The Last 2 Weeks In Pictures

Not Doing School Work & Drawing Wu Tang Symbols Instead

Now, before I started writing and rapping, before I started DJing, shit before I even lost my virginity one thing was made completely and utterly clear to me. By any means necessary I had to be able to freehand a Wu Tang symbol that was as close to perfect as was possible. This particular endeavour began in 1993 at the age of 11 and continued on until around age 19, so in essence what I'm saying is that I spent the best part of my time in full time education dedicated to drawing hundreds and hundreds of W symbols instead of actually paying attention in class. They say you should live life without regret; then again, hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Anyway, on one of my recent architectural digs in THE PIRANHA TANK I came across an old 6th form college diary from when I was 17, complete with a Thirstin Howl 'Polorican' sticker on the front and containing far more crude Wu Tang symbols and absolutely AWFUL rhymes (in my best attempt at 'grafitti handwriting') than references to or evidence of actual college work. I'm not saying I was a bad student, I was actually pretty good, but it was somewhat of a blast from the past to see exactly how obsessive I had become during that 6 year period. Unfortunately it seems that my ability to draw Wu Tang symbols and my ability to write lyrics were pretty much on par with each other in 1999. Thankfully my abilities in both fields have improved since then (I hope).

I don't really know what the point of this is, but I scanned a single page from this diary, and here it is, complete with one 'lyric' on the page (you will see what I mean about the handwriting). There was a whole 8 or 12 bars underneath but upon reading I deemed them to be so incredibly embarrassing that I decided to omit them from the picture for my own protection. The one that is there is more than enough.



"Hoes shout cause I grow sprouts - that's disgusting." Genius stuff. It actually shows I had a basic grasp of multi syllabics, but funnily enough that one line never found its way into a verse entire. There's stacks more of these in The Tank, literally stacks and stacks, which I will aim to rifle through next time I'm headed back to the motherland.

And in case you were wondering, the years of dedication and study paid off. I can now draw a virtually perfect Wu symbol without any visual aids (pause) or tracing paper. Like they say, no regrets. No regrets Dave, no regrets.



*Edit* - Google chucked this up, one that Method Man drew himself. Im officially better haha

The Karate Kid Chronicles Vol. 2

John Kreese. Everybody hated this dude, without exception. When I was a kid I thought he was the embodiment of pure evil, not only because he encouraged the Cobra Kai students to be absolute pricks at any and every given opportunity, but because as a very young man he scared the shit out of me. As Mr Miyagi said himself - "No such thing as bad student, only bad teacher. Teacher say, student do." Sounds like my first driving instructor, although that’s a different story entirely. I still hate both of them, but probably Kreese just a little bit more.



Anyway, from day dot it became plainly obvious to me that there was nothing worse in this world than a bad Karate teacher. Luckily, my Karate teacher was not an inherently evil, psychologically imbalanced sociopath, so I was safe , but it is a shame to say that not all of us were so fortunate. An unjust, hilarious shame.



Take my boy Birdseye for example. He recently got married and this particular story formed part of my best man's speech at the wedding reception. At the tender age of 14 he began his Karate schooling under the watchful eye of one 'Sensei' Richard Millen at the Millen Kai Dojo, spurred on by a fascination with 'the way of the open hand' and, as is usually the case, the urge to become a super badass chop socky dude, contrary to all of the rules and policies involved in taking Karate seriously. However, after a period of two years intensive study, it must have been quite obvious that Birdseye was more than dedicated to the art, attending the dojo 3 or 4 times a week and sometimes more in an effort to become an unstoppable killing machine/master of mind, body and spirit.



Having amassed a number of impressive accolades over the years, including both regional and national Karate championship competition wins to help solidify his position and standing as a black belt master of the art, it is somewhat bizarre that some of Sensei Millen's dubious teaching techniques did not warrant a number of raised eyebrows from both the students and, in many cases, the parents of the students who attended the dojo on a weekly basis.



One of these methods, as I have been told, involved Sensei Millen picking a student at random who was subsequently blindfolded and then made to stand in the centre of a ring of other students. Once in place, the circle of students were then instructed to attack the blindfolded student at random and without warning, with Sifu instructing the blindfoldee to use their natural instinct and chi energy to deflect the attacks without using their sight. Imagine Luke in Star Wars Episode IV trying to deflect the laser blasts from the remote droid on the Millennium Falcon with the blast shield on his helmet down, then multiply the remote droid by 7 or 8 and you begin to get the picture. You then multiply this technique by X amount of days, adding in any other amount of bizarre 'training techniques' and then spread the entire experience over 2 years. Sounds pretty fucking bizarre, doesn't it?



Fast forward to age 16 and in a conscientious effort to ace his GCSE's, young padawan Birdseye decides to take a break from his gruelling schedule at the dojo to focus on his studies. Then, fast forward again another 2 months or so to imagine a young, fresh-out-of-exams Birdseye rocking up to the dojo to continue his studies and emphatically "finish what he started." THEN, imagine his surprise when he finds the dojo to have been shut down. Permanently.

Funnily enough, it would later transpire that 'Sensei' Richard Millen had not, in fact, achieved any of the accolades that he had boasted of, not only including his competition wins but more critically his grading of black belt and therefore his legal and moral position to in fact teach Karate at all. Basically, Millen knew about as much about Karate as your grandmother (assuming your grandmother is not a master of Karate, of course) and had fabricated his entire back story to make money through the exploitation of unassuming and eager students. I mean, defending yourself, blindfolded, in a ring of random attackers? Maybe a lifelong Shaolin monk could do that, but even then maybe not. I'd like to know what the fuck was going through his mind and if, at any point, he felt any remorse or guilt for what he was doing.



Despite the fact that Birdseye was able laugh this whole situation off, others were not so lucky, having studied under Millen for many years before being led to believe that they really were black belts. I can't imagine how absolutely soul-crushingly devastating that realisation must have been. Needless to say, Sensei Millen was very quickly tried and subsequently convicted of committing fraud on a major (yet very unusual scale) and was consequently sent to jail, never to be heard of again. It was then his turn to experience the words 'attack' and 'ring' on a daily basis, although in a far more intrusive way.

So, its back to the wisdom of Mr Miyagi. "No such thing as bad student, only bad teacher." At least Kreese actually knew Karate.

Big Dave TV Vol.2 - Cocktail Hour @ Birdseye's Stag Do - Eddy Makes 'The Big Dave'

One of many ridiculous videos captured during Mick Glacier's stag do (pre bar hopping), I now have a drink named after me. Try me, I'm delicious (super pause).

The Karate Kid Chronicles Vol.1.1 - Cornish Cobra Kai - *WITH NEW EPILOGUE!!*

When the original (and therefore the best - I'll give you my opinions on the remake at a later date) Karate Kid dropped in 1984 I, like millions of other children and teenagers around the world literally lost my shit (although, obviously, I saw the film in around '86 or so when I was just about old enough to vaguely understand life, in the most simplistic way, of course). At the time it was the single greatest movie I had ever seen and it led me, undoubtedly like millions of other children and teenagers around the world, to demand my mother send me to karate lessons lest I start crane kicking the shit out of every single person and easily breakable object in my proximity. Luckily for me, there was a weekly class held just down the road from my gaff that my friend had already previously joined a week or so earlier, having smashed his parents with an identical form of nagging/complaining/whining.



Unfortunately (as it later transpired), I took to the classes like a duck to water and quickly advanced to a yellow
belt, proving myself as superior to every other kid in my age and belt bracket. 'Why is that so unfortunate, Dave?' I hear u say. Well, due to my accelerated proficiency at the practice of the way of the open hand I was deemed as being skilful enough to start sparring with dudes a couple years older and a couple of grades more qualified than I. This promotion not only included being dropped in way over my childish Daniel-San-esque expectations of car waxing and yard work but also led to a switch up from light to full (& heavy) body contact sparring, the only saving grace being that my pretty face was out of bounds to any enquiring fists and feet.



The problem was that the rest of my body was fair game. After 4 or 5 weeks of getting my ass whipped up and down the karate club combined with the initial euphoria that the film had introduced to my then fresh and pre-pessimistic mind becoming a distant memory (VHS rentals were not a daily occurrence), I went home with my proverbial dick in my hand and a hi tek halfway up my ass and kindly requested that I not have to go back again. Ever. My mother obliged, begrudgingly.

BASTARDS


In all honesty though, Jonny Lawrence and the rest of the Cobra Kai dudes scared the shit out of me when I was a kid. If you remember correctly, they didn't just bully Daniel Larusso, there are two specific points in the film where they essentially attempt to murder him (chucking him off the bike, beating the living shit out of him on Halloween before Miyagi comes to the rescue). Without sounding melodramatic, I kind of related to the character of Larusso, me being an obvious ethnic addition to an otherwise white-and-blonde landscape of spoilt, rich bullies (some, not all, obviously).




Of course, without delving too deeply into the whys and wherefores of my childhood, the bullying I dealt with occurred throughout my teens, but having not retained any of my Karate training it was mainly ended either by my mates (of which Daniel San had none) or by my own erratic haymakers and dump tackles. As I grew older, they became drunken haymakers and rugby tackles, which seem to be all the more effective. Basically, if you're going to get bullied, make sure that you and your assailant are both shit faced drunk and everything hurts a little less for both parties. Its lucky Miyagi didn't follow my advice, otherwise Daniel San would have ended up with a mean sake addiction. Just saying.

Badge and John Lawrence action figure courtesy of THE PIRANHA TANK™ (Cheers Dad)






VOLUME 2 OF THE KARATE KID CHRONICLES COMING SOON

VERSION 1.1 - BUCKY'S EPILOGUE



A good friend of mine, from Cornwall, had this to say on the matter -

"I remember trying out the Krane kick on a kid called Kevin Williams when I lived in Gibraltar, I didn’t like him, and I did it without warning. The poor guy had an asthma attack and his mum banned our family from the local grocery store. My p’s never let me go to any type of martial art class after that incident. Incidentally, Kevin was sent to the Gibraltar Karate club by his Mum, and after three years of Miyagi-style training, he managed to obtain a black belt and then he used his skills to punch my tooth through my lip in a playground incident. Fair play to him really."

Aaaaaahahahaha. It's the chronicles, baby.

ENLISH - GRAFFITI KING, ALL CITY (!)

Ok, so back in the day, around 2002/2003 (just before I moved to Brighton) when I was 20-odd (pun intended) there was still the remnants of a buzzing Hip Hop scene in Falmouth. By this time a lot of the luminaries had moved onto greener pastures, but there were still a few of the old heads (myself included) holding shit down, keeping it 100, hard body, real talk etc etc etc.

My boys Mick Glacier and Big Lukey (MPT baby!) used to go and paint on the regs. Unfortunately, us being in a picturesque sea side town and all, there wasn't anywhere you could go and do a throw up without a) feeling like a prick for ruining something protected by The English Heritage or b) getting picked up by the feds IMMEDIATELY. Graffiti is no joke down here.

Anyways, through the local skating community (of which I used to be a part of a long, long time ago) we were made aware of an old abandoned meat packing factory (pause) that was basically falling apart and had been fenced off pending redevelopment. The fence didn't last long, of course, as the skater kids tore the fucker down and proceeded to tear the place up, taking along their own mini ramps, rails and all sorts of shit. So, Mick G and Lukey used to go painting there, and I'd sit about smoking and writing bars, wishing I could paint, draw or either (I can't). It was a fucking excellent spot, tucked away in the back of an industrial estate. Observe -



Anyways, after a good few visits to the spot with the fam I started getting restless and bored while they did their pieces, so the next time we were heading up there, I thought fuck it. These were two separate occasions mind you, but both times I dropped about a fiver on cheap shit car paint from Trago Mills and, armed with rough sketches and my geek mind crammed with visions of 8 bit electronic nostalgia, I got to work round the corner from where the real painters were working. Maybe try and imagine Seen and Cope2 throwing up pieces while an ever so slightly retarded friend of theirs does the same thing but a good little way away so as not to embarrass the actual graffiti artists. If I took myself seriously (I DIDN'T), I would be labelled as a 'toy', plain and simple.

Number one : THE PACMAN PIECE



WOW. You can even see me puffing a J through the whole in the wall. Gutter. Notice how the 'E' of 'ENLI' (pronounced EN - LYE) is Pacman himself, and he's eating all the other letters in order to get to the jelly dude? WOW. Just WOW. Not bad for a first try, but obviously still piss poor. Still, it was a sunny day, we had piff, beers and there was nothing else to do. Big.

Next up,

Number Two : THE MEGAMAN PIECE



Continuing on the 8 bit NES vibe, I did a Megaman, but with a subtle twist. Notice how his skin is BROWN? That's right, constant reader.... I AM MEGAMAN. Unfortunately, despite the fact my characters are obviously terrible (I did say I wasn't serious), my writing is even worse. To compound this, I ran out of paint while I was doing it, but fuck it, I'm a boss. Notice how I've written 'ENli10' (Enlighten) there? Genius. Plus I threw up BTC. Big up P and all the Bad Taste Cru.

Unfortunately, not long after Megaman went up, the powers that be destroyed the entire site and built some sort of office block on it, effectively once again taking away one of the only places that young people in the area had to go to carry out their hobbies in peace and quiet without being scrutinised by the public and/or arrested by the Police. The 'powers that be' will never learn.

Anyway, that's my graf chronicle. As an added bonus I will show you my very first 'piece' (I like to call it a piece, although that is stretching the truth to breaking point), dropped a few days before I got serious with that jacks worth of auto paint. Such a rookie was I, I did the outline in black and THEN tried to fill it in with white. Then, during the taking of the photo, I leant against it and got paint all over my Phat Farm top. ROOKIE.



Hahahaha. Shout outs to Mic Glacier, Big Luke and all the old Falmouth heads. We will inherit the earth.

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HAPPY ST PIRAN'S DAY

That's right motherfuckers, today is the greatest day of the year, the day on which we celebrate the patron saint of my native land, Cornwall. Big up St. Piran. Today will involve random booze drinking and pasty eating. You can quote me on that.

I'm going to be rocking my traditional St Piran's day uniform today, namely the Cornwall rugby with the Bumblebee Jordan 1's and the P fitted my boy PG copped for me at Christmas (The 'P' can stand for Piran or Pirates Of Penzance, its a p p preference ting).

And below you can see me hijacking St. Patrick's day a couple years back by celebrating St. Piran's Day for the 2nd time that month. Ballin.





Kernow Bys Vyken motherfucker