It was obviously going to be a recipe for disaster, take a load of skaters and place them in a family holiday camp for the weekend, especially when you consider that the group included John "The Missing Link" Robinson, Dave Chesson, Chris Oliver (aka Rusty) and assorted other scumbags. The setting was the quiet and beautiful area of North Devon known as Croyde, and the reason for some of us to be there was a demo on the Red Bull mini ramp. The reason for the rest of us to be there was questionable. By the time we arrived on Friday night the Vans team were already in a serious state of disrepair after spending the evening in one of the three local bars and then going downhilling.The Link was sporting some serious "Chinese eyes" and Rusty was even more unintelligible than usual (as well as being dirtier and smellier than Stig of the Dump on a hot summers day). After saying our various hello's we headed off to the adjacent sand dunes for a smoking/dune jumping session. Rusty was keen to chuck himself down every hill in sight - so we let him get on with it and enjoyed the show. After a few goes on the adventure playground and watching The Link fall off a longboard into a flower bed we turned in for the night. I awoke bleary eyed on Saturday morning to the realization that it was going to be a seriously hot day. My day began with a brief visit to the St John's Ambulance to get my eye stitched up - not an injury resulting from the noble arts of skateboarding or pub brawling - but a result of having my head shut (very hard) in the door of a Mercedes van. I would like to take this opportunity to thank my group of so-called friends who subconsciously conceived this attempted assassination, they and their crimes are listed below for all to see:-
The Link - for failing to open the van door properly
Paul T - for driving the van and accelerating around a corner in the hope that I would fall out
Matt "Prawny" Naylor - For shouting brake at the very time my cranium was re-entering the van
Paul T - for braking
Needless to say this wasn't the way I had envisaged starting the day and was very tempted to just head back to bed. By the time I got to the ramp the session was in full swing and everyone was putting in a sturdy effort to work off their hangovers. The set up was a mini ramp with a hip off of it into a jump box over a car. The car-park surface was awful and it was obvious that someone was going to pay the fee if they fell on it. I spent my day alternating between watching the skating and dossing on the beach. I almost felt sorry for everyone skating all day in the blistering heat, but then I thought "Fuck it, they get enough free shoes, let the bastards suffer", as you can probably tell I was genuinely concerned for their well-being. In the afternoon the Globe team arrived, it consisted of Matt Prithcard (from Wales), Lee Dainton (from Wales), Matt Davies (from Wales), and Greg Nowik (not from Wales). The soundtrack for the day was some seriously funky hip-hop, which was perfect (respect to the DJ who spent a large portion of his day mixing it up in the back of the Red Bull Land Rover). Mark Churchill effortlessly leaped over the car with an array of grabs and tweaks, Emilio skated smooth and stylish with some nice indy's over the hip (one of which ended with a nasty slam onto the concrete). The Link looked to be suffering from the night before and was almost pleased when he slammed going over the car an terminated his toe, as this meant he didn't have to skate anymore. If soon turned black and he spent the rest of the weekend walking around like he'd shit his pants. Greg Nowik was just amazing, nuff said. Chesson pulled some of his trademark Chesson grinds and some tasty frontside flips. I saw a lot of girls with very nice bossoms and some very good skateboarding, so it turned out to be quite a good day after all.
As it started to cool down we had a few drinks in the beach bar and then headed back to the holiday camp to get scrubbed up ready for a night out. When we got to the pub we realised that our flow of alcohol would be seriously hindered by the abundance of football fans/cunts at the pub. After waiting 3 days to get served will chilled in the beer garden and got down to the business of getting pissed. The list of injuries grew longer as Weller shredded his toe on a step. We then headed to the village hall where we heard there was going to a party. On arrival we were told that we'd need a stamp or we couldn't come in. A nearby car provided the dirt that we needed to apply our own "stamp" and we were soon inside sweating our nuts off. The band were playing what sounded like 5 songs at once at least one of which was drum and bass. Naylor, Paul T, Chesson and Weller decided that they were going to have a rave revival and danced around topless performing some freestyle gurning and decidedly epileptic body moves. This is somewhat unusual because our chosen dance is usually the Bogel, no matter what the type of music playing. We could Bogel at a Slayer concert. The party ended with a stage invasion featuring all the usual suspects with a special mention to Greg Nowik who dropped his cacks and danced with his arse out for a good ten minutes. I spent a few minutes questioning various people, (the interrogation was short and sweet and consisted of two questions:- "did you spill my fucking pint" and "are you looking at my fucking bird"), and then headed outside feeling the worse for wear.
After fruitlessly looking for pirate treasure for a while I joined the prosession/drunken rampage back to the holiday camp. I was a bit worried that I wasn't battle scarred enough yet so I chucked myself into a hedge and cut my back, mission accomplished. Guy had obviously decided that this was the way to go and shinned up a telephone cable before dropping a good distance into another hedge. A few things got a mild beating on the way, Rusty was weilding a stake which got targetted (mostly unsuccessfully) at many inanimate objects and there was a half decent bundle. Remarkbly we made it back to the campsite where we found that some of our comrades had already negotiated a lock in and the camp bar (Cheers for the drinks Jeff). Although we had missed the evenings Bingo session the entertainment in the bar was still fantastic. Unfortunately I missed some fat freak getting quizzed about her bi-sexuality by her white trash family. However I witnessed the spectacle of Greg Nowik (who by this point was hideously drunk and was talking like one of those fucked up old men who are always in the pub the moment it opens, to say that he was unintelligable would be an understatement) giving Julian a belting (at his own request). His first shot was a particularly vicious blow to the throat, followed by a much cleaner smack round the head. As with all good things it had to come to an end and we headed back to our chalets. There was some half-hearted chat about a trip to the beach but I don't think it materialised.
In the morning I took a walk round to survey the damage whicn I have to say was very minmal. However the room inhabited by Chesson, Rusty, Julian and half the population of Southampton looked like they had made their own indoor beach, but other than that the site was in one peice. As we left I saw the manager breathe a sigh of relief.
Sunday was spent much the same as the day before, except it was hotter and the skating was understandably less enthusiastic.We said our goodbyes and headed for the big smoke, already looking forward to our next adventure - Glastonbury
The results for the weekends sun-burn competion were as follows:-
Third place- Paul T for his general all over redness
Second Place- Matt Naylor for his red back avec white hand print (achieved by getting patted on the back by someone with high factor sun cream on)
First Place- Dave Chesson for third degree burns on his ears resulting in huge blisters
The traditional cussing event was declared a draw as no-one was actually made to cry or hit someone.
A big thankyou to all the people who wanted to kill us, but didn't.
Recovery time - 4 days and counting
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