Another Fluffy One...

In line with my new policy of Ubiquitious Fluffiness, here is another schroochey shot.
(Schroochey is a technical term. It falls into the same category of words that other limp-wrists and sad-sacks invent and brand their hard won girlfriends and/or lovers with in a puke-inducing attempt to endear themselves further with the bio-clock ticking timebombs who have mollusced themselves to the nearest convenient sperm donor, ie the boyfriend, who then goes and invents words like "Schroochey".

None of the above makes a jot of sense, but who cares.

The airborne dude is my nephew, I think. They all look the same to me in their kit. He is ten years old.

He is a balls to the wall, no-fear, screaming-for-more motherfucker, who has just been selected for the Irish Motocross Team.

And a remarkably cool dude.

Respect, C-Man. Roll on the UK.

No.
Fear.