Above: Joel, ready to eat some sea.

Our tyres might have blown up mid-journey and our bodies may be ravaged by booze and lack of sleep, but the SHITDISCO landed on its feet, somehow blagging two free nights in a caravan park on the Devon coast. We immediately slipped into gypsy mode, offering to fight the locals for a pound, and stealing ash trays from nearby bars. We didn't leave until the grass turned yellow & we had attracted at least a few angry stares from the Daily Mail reading residents.



On the second day we went for a bit of a surf in the ice cold waters of the English channel. It was more Crimewatch than Baywatch. We had wetsuits, boots and gloves but decided against protective head gear, which was a mistake. Ive never had brain freeze like it. Each wave was like an ice hammer to the forehead, enough to make you cry like a girl and want to go home. But we stuck it out for over two hours. I gave up when currents and big fuck off waves clattered me onto some rocks and I realised I didn't have the energy to keep myself afloat.

Above: Joel as happy as a dog in a bucket of booze.

Above: Me wearing a customised army helmet, ready for action. Or booze.


That evening we went to the park's entertainment hub to spend almost a fiver on the 2p machines and watch a budget Jim Davidson tell jokes about irish, chinese, gays and viagra. We sat at the side and yelled abuse at him until he did a song and left the stage. Then it was time for some real Phoenix Nights entertainment, 'Atlanta,' a semi-ugly girl singing covers while a gangly lad provided music from a huge automated keyboard. When they burst into their version of 'Dyou Love Me? (Now That I Can Dance)' we took to the floor for some hard dancing.

Above: Tom and Joe take in the atmosphere in the entertainment lounge, Joel scamps around like a younger, less healthy version of Shaun Rider.


A fine couple of days off provided by circumstance and the kindness of Richard who pulled the strings to get us a caravan, (Big thanks to you, sir.) ONWARDS!