Wednesday, 5 January 2011

Come come Mr Bond...

As with any massive high, comes a crashing low. Which in many ways is totally standard. It's swings and roundabouts innit. If you were constantly buzzing you'd eventually have nowhere left to go as your nonce would eventually be bouncing off whatever ceiling you're under. Which, on trying to leave Sheffield earlier in the week, is the theory behind our collective missing of the train back to the smoke. After all that goodness, why let it carry on being so good when you can fuck it up for yourselves by indulging oneself in a flat white too far. Too much, too young. In our case we set about blaming everyone but ourselves including relatives in other parts of the world.

Whoever it was, it certainly wasn't us.

Desperately attempting to leave the Steel Citay...

View from the afternoon

Man-sized kebab

Format fusions

Having a great time

Having a really greatttt time

Wheels within wheels

Dreams can come true

Granny business


Wind your pooch's neck in. Babes

Festive munch

The grail

Santa Barber

Radicalising the moderates


Suge Knight the 2nd

Hello handsome. What's your name?




The chef

New Year wheezey soaking you to the molecule

Christmas and NYE go together like a hand up a fist. If your flex is appropriately prepped, then once you've stuffed yourself stupid over the festive period, you can dance yourself thin less than five days later. We journeyed to Sheffield to do exactly that in an arch deep in the guts of the city. Kabal was the flex featuring Pipes, FMG and Chris Welch who kept the arch reverbertaing until well into the next morning. Predictably we spunked our fun load a little too early in the club but made up for it by attempting to drown ourselves in liquor back at the (borrowed) ranch. Props to the Kabal committee. As expected, it was big, bad and heavy. And ring a ding ding to the Off Me Nut Crew, who were also repping. Hard. Sheffield past meets Sheffield future somewhere near Niche. Hello 2011. Let's be having you...

Fetching the late night mince



Chimney bizness

In the heart of the Kabal

A blurry FMG

Fucking squire

Double chin flex


Pipes. On it.

Early doors


Pipes and the FMG getting a lather on...



You wouldn't want it any other way...

Christmas this year was a lot. The language around the snooker table at my rent's gaff was similar to that used on the touch lines of amateur league football pitches. We lost £20 on the Euromillions draw. The hostess trolley was murked within an inch of its ever decreasing life. We watched Mr Bean goes on holiday. We learned about Great Uncle Len (RIP) who went inside before jumping in front of a train. Some ducks got feed. One robin got dubbed "a bastard" by one rent in particular. Props to the folks for putting up with us. You were too kind...

Hot ball action


It's a post dubstep kinda ting

Custard trifle flex

Totally locked on it

Christmas dins - done

Live hostess trolley action

Wibbling rivalry

It's a pinot grigio type o'ting

Best meal of the year


Bench pressing