November. November was the last time I rode my bike, I can't fucking believe it myself, that makes me nearly as soft as a fake BMX photographer. The Beak was in near the same boat with only a stint over christmas and a couple of cheeky "Scotts ramp" sessions under his belt. So as the moons aligned and he reached that rare moment in which he was yet to start drinking and had fully sobered up from the night before, we decided to venture to the near mythical "Four feathers" skatepark, located somewhere within a youth centre in Marleybone.

Emails were sent round and a few were up for it, Team 2000's solo representative Dom was getting very excited and even threatened a one foot wable. Rob was still taking it easy after his foot coming off and The poof was doing a poof.

The "park" is in an sports type hall, with a 5ft quarter and flat bank one end, a four foot quarter and flat bank at the other and a mellow as shit 4 foot spine in the middle. Oh, and various groups of urban youth milling about. There isn't much to report from the park, its pretty shit, but at least we rode for once. As usual the youth wanted a go on our bikes, they didn't seem too aggressive and since we were behind locked doors it should be alright, right? They could tell we weren't fully convinced, so to prove they were not going to try and nick them, they gave us their mobile phones and £400 in cash, yes, £400 in cash which they just so happened to have on them. (I'm guessing it was either savings that they had just withdrawn from the bank or one of their birthdays and they have a large and generous family which tend to send money rather than buy presents?). Turns out they wernt any trouble and after dropping in and screaming like girls they got back to being urban and smoking doobies, which we were later blamed for by the Youth centre manager (various groups of urban youths, or the well spoken older BMXers? hmmm... ). After a few more bar turns and a lack lustre game of horse; "go backwards? are you fucking kidding me?!?!" The 'session' was over, and we left the building. But not without another warning about smoking doobies - "Yes, yes it was us, we have knives too by the way..."

We finished off the night by heading back to the Grand Union, which turned out to be a bit of a left turn as it was full of basics and punters, mixed in with the odd cunt with wearing wooly hats with peaks on the slant like they are so fresh out of Bristol they still have Massive Attack ringing in their ears. Ross inisited it was something to do with the Vet school just up the road but I was pretty sure it was Prick school that had just kicked out....