Brio often modestly play's down his own writing skills. As Mark "Choppa" Read once said, he may be 'semi-bloody-illiterate', however this next piece, fresh off the press and written by the owner of 233 Diesel Street himself, will leave you with a tear in your throat and a lump in your eye. He humorously paints a picture, draws you in and leaves you wanting more. Have you got more Brio? The crowd will want more after this...
Starlight feels a little strange without your presence. The fishing has slipped a little, however you'd be proud of our efforts. The Rasta shack is eerily vacant. Each time we walk through Diesel Street we give a nod and a shucker in the anticipation that there would be a man watching UFC or Rex Hunts fishing world on his laptop surrounded by colourful walls along with 3 wise monkey's chanting "hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil"... Your efforts, character and input over the past 6 months and beyond have played a huge part in making the voyage what it was... Immense.
Anyway, here's some insight into the life of a thoughtful, whispy man who lives in a very, very small cabin. The Rasta shack.
Brio's final thoughts.
Time to reflect on juicy thoughts from the Rasta Confessional.
“A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams”.
For a while there I could have mistaken Starlight for 'The Jenny Curran', Forrest Gump’s ship from the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company. If only it was Shrimp we were catching instead of fresh Tuna. For a while meal time solely consisted of fresh tuna with some kind of new seasoning or cooking method to spice things up. In fact nothing could have made me happier as head of fishing. I’m still stoked… thank God for Rapala.
It's twelve o'clock and it's a wonderful day… in Trinidad that is. However, its getting cold here in London as the sun goes down, four and a half thousand miles away. My mind wanders thinking about Starlight and its crew and together how they have filled my life and chest with riches fit for a pirate.
I guess it first began when my good mate Geggie introduced me to the Dent St Boys, Kew, Mick and Dylan. Geggie was frothing, keen to show me a home video of the guys renovating the house they bought in Merewether, Newcastle. Although I may have Jamie Jurie genes I’m not exactly into home improvements, however I was prepared to be educated.
Instantly I was blown away by the professional quality of the documentary as well as the go-for-broke attitude of the guys, from the initial bidding war, to the final BBQ to celebrate the completion of the project.
10 years later I have found myself included in the boys second impulse purchase and part of another hazy plan, this time known as 'The Wet Way Home'. It is an adventure of epic proportions and an honour to be a part of.
Its been almost 2 years now since Mick threw a boat hook through my computer screen while trying to achieve a Rum fuelled javelin record within the depths of Malta’s dry dock; Five months since the sea took the life of the ships computer, Frankenstein, during our first night at sea; and 4 months since I destroyed Kew’s laptop with a bowl of Two Minute Noodles.
On my final night in Barbados, with a heavy heart, a pickled liver, teary eyes and short armpit hair, I delivered some poorly rehearsed lines from an old Irish poem in order to bid the crew of Starlight farewell.
I was hoping to say something reflective and philosophical, a few words that would convey my love and good wishes to Starlight and her crew however the "Irish-bid" fair well to the Scottish vessel and her salty crew made little more sense than my decision to leave.
"May the sea rise up to meet you.
May the wind always fill your sails.
May the sun shine warm upon your face, until we meet again…"
I felt like a stunned rabbit in the spotlight looking at the confused sun burnt faces of Mick, Mike, Dylan and Toothy… I choked. I opened my mouth, however like Eminem 'the words don’t come out'.
Lucky for me I had some family support. My parents, along with my brother and girlfriend had made the pilgrimage to Barbados, a land of fresh fruit and vegetables to celebrate my 40th birthday with me and the boys of Starlight. A suitably special ceremony for the big four zero.
Dad piped up and said it best. With a youthful gleam in his eye and an open heart, he addressed the crew pointing out the obvious. “There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality; and then there are those who turn one into the other.” Well, words to that effect… Either way, he was clearly stoked and inspired by the guys and I was a proud grasshopper.
Often in a drunken haze I found myself marvelling at everyone’s guts and gumption. Reminding myself how Starlight was saved from a slaty grave and turned into a golden winged ship. There is Dylan’s main mast, Kew’s Booms and the crazy trail of wires and modifications in the engine room tweaked by Mick. Toothies' fine tuning of the Radar offered a placebo-like remedy for the crew’s safety which proved invaluable. It was impressive to watch. The boat came full of problems for which the boys only had solutions.
I guess I’m having a midlife crisis... For some reason I’m now remembering Gylan strumming his g-tar and shouting at the top of his Scottish lungs “If your gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough. When you get knocked down you gotta get back up. I ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer but I know enough, to know, If your gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough”. I guess what I’m trying to say, is that I’m looking forward to the day the planets align and I can get back on that horse called Starlight.
I’m already missing the sweet nectar from Toothie’s Rum Bar and the crazy party’s in the music room... The late night editing sessions with Mick and UFC fight night screenings in la cinema. Mornings are no longer the same without Dyl's hot scran and hearing about what Mike got up to last night.
Starlight’s the glue that keeps good mates together so it will never be good bye just see ya later!