Hello nice people in the Czech Republic.
We are flying to your shores on Wednesday.
We are doing a week of shows.
I tried to upload the poster with the dates on but photobucket decided to be a cunt so you get this waffling bullshit instead.
So,
you have to look at our profile to see where we are playing.
I am very excited.
I can't wait to drink that Cola stuff.
Kofola or something init?
Yum.
Makes me feel like all special and foreign.
And i am gonna eat all types of flesh.
Sausages and steaks.
And we are being chaperoned by our brother Chi Chi man.
I know this isn't how you spell his name but i am rubbish at stuff like that.
Chi chi man is the Vampire of Prague.
I also have called him the King of Prague too.
He is nice.
We will cruise in his van which has got a Thrsher sticker on it which makes me feel hard.
Then we will hang with our friends in Malovsko...(again i am sure the spelling is wrong)
I wonder if it will be snowing.
And we will be in a winter wonderland.
I won't throw snowballs though because i am a real miserable bastard.
I forgot how to have fun at about the age of nine.
My girl Becky is coming along.
She's got fantastic tits.
Yup.
Aint i the lucky.
Yes siree.
Today i am looking after my nan again.
good old Winny.
Barking fucking mad but doing well.
Just had the 11 oclock banana.
Sandwich at 1.
She'll be having prawns.
Prawns are ok.
Better as a cocktail than sandwich though.
But will granny appreciate salad?
No fucking way.
she'd probably cast it onto the floor where the remains of her breakfast lay.
We love Winny.

x

A sneer across my face.
We travel before the successful.
We the African princes come toilet cleaners,
we the tired Polish whores,
we the Indian lawyers to be security guards,
we the disgruntled English forced out of jobs once secure.
All sad,all quiet,all together knackered,all humbled.
One day we'll be successful.
A big fuck you to a failed schooling 2 decades before.
Today,tortured spine,broken and worn.
Spent and washed up,
in father's eyes a failure.
Unmarried,skint bitter.

We ride these early mornings.

One day i'll photgraph the tired at my glorious leisure.
Turning them into art for the successful.
One day a bacon sandwich won't seem like a luxury,
Starbucks an irresponsible indulgence.
And i'll return to white sheets and clean carpets.
Return successful to my palace,
give a shit
and flick crumbs on the floor.

Telling ya,
The best place in South London for flesh is the Gallery.
Up the top of Brixton Hill on the right.
A Portugese takeaway.
You can eat in too if you are super cool.
Oh my dayz.
So they have 4 marinades.
Herb,peri peri med and hot and Jedungo(banging heat African sauce)
For £3.50 you can get a star burger.
2 chicken breasts in a bun with a bit of lettuce,tomato and mayo.
Fuck cheese and bacon and all that fancy shit.
this is all you need when it comes to the best chicken sandwich you will ever eat.
I get it Jedungo coz i am a man but it don't fuck ya stomach up like Nandoes does.
This shit is smooth heat.
Even cooler,they give you a handfull of their home made crisps.They are warm.
Yup.
the Bollox.
Back in the days of old when i actually had a few pence in my pocket,i would go crazy there.
Lamb fucking cutlets!!!!
4 of those bastards cooked with the good shit marinade in a foil container.
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh.
I can't bare it.
If you like flesh.
Go to the Gallery.
Them lamb cutlets are like 4 quid.
Their Chicken is the best.
Comes in a white foil bag.
A whole chicken is like £7.50.
It will be the best chicken you have ever eaten.
And Chorizo.A whole chorizo sausage,spliced like a rattlesnakes tail.
Man,you gotta chew that bastard.
Proper hard persons like myself aint afraid of scary sausages.
£2 fuckin 50.
You could easy feed you and ya love one indoors for a tenner.
And she'd be proper in awe of you coz now you is a hunter gatherer and you have just brung her the best feed she's had in time.
One last thing.
They sell the marinade.
Makes Nandoes look stupid.
Telling ya.
xx

........................

A hundred feet away, the perfectly manicured lawn of the football pitch lies empty like the thousand of similar pitches across Britain. Worse than London’s bus lanes, the playground of thugs unused 99% of the time.

            A hundred feet away in a shitty unkempt scrap of woodland the trails are growing.

20 years before in Thatcher’s Britain, I built a skateboard ramp in these woods. We shared this dumping ground with glue sniffers and skinheads. Skateboard facilities were non existent. We were treated as criminals, we were the outcasts. The ramp in the woods lasted a spring and a summer before ironically, being torn to pieces by bored Roman Catholic school children for want of better things to do. Let’s hope the Man O War trails last longer.

            Concealed in dense undergrowth, they kinda spring up on you. Invisible from 30 feet, my first reaction upon finding them was ‘What the fuck?’. The sheer magnitude and effort these guys have gone to dwarfs the achievements of 20 years past.

            I thought I was alone; such is the camouflaged way of the trails. Not so, my stumbling bewildered presence was quickly noted by the trail men. Topless and dirty, shovels and picks in hand, beautiful. My photographer roommate would wet herself. All these sun dappled savages for her to shoot.

            And it would seem that history repeats itself. The parties, the barbeques, the friends living life their own way. Positive energies doing something off their own backs. Creating and nurturing, crafting a perfect scene, a perfect growing landscape.

            I give the trails 6 months before the dozers move in, and every one of those 20 or so 10 ton, hand built dirt jumps will be leveled, and the woods will lay silent and neglected again. The dumping ground for fly tippers, whilst the tax payer pays for the upkeep of those barely used football pitches mere feet away.

I can follow an ass like that anywhere.
Up an escalator,
through a crowded station concourse,
down a fuckin mineshaft.
I comet tail your heavenly path,
eclipsed at intervals by stuffy pencil necked city bankers,
your white linen clad majestic return ever the sweeter to my eager glare.
Plump ample cleft,
light bountiful volume,
delicate plumage.
To rest thy flushed cheek pon such a peach.
I need a wank.

We are sick pale thugs with wonky teeth.
Tracksuit clad venomous cunts.
They say that the rancid bite of an Englishman contains more cholera and dysentary than an African river.

The escalator traffic seems to indicate towards the hot day i'm having.
All those cheeky glances,
young and old.
And i stand there poised and sharp.
Returning the eye smolders,
legs slightly apart,
groin forward.
Teasing those hot sweaty bitchs with dreams of an afternoon fuck in a London hotel room bed.

Milky jellies.
Wobbling platters.
The summertime favourite in every hungry males lunchbox.
Framed in black lace on a cream cotton background,
drizzled in white wine spritzer,
the flushed English rose.
Mmmmm,
utterly delicious