Four fucked cars and a skatepark

Auntie warning - indiscriminate drug references and usage of big words like 'dichotomy' that know one really uses anymore but have the ability to give you the appearance of being a bit of a wanker at dinner parties. Not that I'd know.


Copenhagen is a city of opposites, a hotbed of dichotomy if you will (bam). The scale is skewed between an obstinately law abiding public spurning even the most pedantic of criminal discretions, and the hash hazed underbelly of the little suburb republic known as 'Christania town'.

Our interest in this differential anomaly spurred us into further research. The public had to be informed! Unfortunately, our overall knowledge of the scientific method was a little rusty, so we had to improvise a little. This improvisation basically meant we hung out in all the seediest areas of town and jaywalked a lot. Wouldn't you know it? At the time we weren't even aware that we were conducting field research! That's called avoiding the observer uncertainty my friends. Our lot don't do things by halves.

Firstly, let me describe jaywalking in Copenhagen. Happy as Larry, you arrive at the road in question, humming along to 'Road Trippin' by the Chilli Peppers because the Eftpos machine you just used was called a 'Blu Chippen', so you started substituting that into the lyrics for your companion's supposed amusement (she WAS laughing, so it was funny, ok?). Everyone is waiting by the side of the road, patiently awaiting the little green man to do his walking thing. Due to the street being completely empty, you decide to make like Young MC and bust a move. Whamo! Everyone turns on you faster than a backbencher in a prostitute scandal. They pursue you for streets, and it is only through utilising your expertise in Judo that you manage to beat your non-too-hasty retreat. Immediately afterwards you get a "thug fo' life" tattoo on your bicep, and feel quite chuffed at the penmanship and the way the colour of it matches your eyes.

Then there's Ye Olde Christiania town. We'd gotten wind that it was a marvelous place to pick up some embroidery gems and that the local fauna was quite charming, so you can imagine our horror when we discovered some of the local dignitaries openly selling blocks of hashish in full view of anyone who happened to look. Biting off chunks for sale with their blemished incisors no less! In their defence, there did seem to be a very strong anti HARD drug stance, as we discovered when a foolhardy wastoid deemed to presume that our chunk biting trafficker might be holding anything *stronger* than the sticky brown stuff. The uncomfortable atmosphere that ensued following his inquiry positively gave us the willies.

Fortunately we managed to regain some of our composure by regaling a young gent skateboarding with uncharacteristic skill in the local skateboarding emporium located not far from our former scene of barbary. Patrick, one of the more vivacious in our fellowship, did not appear to be joining in with the general euphoria and seemed quite inconsolable after the incident.

"What's up dude?" One of our party inquired of him. "Feelin bummed or somethin?"

Patrick eyes blurred dreamily. "I used to skate." he explained sadly. "Probably would have been better than that dude too, back in the day."

Ah yes. That old chestnut. Numerous times have the vintage 'Thrasher' and 'Skateboarder' magazines showing Patrick's younger motif been presented to us during the early hours of a particularly intensive research trip. Quite impressive really; Unequivacably radical was his form, his demeanor authority challenging.

As it turned out however, our chum was creating a devilish ruse. His dispondance was simply a mechanism for which to present us his whimsy.

"I mean, whose bright idea was it to take me to a skate park?" He bellowed in Australian twang. "I'm bloody turning 30 in under five hours! Here's this little blonde dude systematically ripping the skate park a new one, and I'm stumbling around goin 'Got any hard drugs mate?'"

Don't stress Patty, I'm pretty certain that even at 14 you were still a crack toting scumbag. There there.




Names, places, faces and facts have been changed to protect, well, me really.