OK then, the picture above says more than I ever could about the weekend. But I have to try, so here goes.Bruce, John, Dan, Dave and I drove down to North Devon to surf and dick about for the weekend just like we did last year. 
As you can see it was all fun and games until about 20 miles from our destination.
In a fairly sudden slow down of traffic Dave and Dan got rear ended, shunting them into us in John's van in front. Although the van was relatively unscathed Dave's car took a serious beating, probably writing it off.
The culprits were two teenagers driving this thing. With those bull bars it completely fucked Dave's car but remained near perfect itself. Personally I think bull bars are pretty fucking lame. It doesn't exactly make collisions fair - especially in a case like this.
We left Dave's motor behind and all bundled into the van for the remainder of the journey.
As you can see it was all fun and games until about 20 miles from our destination.
In a fairly sudden slow down of traffic Dave and Dan got rear ended, shunting them into us in John's van in front. Although the van was relatively unscathed Dave's car took a serious beating, probably writing it off.
The culprits were two teenagers driving this thing. With those bull bars it completely fucked Dave's car but remained near perfect itself. Personally I think bull bars are pretty fucking lame. It doesn't exactly make collisions fair - especially in a case like this.
We left Dave's motor behind and all bundled into the van for the remainder of the journey.
Our caravan was the next model up from the one we had last year and was complete with proper sofas and TV/DVD players and all kinds of other crap that keep the chav families that normally stay in them happy when they're not screaming at each other and fighting with other families in the on-site bar.
Eventually it was time to check the surf and get down the beach.
As soon as we were suited and booted and made it down into the water the sky turned black, the heavens opened and the waves turned into something out of Big Wednesday. 
I don't think any of us had much of a good surf. 
First rule of self portraiture - never stand next to somebody handsomer than yourself.
The local grog is pretty gnarly. Imagine the amount of teenage pregnancies that this shit has caused (even on that one caravan park alone).
There's nothing like laughing at the disabled.
I hate Dave.
We stood in this crappy spot in this local crappy pub called The Thatch all of Friday night and drank crappy cider. After a while I realised how much I hate surfers and how much I hate the west country. As for west country surfers - I can't stand the motherfuckers. They're so damn smug in their Quicksilver shorts and Birkenstocks (or worse, Globes) as they pad around their quaint little villages listening to the fucking Chilli Peppers or whatever middle of the road bullshit they think goes with their "lifestyle". Why does everyone have a beige hoodie? They can't all think it suits them? The men are handsome and the women are young and the whole thing makes me sick. I realised that night that I could pretty much only live in Brighton, London or equivalent. It's the small town mentality that drives me insane. ECCCH! 
The Broxholmes turned up. Bruce auditioned to be their mini-bodyguard.
But ended up sticking to what he knows best.
Saturday night saw us in the caravan park's very own bar watching the Phoenix Nights style acts.
We pissed ourselves watching this guy. Unfortunately we were laughing at him not with him as he did his impressions of the Teletubbies and blacks. Sometimes it's hard being the informed, right-on guardians of the truth that we are - occasionally it might be nice to let our hair down (and our standards) and just join in with the lowest common denominators of society and enjoy the mediocre rubbish that passes as entertainment in this country. God, it's so hard being better than everybody else!
I hate Dave.
Arriving home is always great, especially when the postman has brought you Ghostface tickets!
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