Sunday the 11th of December. My eyes crack open like a meat pie being dropped on concrete (a small gooey explosion of pain). Immediately I notice the lingering smell of dirt, stale beer and burning plastic, those smells are coming from myself. My brain scans over my body and it reports back to me to tell me I am sunburnt as FUCK. Memories wash over me like a 4.6 m high semi-trailer racing into a 2.2m clearance Coles carpark. Yesterday was fucking insane. Beer, flames, good times. Fully grown men on small push bikes flying through the air, conversations I had, what did I even say? Paramedics? Did I take any good photos? Where is my camera? I rolled out of bed and started scrambling around the room like a busted crack head who can’t find a belt to wrap around his arm. My camera bag is there and my camera is in it but at this stage I don’t want to see the photos.
Later in the day after I managed to scrape myself together I had a decent look through. Somewhere from fishing for the rare and delicious aquatic pie tin to stumbling between vans trying to stab a hole in the side of a beer can in hopes of punching a hot one, to throwing glass bottles far into the night sky, I managed to shoot some photos. In no particular order, here they are.
I feel this very out of focus image of Ri jumping a burning trampoline sums up the entire day beautifully
Overall the day was a hit. Thanks to Jerry the man for getting it all together yet again!
I thin we are really lucky that Wilto is still kickin! Could have been worse.
Peace!