Did Not Land

It's funny that you're only supposed to show photos of a trick someone rolled away from, because the ‘make’ is such a small part of a day’s skating. Joey obviously did not roll away from this ollie, but I like these photos anyway – they’re funny and they remind me of the day I took them. We’d all ridden our bikes to the new Brunswick skatepark, which is right near my house. I dislike the park, because the bowl is so deep and the street course is so shit. If it weren’t so close to my house it wouldn't bother me, but because it is, it does.

I had just put my board down and was talking to Mavie about something, when I actually fell into the bowl! It wasn't painful, but it was quite awkward and hilarious, and kicked the day off quite nicely. After skating there for a bit too long, we rode to A1 Bakery for lunch. They stuffed up our order, but that's alright. After our cheese pies, we stopped at a wallride spot that was much more difficult than it looked. Then we rode all the way out to Fawkner and skated there for a while, which is where I took these photos. Then we rode back along the Merri Creek bike track.

The day had a funny, meandering feeling to it, probably because of the fact we rode. There was less focus on the actual skating and it was more about the laughs we had along the way, which was sort of nice. Which brings me back to my first point. I'm not saying that there shouldn't be an emphasis placed on tricks that are landed, because there is such energy inherent in those images, and landing tricks is what good skateboarders do, but pictures of people making mistakes are interesting too, sometimes. Give me a photo of Joey flailing around madly any day – it’s funny! P.S. I should mention that Joey had already rolled away from plenty of these ollies before we decided to take a photo of it, but my camera must've stressed him out or something.

Writings from the past – The freak factor of Chris Gill

“I’ve looked like this for a long, long time. I’ve pimped this thing for a long time. The ripples in the pond go long.” 
Chris Gill cuts a distinctive figure. It’s mainly the hair – a big, wiry white man’s afro; but it’s also the big-collared shirt, the sideways smirk, the determinedly laidback everything about him.

Northside Records is an extension of Gill. He’s run the Fitzroy store for the past 12 years, and in that time, it’s become the hub of soul music in Melbourne. “When we started the store, soul music was not represented in Australia at all,” he says. “Of course, there’s always been an undercurrent, but opening the shop was about supporting it, giving it a voice and giving it a chance.” On the day of my visit, Gill is doing his thing in the store, rapping with customers (“Secondhand hip-hop is up the back, man”), flipping records on the store turntable beautifully, almost unconsciously, and explaining to me, a novice, about this soul music deal. “Essentially it’s a groove that allows you to relax yourself,” he says. “It’s about a good time, about feeling. There’s a syncopated drum rhythm that is shared by a lot of styles of music, which of course stems out of Africa. That’s the kind of music I push through the store, a lot of soul, Latin, dub, hip-hop, reggae type music. That’s the swimming pool we’re swimming in.”

Gill jumped into the metaphoric swimming pool as a kid, when he noticed that of all the Frank Sinatra songs his dad played, the tunes he gravitated to were produced by the same guy. “I looked at the back of the cassettes and saw that name – Quincy Jones. Then I saw all the Michael Jackson stuff and there he was again.” Once he’d gotten his toes wet, Gill paddled deeper and deeper, and essentially now bathes in the stuff 24-7. “Having the record store, it’s a joy watching people swim in the stuff and find their own way. Sometimes they ask for suggestions and you just nudge them in a direction.” He’s been DJing at parties since ’91, and on community radio for around the same amount of time. Currently, he hosts Get Down on RRR as well as a regular slot on ABC 774. Northside Records also has its own record label, which released The Soul of Melbourne compilation in 2012 featuring tracks from local acts and associates including The Cactus Channel and Chet Faker. Gill reads out the label’s brief hand written contract with Saskwatch, which is stuck on the wall behind him: “Three words: keep it real.”

Keeping it real seems to come naturally to Gill. “You wouldn’t get into this business if money was your driving force. I’ve been bad at business but my focus is more on longevity and integrity.” He tells me ‘the man’ comes knocking occasionally, but he isn’t really down for swapping a slice of his thing for corporate cash. “I don’t think integrity and branding work. It just becomes gross,” he says. “My unions are made through more like-minded stuff, like the Social Studio down the road or people who tour soul music.” On the day of my visit, Justin Timberlake’s band stopped by, and ended up playing a live set for his radio show. As far as Gill is concerned, the pay off is these confluences, which are less about business and more about enjoying the music he’s built his whole life around. “I’m a total fanboy,” he says. “Your place is in the crowd dancing. If you don’t love it any more, get out.” He tells me a story to illustrate the point: “This Sudanese kid Ror who’s doing his VCE just put an album out and it’s a-mazing. He did the launch and like, it was great. But the best bit was when after everyone had gone and Ror and his buddies were standing around the desk singing hip-hop songs, just owning it. Just seeing it for a second was like… oh shiiit. That’s the pay off.”

A couple of days after our meeting, I bump into Chris again, this time on Johnston Street, Collingwood. He’s on his way to pick up his car. “This is the new place to be, right?” he tells me. It’s not a question. “They’re even moving the Gertrude Street Gallery down here. That’s like the left ventricle of Gertrude Street.” I suggest to Chris that he might be the right ventricle, at which he scoffs. “Nah man, I’m more like the… the…,” he looks around, scanning the air for the next line. “I’m the left armpit of Gertrude Street, man. Kinda funky.”

An edited version of this story was published in Vault magazine Issue 8, November 2014

Walk – my newish zine

I went to Sydney a few weeks ago for a zine fair. I blogged about it here, if you don't believe me. Anyway I made a zine to take to the fair and it turned out really nice. It's about taking Fred and Tess for a walk, and looking for a coffee, and the repetition of life, and finding comfort in that, and ... busting for the toilet.

Walk is available from The Good Copy shop in Melbourne, Twenty Fifty Two in Adelaide and also my online store. 

I talk about Fred with Broadsheet

Have a look here

Sore heel

I've had a sore heel for a couple of months now. It flares up every time I go skating, to the point where I can't walk - like right now. At first I thought it was bruised, so I waited for it to go away, but it didn't. So I went to the doctors and they told me it is a thing called plantar fasciitis, or jogger's heel. The treatment is to massage it a lot and take it easy, which I did for a couple of weeks and thought was working, so I went skating today, and now I can't walk.
Jesus, it hurts. It feels like it's broken, but the doctor was pretty sure it's this plantar fascist thing. It will start feeling better again tomorrow, then it will gradually fade away until I'll think it will be fine to go skating again next weekend. But I wanted to put this up so I'll remember not to skate again, not until I get this sorted out. Bastard.
Here's a clip we filmed yesterday with Sam, Tom, me, French and Alex in it.



It's not as if I bang my heel or anything; it just gets sore from rolling around, probably from the action of pushing. This is especially shit because it means I shouldn't even just go out and film, because that will be just as bad. I realise this is boring.

TOP 5 THINGS ABOUT MY SKATE ON SATURDAY

I went skating yesterday and it was fantastic. I've been sick all week so it could've gone either way, but the fresh air and male company was exactly what the doctor ordered. Above is a picture of Riley smith grinding the hilarious black ramp up the road from Reservoir, and below is a short 'listicle' piece I wrote for a skate magazine about our skate last weekend. On reflection, it is a tad self-indulgent and it was quite understandably rejected. So I wrote something else, and Slam's loss is the blog's gain.

TOP 5 THINGS ABOUT MY SKATE ON SATURDAY
1. I left my new board at home
I have a new board. It’s beautiful. I applied the grip tape with my usual love and care during an episode of MasterChef, which caused the usual grimaces from Rosie. ‘It’s so loud!’ she said, while I carefully filed down the edges with my trusty pocketknife. ‘You love it,’ I said, lost in the ritual.
I like having a new board kicking around the house. I’ll walk past it and have a look at it, maybe put it on the ground and do a few shove-its on the carpet. I’ll pick it up and examine it lovingly. It’s a hangover from my first proper board, which my mum bought then stuck on top of the cupboard until I had paid it off in instalments. I loved that board, but I learned the promise of it was almost better than the reality: it was a skateboard, a temporary thing, defined by its destructibility. This way, I’ll enjoy this board more. Because after the first skate, it will be relegated to the spot behind the front door, and I’ll never look at it in wonder again. Then I’ll get sick of it for some stupid reason, and then I’ll want another. The circle of life.
But on Saturday morning I had a look at my trusty old board and thought, no, this one is good for one more round. It will be great, I thought. I might even finish it off while trying one of those board-breaking tricks I usually avoid.

2. Sam drove for a change
For some reason, I’m the guy in charge of organising our weekly skate trips. ‘Where are we going?’ reads one of the flurry of texts. ‘Who else is coming?’ reads another. ‘What time?’, ‘My board is in the city!’, ‘I’m having breakfast,’ and so on. This weekend, I pretended that Rosie needed the car and suggested that maybe Sam could drive his parent’s car. To my surprise, he was up for it. ‘Scoop you at 12,’ he texted, and didn’t even ask for my address like he usually does. I made him a coffee as a show of my gratitude, and made myself comfortable on the heated leather back seat, complete with cup holder. Chris was sitting shotgun, and we picked up Pete on the way.

3. We went to a skatepark that looked good in pictures but sucked in real life
True to form, Pete knew of an obscure skatepark that we should definitely visit on the way to our intended destination. ‘Duuude,’ he said, stretching out the ‘oo’, ‘Tarneit. Check it out.’ The pictures on his phone looked pretty good, and we began speculating on what tricks we would all perform with ease. Tarneit is one of those new suburbs that, up until a couple of months ago, was a paddock. The skatepark was located on a humorously named street. What was it? That’s right: Woolybush Drive. That was the most amusing thing about it, though. The place sucks. It’s like it was made with some leftover concrete from the nearby building sites. It had cracks in front of the obstacles like on a footpath, and huge wooden stakes on the back of the one decent obstacle that made it extra terrifying. Because there was no toilet, Sam had to take a piss in a nearby bush. ‘How did you go?’ I asked upon his return. ‘Not bad,’ he replied, ‘but I realised halfway through that I was actually pissing in front of someone’s house.’

Here's Tree with a backside smith grind at Fitzroy 'pixie dust' bowl.

4. We got lost
After a quick stop at the golden arches (Sam wanted to create his own burger, the result of which he said was, ‘actually quite good’), we continued on our way to skate our ultimate destination: New Werribee. ‘Take a left here,’ said Pete, as we sat in curiously gridlocked traffic. Sam took a left. ‘Oh ... you need to do a u-turn. It was the next left.’ Sam did a u-turn and rejoined the traffic, then took the next left. We drove along for a while until Sam and I voiced a mutual intuition that we were getting further away from, rather than closer to, the park. Pete consulted his phone, which was rapidly losing battery life. ‘Oh ... you’re going to hate me ...,’ he said. ‘Don’t say it!’ I said, clapping my hands in glee. ‘... Remember back there where you did a u-turn?’ said Pete, ‘We need to get back there.’

5. We had a good skate
When we finally found the park, I felt like one of those chimps that were set free after being held captive for 30 years. The park is essentially a few banks and ledges built around the edge of a basketball court, which sounds underwhelming, but is in fact a wonderful thing to behold. After a few minutes of pushing around, I started feeling comfortable and began trying tricks. I did a kickflip and landed it. I did another one and fell over, but in a funny way that didn’t hurt. We were all smiling and laughing like we were in a cheesy movie. Even Sam was looking enthused. There were a few kids milling about watching and they asked me if I had a YouTube channel. ‘No,’ I lied.
 We started skating a narrow ledge over a patch of grass onto the footpath. Due to the wax, metal edges and my general ‘glass half empty’ attitude, it was a relatively scary obstacle, but because it had been such a good skate, I thought I’d give it a crack. ‘Kirksy back tailed it,’ observed Sam, gently putting things in perspective. I tried a boardslide and it didn’t feel that bad. I tried it again and nearly got it. Sam raised his eyebrows and said, ‘That might actually happen.’ I tried it again and landed it easily. It felt fantastic, so I did it another few times while toying with the idea of trying something more difficult. Then I stuck on one, tumbled forward and landed on the end of the ledge on my thigh and forearm. It was nasty. ‘Shit!’ said Sam, ‘Are you alright?’ I nodded and began walking around, swaying in pain. The kids who asked about the YouTube channel were laughing at me, and I resisted the urge to yell bad words at them, words like ‘FUCK OFF’. I put my jacket on, sat down and watched Chris and Pete attempt a stupid challenge of rolling from one side of the bank to the other. When Pete made it, we cheered, then walked back to the car (I hobbled). We talked about some stuff on the way home and I got a bit wound up about Tony Abbott. ‘You should wear a helmet,’ said Rosie when I got home. I had a bath. As I type this, I can hardly move.

Daddy Cool

In which we go skating at a couple of parks.

Goodbye Jay

A couple of weeks ago my grandma died, so we packed up and headed to Adelaide for the week. We took Fred.

And Tess. This was one of our many stops along the way. Fred was pretty good but he does take a bit of attention because he's a baby.

In Adelaide, we hung out with different facets of my family and did little things all week. One of them was visit Pij at his work, which is the zoo. Fred was more interested in Pij than the animals.

Pij is the orangutan keeper. The orangutans were interested in Fred and a bit confused by his presence.

The male oragutan was up to mischief. He was dragging around a blanket with his toes and carrying a small stick he found, which Pij said was quite naughty. His hair was amazing.

We were admiring a baby baboon riding on his mum's back when out of nowhere the dad started doing this. Then he had sex, then sat back relaxing.

These guys are so acrobatic! I love them. Primates are incredible.

We dropped in to see my old friend Ben at his furniture shop. He was there with his daughter Violet, who is very cute.

We went to look in an old house called Carrick Hill with my mum, and it was pretty good, but they only do scones on Wednesday and Saturday or some shit. I was really looking forward to those scones. 

It was nice. We did a lot of tea drinking in Adelaide, and coffee drinking also.

We stayed with my dad and Joy, who were fantastic hosts. Fred was definitely a drawcard.

We went for a walk with Anna and her dogs.

Classic stuff from Rosie and Fred.

Quite an idyllic scene.

Finally, on the day before we left town, it was time for a get together to farewell my grandma Jay, my mum's mother. I hadn't seen many of my aunties or cousins for years and years, so it was quite an overwhelming but really lovely experience.

We sat around in a circle and told stories about Jay. She was such a clever, funny, resourceful woman, who I didn't really know, or I did know, but only a part of her. But I suppose that is like everyone. One thing that came through very strongly was that she had a particular sense of humour that all of us have, which I hadn't really thought about, but it's true.

After we did that, we ate lots of food that we had all brought, then we had some photos taken. First up, all the present cousins. That's me crouching up the front. Jay was the best op-shopper I have ever known. She dressed in designer clothes and furnished her house with amazing things she found from all over the place. She even had a stuffed emu in the front room named Effie, who wore boots and spectacles.

Cousins plus aunties, and Tess. One rainy evening Jay rode past my auntie Cherry and called out a cheery greeting from her bike. She was wearing a big plastic bag that also covered a vacuum cleaner she had strapped to the front. 

Cousins plus aunties plus partners, friends, and fathers, and Tess, and Fred. Jay was always lovely to me and had a sparkly smile like Fred's. She was also really good at entertaining visitors. 'Well, it's been lovely seeing you all,' she would say, clapping her hands together and smiling at us all lazing about on the couch. That was our cue to leave.

Ledge

A videographic documentation of the Saturday just been.

French's birthday bash

Yesterday was French's birthday, so we went skating all day. French likes skating, so he does it all the time. It's good to be around. He told me about this birthday skate a couple of weeks ago and when I said it might be tricky to get the time to do it, he said, 'that's why I'm telling you about it now'.

Here's French. He got this hat and hoodie for his birthday from Chrissie, his wife.

French had really long hair until a couple of weeks ago. Now he has short hair, he says, 'Fuck long hair, it's stupid.' Now French has short hair, he looks a bit like Ed.

Speaking of long hair, here are two lovely people.

Jim, angry skies and a really nice ollie.

Mavie became a dad for the second time only four weeks ago, but he managed to come out for a quick roll, to our delight.

The roster was large and illustrious, including visitors from Adelaide and Sydney. We piled into a 12-seater van and hit the road for Rose Hill.

Rose Hill is a fantastic skatepark, but only when no one is there. This was one of those days. We sped around in circles for ages, then I started filming Will, Trent, Keegan and Dale skate the kicker gap. The clip is down there.

Jim with another monster ollie. Shutter speed was too slow, but you get the picture. It was a great session. Happy birthday French!

French's birthday skate from Max Olijnyk on Vimeo.

Why can't we be friends?

Why can't we be friends? from Max Olijnyk on Vimeo.

We went for a skate yesterday at Gisborne. It's one of my favourite skateparks in Melbourne (well, you know what I mean) for a quite a few reasons, only vaguely to do with the actual skatepark. For one thing, there are trees there, and hills. The air is cool and fresh. Especially at this time of year, it's a really pretty place to be in and makes a nice change from the industrial backlots and office buildings we usually find ourselves in of a weekend afternoon. This sounds quite hippyish and maybe it is, but even Sam is fond of the nature vibes of Gisborne.
'Is that the one in the forest?' he asked when I proposed the trip the night before, over a bracing round of chicken parmas. When I replied in the affirmative, he said, 'Yep, I could go there,' which, as anyone who is familiar with Sam knows, is a glowing endorsement.
Anyway, there's also the fish and chip shop. There are actually four fish and chip shops within walking distance of the skatepark, but I prefer the one just over the road. We order chips with chicken salt and, for while we're waiting, a cheeky potato cake. They sell tomato sauce in strange plastic containers that look like oversized Nespresso pods. We take the chips back to the park and eat them while continuing to skate and laugh at Jason who is having a hell of a day.
The park is rarely crowded, which is maybe the best thing about it. Yesterday, there was a sprinkling of scooters, both supervised and dreadlocked, but they only got in my way a few times. It's a strange mixture of fear and anger that boils up when a scooter gets in your way - because oftentimes, they have no idea they're in your way at all, and that makes them even more dangerous. Sometimes I turn a particular scooter kid into a villain in my mind. 'Greeny is a nightmare,' I comment to an offsider. 'He's everywhere you want to be.' After five or six near misses, I'll yell at the kid or talk to him or something, and realise he's just a kid, and even if he knows he's getting in my way, that just means he's a little shit, which is what most kids are. I'm a 38 year old in a playground, yelling at kids. I'm the villain.
But that didn't happen much yesterday. The park is nice and spread out, and while not exactly groundbreaking, its design is clever and caters to most tastes. I always get puffed when I skate at Gisborne, and it feels good to be puffed.
The drive to and from the skatepark is also always enjoyable. As the driver, I much prefer sitting on the highway for 40 minutes to lurching my way around the suburbs. We listened to French's recap of his night seeing not only Carcass but Napalm Death play live in St Kilda. We stopped at McDonalds and got a coffee. We dissected several video clips and discussed how Consolidated was Anti Hero before Anti Hero was Anti Hero. And on the way back, we talked about Asian game shows and I was home by 4pm. And that's why I like Gisborne.

Out on the skateboards with Max and Jase

Jason and I headed down to Docklands yesterday for a skate. It had been a while between visits and sure enough, we got lost in an endless mess of display homes, fake parks and deserted marketplaces. Oh, and a fashion festival. It was great fun! Well, you be the judge of that.

Out on the skateboards with Max and Jase from Max Olijnyk on Vimeo.

Mornings with Fred

Sometimes when I wake up, Fred is lying next to me, black eyes gazing into the half-darkness. He’s lost in thought, staring at the light fitting or the curtains, or the cupboard. He’s been in and out of consciousness many times throughout the night and the last time, perhaps sensing the closeness of dawn, he was reluctant to go through all that again.

So Rosie pulled him out of his cot and put him in between us, and cuddled him until she dropped off to sleep herself. Of course, I’m only speculating on this because I slept through most of it, but here we are, Fred and me. 

I kiss him on the top of his tufty head and he flinches slightly, but keeps his eyes fixed on the light fitting or the curtains, or the cupboard. It is only when I prop myself up on my elbow and insert my head in his field of vision that he really acknowledges my presence. 

I smile widely and make the little clicking noises with my tongue that have become our morning language. He smiles back at me and returns a click, then sighs and returns to his gazing. 

I click again and rub his chest, demanding attention. He searches my face for clues. I raise my eyebrows as if I’m amazed, and click. He squeals with delight, reaches out and paws my cheek with the back of his wet little hand. 

I pick him up and carry him to the spare bedroom, where I change his nappy while he stares at the picture of ‘r for rugby’, and then we walk around the house, visiting every mirror. 

His favourite by far is the one in the bathroom. I turn the heat light on and we stare at ourselves, narcissists in arms. Actually, I mainly stare at him, the mass of hair and damage that is my face a secondary prop. 

I kiss him on the top of his tufty head and he squirms happily, his mouth open like a musician in the middle of a solo. He loves it. 

We shuffle back to bed and I lay him down again. He is disappointed and begins crying. Rosie stirs and smiles at him, and makes her own special Fred cooing noises. He looks up at her in relief as she picks him up to feed. 

You may have noticed that the photos that accompany this story are of skating, not Fred. That's because I went skating yesterday at both Knox parks, young and old. It was fun and the usual shenanigans occurred. Tricks are by Tom, French, Jim and Gorm. 

Pocket to pocket

It was Dave's birthday on Sunday. I'm not sure how old he is; a few years younger than me, I believe. We met for a skate at Fitzroy bowl because it was a convenient spot for us to meet and meant he could slip away to work on his next comedy show instead of coming along with us to another skatepark in the 34 degree heat.

I promised Dave I would do the 'pocket-to-pocket' transfer in celebration of his life thus far, and he agreed to do it as well. It’s a deceptively simple looking trick in which you sort of ollie/float from one bowl into another via the bowled corners. The last time I did it was nearly a decade ago, when I first moved to Melbourne and used to skate the bowl on a daily basis. I remember it feeling easy, but I've tried it many times since and always found a way to talk myself out of it at the last moment. My feet will be in a slightly weird position or some idiot will be doing something in my peripheral vision, like sitting on a bench. Sometimes I think I’m going too slow or too fast or I've carved in at the wrong angle. It just doesn't feel right, so I don’t end up doing it, and it kills me.

With skating it's often as simple as saying you're going to do something, because that takes the idea of the trick out of your brain. It becomes something you have to do, and doing it only takes a second. There is a chance you will fall and hit your head and die, but considering that possibility is the most likely way of making it happen. You have to suspend your disbelief for that second (and a few seconds preceding it) and trick yourself into knowing it will be fine. You have to become an idiot, basically, or sort of aggressively meditate. It really is a head fuck if you think about it, but it isn’t if you don’t. It’s sort of like most things, really.

After a few (dozen) attempts, Dave landed the transfer with ease. I got it a few minutes later and it was as easy as I remembered it. We congratulated each other and vowed to return and do it again, many times, on a regular basis.

I saw Dave again today. He was working on his comedy show and I was ... I'm not sure what I was doing. Trying to make a spreadsheet work in Google Drive, some bullshit like that. We got talking about how funny and ridiculous it is that we both still skate, and how great a thing it is to go for a skate on your birthday.

Jason's birthday jaunt

It was Jason's fortieth birthday on Saturday. He booked a holiday house on Phillip Island and invited us all down there for the weekend. After much discussion, it was decided I'd leave Rosie, Fred and Tess to fend for themselves while I headed down there and got really drunk. With a heavy heart, I packed up and hit the road.

I arrived to a familiar scene, albeit in a setting that wasn't the Lord Newry or a skatepark.

I was very happy to find Jenny was in attendance. Predictably, we had a great laugh. We went to the beach but I didn't take this camera there, silly.I took 'real' photos so you'll have to wait for a while before you can bathe in their out-of-focus splendour.

Dion and Tree share a quiet moment over a few hats and glasses.

Phil, an old workmate of Jason's, is my Fuji friend on Flickr. Here he is taking a photo with his phone (!) up on the deck while the sun set. The forums will be alight with this controversy.

Ali, pictured here, drove us to the supermarket in Cowes, which turned out to be a hilarious trip. She loves Coles! Along with our planned purchases, we found all manner of funny things and had a great time driving to and fro. Sam saw a pelican at one point and exclaimed, "I just saw a pelican." as if it was a grim but exciting thing to witness. Jenny and I exploded in fits of laughter in the back like a couple of kids. Sam later explained he was excited because he had seen a clip of a pelican eating a pigeon. I knew the internet would have something to do with it.

The birthday boy. Such a lovely chap! That's Murray lurking in the background, and Lauren also.

The birthday boy consoles Dion. "Don't worry Dion, it will be your birthday soon!"

The birthday boy, Lauren and Kat. I think Jason is drinking a can of Canadian Club with dry ginger ale in this shot - just one of the hilarious gifts we picked up for him from the supermarket.

The sunset was quite incredible. There were weird lines running through it. It was crazy.

And it kept changing. That's the thing about sunsets isn't it.

It was a tough group to wrangle for a group portrait, especially with like four Canon 5ds in the mix. Phil took this for us.

The birthday boy again. He deserves lots of photos because he's the birthday boy!

Chris 'Patrick Bateman' Ackroyd

I told Sam not to use the pelican eating the pigeon story as a conversation starter, but did he listen?

Here he is a bit later having a kip on the roof. I took this just before sunrise when I was tramping around going to the toilet and stuff.

This is what the sunrise looked like. The sky changed colour really quickly. It was a more gentle version of the sunset really. I was hungover and confused.

Here's Sammy again.

And Lauren. They both said they woke up for sunrise too but I didn't see that happen to be honest. We packed up and hightailed it to a cafe for breakfast. Then some of us went to play mini golf, which was really funny, but again, I didn't take any photos with this camera. Then we went and had a skate at Cowes park, which was glorious. Then I drove home.