
Marc Beggan, who was referred to as Beaglesbee about 100 times a day also stood on his skateboard and made it do manys the wonderful stunt. The North has plenty of talent, in the candid photo department too (like he didn't know!), but yeah, rippers!
Send your funny caption of big Stu's wallie wax photo on the inside of a frayed elastic band to the nearest teeth-marked styrofoam cup and be in with a chance to win a pile of misprinted zine paper.
After a super duper and very productive weekend I went back to the homestead only to discover that the intellectual battle with my furry escape artiste was still raging like a simile about something that rages.
I'd lazily placed a copy of Slap over the only uncovered hole in the roof of the cage (which I thought was unreachable) but it seems I underestimated this one as she's already started to make a meal of Nick Domperiere's noseblunt pic.
Slap, endorsed by radical rodents.
Was meant to hit up an Corcaigh this weekend, but Samuel pickled Perkins sent me a weather warning, so that will be on ice until a better time. In the mean time my work is relocating to a fields a further, so I'd to invest in a new bike, its red, that's how you know its the good stuff. This is me shadow cycling/rippin.