Yes, these were the words that would echo through the ears of many a businessman, businesswoman and lanky ginger security prick throughout Wednesday the seventh of April 2004.



It started by a group of 8 people llowin' the train up to London. On one table were Alex and Simon and opposite were me and Jake. On the other, Bevan and Fraser, and Chris and Jason.



The travel which would've been a boring 2 hour journey, was mainly saved by me eating bare of these shards of chocolate egg in a ghetto plastic sandwhich bag and listening to Klashnekoff sing "It's Murda" like the Hackney gansters they are. Not everyone agreed with me on this though [the song, not the chocolate].. but fuck it all, because Jake seemed to be having a rad time shouting "It's Murda!" and waving my fuck-off hammer at the buffet man until he decided to get out of there as fast as his 4'9" stubbly ass would let him. This hammer would later be known as the Ghetto Hammer, or to us C.Whizzle dwellers - the "Ghetta Hamma, blud".



Alex then pulled from his bag of justice, an instrument which had never crossed my eyes before, it turned out to be an apple corer, which radiated such light and awesome benevolent power, it was like it was handed down by some generation of universe-savers. It was donned the "Apple Corer of time" and would play a vital role to our survival in C.Whizzle. But for the time being, we just used it to scrape the plastic stuff off the train table, until we noticed the CCTV cameras there - that's when we stopped it and continued our swearing pointlessly and saying "Trust" to the disgruntlement of bare old people in the carriage. Sorry if you old people are reading, but we really like fucking llowin' swear words.



We got off the train and llowed the underground to the Wharf. The underground was actually bare packed, which was no surprise, and we once again had a massive laugh on the underground by me singing "It's Murda" to some Asian woman who thought InI was trying to mug her, maybe it was because InI look hard, maybe it was because InI was waving my ghetto hammer and screaming "Let me tell you, blud!" in her face. Needless to say, we pissed the London underground off by our swearing in the tube. If anyone off the London underground is reading this, sorry, but we really fucking like llowin' curse words.




So we got to Canary Wharf and security got on us in about 48.9 seconds. This isn't a bad time for security at C.Whizzle, props to them. But one comment - if we were terrorists strapped with plastic explosives, big egos and the nutsack capacity of a Russian Sylvester Stallone, the ginger guys in golf buggies would have to worry more about running and evacuating their men in 48.9 seconds than some punky kid in a Ramones shirt with a black eye and jeans that wouldn't fit my 6 year old cousin, grinding a marble ledge on a plank. So we left the Wharf and llowed it to this hench fountain spot, which we named the "Plaza". InI thought InI was the fucking SHYT for naming it the plaza, until InI realised everyone else in the group had named it the plaza and there were signs saying "Canary Wharf - Plaza", this inevitably pissed on my strawberries, but it was OK, because the plaza was a Love Park 2, just more marble and with more businessmen with gelled hair and baguettes. So we grind this marble, purely because it's just asking for it. And InI try this dope ollie manual thing because InI'm tech and dope like that.

What wasn't fucking dope was that halfway after InI pop an ollie to do this ollie manual thing, InI realise there's a fountain right next to it, and halfway onto the manual InI realise InI'm on the floor and my board's at the bottom of the fountain, brosin' it like some plywood mermaid. The ginger security which InI codenamed "Captain Orangehand and his Slow Ass Buggy" showed up at this point, leaving me little time to fish my board out of the fountain and grab my shyt and fuck off.



So we got out of there after Captain Orangehand gave us a lecture on how burly he was, we went to this octagon spot which was - you guessed it: marble. Chris started front bluntin' shyt whilst my clumpy fucking set-up dried off and we all chowed down and everyone took liberties with my water. InI think Alex played with the Apple Corer of time at this point, which obviously pissed off some Jamaican security guard who approached Chris and asked him to stop skating whilst the ginger guys went past, but we could skate otherwise. Trust the Jamaican guy to be such a legend, so Alex llowed him a glimpse of the Apple Corer of Time and he was on his way in no time. These fit girls walked past, looking remotely disgusted as Jake swore at his board after failing some shit. If you're reading this fit girls who walk past Jake, sorry, but he really likes to llow the words "Fuck you in your fucking arsehole you cuntin' cumstain".



These fit girls must've been pissed off, as they went off and as soon as they left Captain Orangehead and his fat crony who looks like a cross between Winston Churchill and Captain Pugwash came in and threatened to "Pack our bags" if we don't move. Chris retaliated by sitting on a bench and eating a piece of my roll. The ginger guy didn't like this very much, and decided to look even more mean. This didn't phase Chris though, who was doing a fucking good job of sitting on that bench, if you ask me.

So we packed our shit, AGAIN, and llowed down these stairs. Whilst Chris went in the opposite direction to confuse security, it worked, which isn't promising for you C.Wizzle dwellers, as if security for C.Wizzle is going to follow one skateboarder instead of a group of skateboarders, who's going to stop him from llowin' a donut stand instead of pursuing members of the Taliban with AKs, balls the size of trains and enough explosives to make a crater on the earth so gnarly, even the security in golf buggies will have a problem getting from A to B in record time.



Chris and the rest reconvened at this 4 set spot, which was a bit shit, but it gave me time to clean my bearings which were soaked, with my shirt. Whilst InI sat on the floor and did this, literally 600 joggers went past, but because they didn't see me behind this wall they all nearly ran into me - you can imagine my horror at 600 dangerously near facial collisions with 600 skintight packages. Joggers of Canary Wharf - sort out the size of your packages, in a 600 ratio, InI managed to scope out about 8 of you with large wangs...err...this was just to pass the time...InI'm not really interested in that stuff.



...



Anyway, after cleaning my bearings, my shirt now looked like InI shat and wiped my arse with it, which got me more than a fucking few dirty looks throughout the day - it was either that, or me llowin' my Ghetta Hamma and screaming "It's Murda!" at businessmen and joggers with small packages. Sorry businessmen and joggers of C.Wizzle, but InI really fucking like to llow the words "It's Murda" and wave my hammer at you people. We then went to this perfect hubba and this huge 4 set covered in stones, the Chinese owner of this restauraunt let us skate there so Captain Orangehead and his fucking slow excuse for vehicles couldn't have a go at us, props to the Chinese owner, or in Chinese "Chi Chi Ni" (InI got that off Rush Hour, if InI spelt it wrong and ended up saying "Fuck your ma" then it's time my white ass got outta Europe). This hubba was perfect, and Bevvie nearly got a 50-50 on it, and Chris got tailslides and 5-0 Fs 180s out on it. Alex got a Nollie 50-50 on it and InI got a 50-50 on it. The reason why InI only got a 50-50 on it was because this hubba actually HATED me and made me slam my ass on the chronic floor. Which wasn't so bad, because it's an honour to land on marble, not skag needles for once.



We then got bitchin' hungry, so we llowed the way to Burger King. But 'cos we split up, we took time to find it. Me, Chris, Jay and Fraser went a weird way and found the spot of time and Destinar. It had a river gap, perfect manual BENCHES, steps and bare Milfs. But the Avante Garde security scoped us out before we even got on our board, props for that Captain Orangehead, you smited us wacky kids again. So we llowed Burger King where George Michael was being gay in some music video on a plasma screen on a nearby wall. It took another 15 minutes for the others to find Burger King, they must've ran into lameass security and waved the apple corer at the more burlier and meanass folk of C.Whizzle.
InI got served by the woman of time - InI think her name was "Fatoumatta"? But she had the coolest hair and was the coolest person, when some fucking 56 year old Engineer had a go at her because she didn't put toys in his meal. InI was literally about to go Warren G on his ass with my muh'fuckin' Ghetta Hamma but InI was prevented from doing this purely because InI know this engineer plays with these toys in his office whilst thinking "what went wrong?", so InI took pity and let Fatoumatta keep my change and gave her a smile, which InI think she appreciated, because she didn't want me to llow the engineer's limbs all around with my Ghetta Hamma and spoil the marble look of the place, so it was a positive element in her day, InI think. Fraser then made a joke about Eminem at the table to me and we laughed because had he made it to anyone else he would've probably got a foot in his neck. InI then llowed another drink from Fatoumatta purely because she had the best hair and was actually the blackest of colours and most beautiful of all women and InI used the exchange of money purely to brush hands with her. The ol' Hill Dawg wasn't getting lucky today though, probably because InI smelt of rank poo-smelling sweat and had bearing grease all over me which made me look like fucking roadkill. We then went down the esculator and some cunt had nicked my set-up, this cunt turned out to be Jake, who had misplaced his board for my board, which was an OK mistake, but the residents of the C.Whizzle shopping mall didn't seem to think so when me and Jakizzle both laughed about it and screamed "It's Murda" on the way out. The funniest shit went down too, Fraser spat out his ice cubes from his coke at this pillar on the way out, oblivious to these two fucking fine girls sitting there in their high class ways. The ice cubes smacked this girl straight in the cheek, and Fraser didn't notice her fuming like the hot female she is. This actually happened, and instead of apologising, InI just gave her a sexist thumbs up, implying that I'm just some hairy politically incorrect skater cunt with no morals, trust.




So we llowed it back to the Plaza and had a rad skate, Jason and Jake were pulling off some shit next to this bin, it was gnarly InI remember, but InI was too hyped on Coke and visions of Fatoumatta to remember what it was they pulled off. The golf buggies came round the corner in full force this time, and instead of standing there whilst they finally lost it, we decided to get our shyt together and bomb it down these stairs. We got real far when they came round a corner so we ran in the opposite direction. These buggies couldn't get across the bridge, so Captain Orangehead got out of his buggy and started running towards us at 60mph or some shyt. He was FAST, like, a ginger Linford Christie and InI turned around to hear Simon say "Whoa, shyt!" and start skating away like a rad mo'fo'. Being a rad mo'fo' wannabe, and not wanting to get done by the Orangehead, InI llowed it out of there fucking fast. We were just about to get into the station and make a clean escape when Simon went past it and we all followed him.. we finally lost them, but us ignorant assholes all forgot one thing -



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...the security have CCTV and radios and outnumber us 3 to 1. So we turn this corner and there's a fucking blockade of 3 buggies, and 3 guards that double us in size. InI notice there's no black guards stopping us, obviously the senior management think the white man can do a job better - bastards. So we're escorted into the station where we look out to see Bevan and Chris fucking bombing it down the street and Captain Pugwash driving a golf buggy at the full 6.2 mph [what a rude boy] whilst Captain Orangehead rode shotgun like he was in Miami Vice. This was probably a good training exercise for the security of C.Whizzle, but they need to employ more bruthas there and pricks who lecture you on living. So Chris and Bevvie bump into the big boss, who you'd think would be huge and large and have gelled hair and a cigar and cronies (Basically the Godfather), but was actually nearly as smal than Bevan. A ninth of the security had to escort us scum onto the train platfrom and we stood there whilst the boss man, who's moustache came off his face, swore at Chris and told us how shit we were at living. InI could see Alex reach for the Apple Corer of Time at this point, but Chris seemed to be handling it pretty well, so me and Alex had no need to jump in there and start throwin' some 'bows. Wurd to mutha.



So we finally got on the train and then llowed it all the way to Westminster, where they have proper security armed with like, fire-extinguisher sized bottles of pepper spray and tazers and actual guns, not fucking golf buggies and deep voices that shake the ground and piss you off.



Westminster's streets nearly got us killed with the large amount of insaniacs driving at full speed as per usual. So it took us a while to get to Westminster hubbas after llowin' drinks which cost twice the normal price, but are probably worth it, as back here they're probably laced with skag and dead rat parts. So we got to the hubbas and there was this kinda hip-hoppy guy doing Kickflip Back 5-0s on the hubba whilst some other guy took pictures. He had some tricks dialled, but his BS Flip looked kinda funny, so InI was just about to draw the Ghetta Hamma and lay down the law when he left and Alex started doing Nollie Tailslides on a Stevie Williams like hubba, leading me to the conclusion that Alex is a more steeze-ful Stevie Williams. Alex wasn't satisfied with these Shoulder-high nollie tails, but InI was too busy giving him props to notice. Some black girl asked me where the palace was, InI said InI didn't know, because InI was looking at her boyfriend/brother/friend and thinking "Man, those are some slick threads, maybe InI should get some of that shyt." But InI came back to Jason nearly 5-0in' the hubba and 50-50in' it pretty well. And Simon Nollie 5-0in' like a fuckin' homie, maybe he just decided to do that on the spot, maybe he planned it, but next time InI see that brutha's ass InI'm gonna flood him with kittens. InI now got 50-50s dialled on those hubbas, which is a welcome changed for not having any tricks dialled and randomly just popping my feet around and hoping to land in a ghetto-like way that won't have me waking up in a hospital 3 days later and having bare no limbs, wurd to mutha.



We then llowed the subway to St. Pauls, this took fucking time as we got off a station late and took time to get there. But we did get there and went straight to that marble three set courtyard place. InI have to say at this point that you'd think you'd get sick of marble eventually because there's just no challenge, you fuckers who think that need to sort it out, all grindy and no sticky make for henchin' times. And InI had no shame in grinding the marble. What InI DID have shame in, though, was not being able to do this fucking harsh Fakie FS Flips that Simon was doing. InI think the marble was letting off some fumes that made him super good at those for some reason, but these guys were there and they laid down a few tricks on the 3, like this huge varial flip and a switch ollie over it. Chris got a tre flip and FS Flip down these stairs, InI got a kickflip which InI was pleased about, as it relieved my frustration and assured me that the clumpiness was leaving my board and InI didn't have to use my Ghetta Hamma to go Nate Dogg on it's hiney.



We then went to the St Pauls 5 and Chris claimed he was going to Backtail a hubba, whether he did it InI'm not sure, InI was thinking about why InI ever thought the word "Hiney" in regard to my board, but him claiming to be able to backtail this small hubba on the 4 raised a lot of doubts amongst the group, which were dulled when Chris got a tre flip to nollie the 5 in a line, he didn't land this, but the marble fumes which got to Simon and made him rad at everything got to me and adversely made me fucking stoned, it had nothing to do with the phat blunt some brutha handed me. Er... Which was dope. And Jake ollied over a huge bench, showing his henchity and gnarl, he was scoping out the 5 set too, but he musta been tired and was probably dreaming of having hench sex with Hannah. We then went and bought overpriced milk from this Indian dude forced to work in a newsagents the size of a cardboard box, what a legend, he told me to "Have a good day, sir", which is a warm welcome from "Yeah, that's right, you better be fucking running out of my shop you fucking skater cunt". We then llowed back to St Pauls where we littered the place up like scum and swore a lot whilst InI tried to flip the 5 and fucked myself up some. The dudes we met early then took us to THE FUCKING MARBLE OF TIME, OF TIME! You could literally do powerslides on this marble by pivoting, it was so much fun and made no sound, but the guys we were with said "The Feds" were coming. InI assured them that the Feds are only out of the X-Files and Scully isn't an actual red-head, but he translated this as "The Police" so InI soon complied and fucked-off whilst this dude ollied this FUCKING huge 7 set. InI then got these dudes' phone numbers and they told us to give 'em a ring next time we're in London, one of them looked a bit like me, but he was white, so InI just gave him a handshake and smiled instead of proudly showing him my Ghetta Hamma.



We then got hungry again and llowed a shop for some food, where another Indian guy told me to have "A nice day, young man". InI was starting to like this shyt, and was bluntly disappointed when InI came back to Ramsgate and got a can of coke the next day and waited 2 minutes for the girl behind the counter to tell me to have a nice day, tuh, some people. So we llowed our food and cruised some streets a little bit when me and Fraser decided to llow off home. We made the train, like, just in time, and InI got home to Ramsgate.



This article took time, but it was the best day, so InI hope my fucking rantin' helps you remember the good times. Wuula.