Last week was OTT, a 7+ night party marathon (speaking of marathons, who wants to run the Auckland one with me? At this rate I think I can only manage a half, but I’ll be there).

Toto’s showed the cinema classic “Casablanca” on Tuesday. When the classic lines like “Here’s looking at you kid” came on, the diners erupted with cheers. The Silver Scroll music awards were on the same night, so we caught the end, arriving just in time to hear Helen speak gruffly of her love of music and present an award.  Most people had tuned out by this stage in favour of the open bar. It was great to see the camaraderie between the well-weathered, the freshmen artists, and those for instance like me, who hadn’t picked up an instrument since my failed attempt to become the next Midge Marsden on the harmonica in fourth form. The night curtailed with artists putting their names on a board, like when you’re queuing for a pool table at a busy bar, and ad lib jamming till their fingers seized up or throats required liquid cooling.

But by far the highlight of last week was ANZFW. Seeing I barely “work” these days I had plenty of time to dress-up in my Sunday best, see stunning shows and pillage goodie bags. Overall the entire event was superb. Each tent had more lights than a U2 concert, but you definitely have to be “in the know”, an “A” lister, or rather good at blagging (the route I went for) to get the most out of it; and not get stressed about whether or not the authorities will click that you actually are a nobody, and shouldn’t be drinking fine wine in The Air NZ VIP Luxury Lounge, or in the front row of a headline catwalk collection next to the designer and key sponsor representative.

The clothing designs that I saw were utterly world-class, we have some fantastic talent in NZ, I guess that’s why so many big-wigs from overseas attend. So the fashion was magic but the models, in general, were distracting. Good-looking yes, maybe too much like what I go for, so I spent quite a bit of time admiring the person rather than what they wore.

The excitement prior to the commencement of each show was substantial. None of the shows began on time and you gazed around in vain in the hope of seeing a celeb. I once found myself sitting next to Nicky Watson, but was too stunned to even say “How’s Eric?”. The shows always kicked off with a bang due to the pent-up hype. Occasionally I just watched the crowd, and giggled within, it was like they were watching a fascinating game at Wimbledon.

From someone who has never really been involved with the fashion industry I found the time I was on campus to be lacking something, you had to almost try to have fun. If you’re not a fashion designer/buyer, talent scout, part of a key sponsor corporate or involved with the media, I’d say that if you make one show, that’ll do. Add 1 lap of the displays, drink some champers in The Cutting Room and have a succulent nibble in The Fashion Plate Restaurant and you’re done. I propose free “Walk like a Model” lessons, a ferris-wheel and/or merry-go-round, playstations, mime artists, live electronic NZ artists thumping beats down at the shows etc. Make it more or a party, I’ll gladly lend a hand.

Hey, can anyone confirm that last Friday was “Wear-A-Loud-Shirt-To-Work Day”? Cos’ I felt a real loser all day in my Vanilla Ice styled get-up. Everywhere I went there was pointing and whispering, my lunch dates where so embarrassed to be seen with me they felt it necessary to explain my plight to everyone in ear-shot and walk 3 paces in front.

Another big happening last week was the official opening of The Late Club, situated beneath the new Westin Hotel in The Viaduct. It’s a flash boutique bar with great potential, and I am sure Adam Bennett will make it thrive, but I found it a little impersonal. The entrance and stairway resembles a staff entrance, not something you’d expect for guests in a 5 star hotel, the seating is missing privacy and comfort, and the floor is a cold marble. But the loos are tops and staff second to none.

After a few hours rest I boarded a boat bound for Rangitoto Volcanic Atoll with a few guide-getting friends. The excursion started very well, it felt like we were on holiday, perhaps in Hawaii (not that I’ve ever been). Then the drizzle began, then the rain, then the cats and dogs began to be hurled. We shivered for 40 minutes waiting for the last ferry, mentally cursing the person who mooted the idea for this adventure. The boat arrived and we ran for it, but so did about 200 others. I pity those left behind, poor Angie Wall

Air New Zealand Fashion Week, and all the who-ha that goes in tow, is the talk of the town. It’s not just overly slim 6ft girls, and gaunt Beatles look-alike boys, gliding down a raised plank anymore. It’s an entire Disneyworld of music, food, gaming, shops, alcohol, makeovers, manicures and mingling. Where the content of the designers’ goodie-bags says as much about them as their actual collection on show does. It’s where you go to be at the forefront of fashion, to get a glimpse at what most of us can’t afford. Check it out, and drink it all in.

Consecutive nights out Monday to Sunday really can’t be doing me much good, but I do it so I have a bit of meat each week to feed to y’all, and hopefully entertain a little.

The Sunglass Hut launched their new marketing ways to the world last Tuesday at the Newmarket branch. It’s based around being able to morph the shop overnight to fit an upcoming campaign or brand focus, it really is quite ingenious. I had a try-on-spree and discovered that 99% of sunglasses don’t suite me, even a $600 pair of Versace’s did nothing but look ridiculous.

Dinner & a Movie night’s at Toto’s re-launched again on Wednesday (this has now been permanently changed to Tuesdays, as big corporates and their carefree credit card control carries more clout, and they desire the mid-week session). The food’s even better, and you have to book a week in advance now. Feeling effervescent, I coaxed a couple of Gucci gals to Globe Bar for “Everything’s $4 Night – Even Vodka Red Bulls”. They were a little stunned, but after a couple of Agaveros and Jager-bombs each; we were break-dancing like the rest of them.

Shane Singe threw a leaving party at B@1 on Friday. It was packed, 1 downer was that we couldn’t coax him to do one of his famous back-flips. Mel Karu’s themed birthday crew at The Kingslander’s Hawaiian party added to the heat created by the Vodka Cruiser bikini beach babes, making a for a very fun night of goodtimes.

From there it was on to get amped, rarked, moshed and exhausted at Coherent. I’m totally up for trance and hard dance, but not enough of the rest of Auckland seemed to be last Friday. It was busy, but it just didn’t make me yell to all and sundry “There’s no way I’m leaving this dancefloor until the last beat has struck!”

I loathe moving house, it’s a terrible chore. I’ve moved 6 times since moving up here, it can’t be me, it has to be everyone else . Anyway I now live by The Lido cinema, does anyone know of some cool bars or eateries in that area? So I moved again last week, toiled at it for a good 10 hours, feeling absolutely drained I contemplated having an early night. I then slapped myself and jumped in the Primera bound for Viva Latino Studio, for “Paint The Town Red”, in my haste I’d forgotten to wear anything red, so stood out like a jockey in a WWF dressing room. I thought it was strange that it was an alcohol free Latin dance event, but I went with it. Before long I was doing the Rumba like a 10 year veteran.

Matt Martin turned another year older on Saturday. We celebrated at the very uniquely decorated Shanghai Lils, it was my fourth time there, and this time I had a blast.

Glamour at Toto’s was sublime. The “glamour” was everywhere, people really made an effort. Thankfully it didn’t have the normal dance party traits of sweaty bodies and pushy drunkards. It was more of an opulent occasion with marvelous music, where you boogied a bit, people gazed, sipped champagne and caught up with friends.

After a few laps it was time to submerge into the depths of Spy Bar. Arriving earlier than usual I encountered a different crowd, a well-dressed, social, happy bunch. It was refreshing, I made some new friends, took some pictures (see these on the website under “Evidence”). A few hours later this clan dispersed and were replaced with the hardcore party people, who’d come to roost for the remainder of their night. The DJ’s played their part and everyone had a got along well. Leaving at 7am is never pretty (it’d be interesting to see what we look like, from a person who’s just got up after a restful 8 hours sleep), all gathered outside the entrance, talking nonsense to our new best friends that we met no longer than an hour ago.

The Warriors lost. I was disappointed, but have dealt with it and taken out many positives from a fine season, and can only look forward to loftier things next year. The only reason I’m going to watch the next few games is because of the commentators. I have no idea where they get their, pun and adjectives from, but they’re better than skulling an ideally chilled Heineken after splitting wood on a hot summers day for 3 hours.

Two texts and a phone call was all it took for me to abandon my 1 night off the party scene this week. Still severely battered from a wild weekend, I rose from my horizontal sedated state, dressed and motored it to Pony. The pull of 50 glamed up ladies drinking free Piper and no gents for them to confide in was too strong. The original vibe of Pony was back, laughter, interaction, free shots, a wide variety of party tunes and sexiness. It wasn’t packed but it was a damn good. What wasn’t good though was waking up to find my car had been towed, poor me.

A few things came out of this past week (1) I’m no angel. (2) There is always room for 1 more. (3) Pasha pulls the punters even on school nights. (4) All after parties have similar traits. (5) Going to “The Races” is still fun. (6) Hamilton is a very unique place. (7) Great parties can erupt in the most unlikely of places. I’ll explain what I mean.

I’m not sure of the ratio of you out there who read the newspaper, compared with those, like me, who just look at the pictures over eggs Florentine at brunch on Sunday. You see, normally when you are mentioned, or pictured, you get a thrill and cut the item out for posterity. This week I didn’t. I got the first iffy press I have ever received (as far as I am aware), however if you look at it in another light it could be all good. I’m still deliberating.

Last Tuesday the latest bar in the inner city opened in Ponsonby. Magnum is a 90 seater bar/restaurant that oozes quality; you can instantly tell it’ll be around for years and will give the Ponsonby bar zone a glitzy boost. The success staples of friendly-alert service, a well organised (not too pricey) menu and great design once again ring very true.

Another quality establishment is Pasha. It continually does well despite sordid weather, high oil prices and new watering holes popping up seemingly weekly. Last Wednesday Pasha hosted the launch of Hennessy’s latest cognac. All the regulars were there and it raged on well into the wee hours with opulence, making it Rachel Glucina’s party of the week.

With Brooke away watching the AB’s annihilate the opposition his bar is in the doldrums. The once cosy, happy buzz that came as a given at Pony Club appears to be fading. Even with Vicky-Lee’s harem of hotties last Thursday it sadly was lacking fire, fame and finesse. The same musos played the same songs, and when a fight erupted outside at 1.30am, and a punter was thrown into a phone booth, it was chicken teriyaki kebab time for me, and most of the people inside. I’m sure it’ll be back headlining again before long.

Well rested, after a relatively tame one, Saturday started with a hiss and a roar. I stopped in at an after party on the way home, as I have a severe permanent case of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out); I was fully recharged and, still glowing after my work-out, I was greeted with glee, and sparked instant friendship with people I had never seen before (thumbs up Davina ). I had always wondered what an after-party looked like from a non-participant’s perspective. Hilarious hyjinx. Seeing an opening I took it, slipped out, spruced up and headed to Ellerslie for Whips n Spurs.

Arriving fashionably late (or so I thought) we nuzzled into the complimentary Stoli Black Russians. I was informed that another 700 punters had yet to arrive so the huge 3rd floor room was about to get even more crammed. It didn’t matter, as the afternoon wore on, we continued to do laps of the giant room and kept bumping into happy faces. I saw a couple of races, but I was like the majority, more interested in the candy and entertainment. This year Whips n Spurs was a sell-out and an utter success. The next one isn’t too far away so stay tuned and don’t miss out.

For once I left before being asked to. We rattled down the runway to Hamilton, bound for The Great Race Masquerade Ball. I expected grandeur and I got it Great Gatsby style. Matt Taylor, and his team, had created a dream in honour of The University of Waikato versus Harvard University annual rowing race. You had to keep moving in order to not miss out on any shows or commotions. I found most of the masked attendees a little taken back at my exuberance and snap-happy ways, but then there was the odd nutter who was well up for antics.

The Tron is not a place in which I would really want to spend any more time than is ultimately necessary. As a tourist I found it uninviting, bland and against my grain. One rose was The Hamilton Gardens, what an amazing place. Because of my alcohol/lack of sleep induced frail legs, I could only manage a circuit of a cute lake, but if I ever do pass through the Tron again, I’ll make more of an effort to explore.

Who out there has heard of The Face Place? I hadn’t. But after Monday night’s impressive opening in Albany it’s ingrained in my mind. They have a clinic in Vulcan lane in town, but I reckon it couldn’t be as flash as Albany’s. I felt like I was in someone’s home, it was a restful setting and could see that this is a place that means business, but in a nice way, highly skilled professionalism all the way. The superb catering and live jazz music reinforced my initial impression; classy.

Well the solar eclipse wasn’t that magnificent. But it did make me revisit the question “Are we are the only intelligent life out there?” I am STILL out to lunch with a verdict. Wednesday’s salsa lesson was a little easier than last week’s; it may have been the lack of alcohol in my system. Empowered, I ducked into The Globe bar for all drinks $4 night. Silly me, the staff there really know how to encourage excessive drinking. I doubt there was a semi-sober person in the joint, staff included. It was a riot; I suppose that’s why they are doing it again this week.
 
Chapel’s ski party on Thursday was great success (have a look at the pictures on the website). Ecstasy liqueur sponsored it and the cocktails did not stop flowing, so my “I’ll just stop by to say hi, and stay for 1″, turned into “Who’s coming with me for Jager Bombs at Pony?” About 10 ski bunnies made the trek into town to Pony. All the regulars were there; even James Reid came in from the golf course for a drink, or 50.
 
A smidgen tired and battered I left work at 4.30pm, getting to Soul Bar just in time to beat my date and make my 4.46pm table booking. A bottle of Gris later the convo was flowing, so cocktails and Agavero shots seemed prudent. We chose to wet our whistles at Bungalow8; it was their 1st birthday celebration. I’m never one to turn down a party so we did our best at fitting in. This place is really beginning to grow on me, all they’ve changed seems to be the music and service, but it’s done a 180 degree in my book over the past few months. Carpark was next, via a mandatory obstacles course (ahh this explains some of my bruises), for Mike Burkes “Last Ever DJ Set” (yeah right buddy). Katy Thomas’s Playhouse Party at Flight was slow to wind up, but went into orbit later on.
 
Achieving some much needed sleep, Saturday was very productive. The biggest task though was sorting an outfit for Seeby’s erotica themed retirement party. Looking like a cross between Julian Clarey and a Vengaboy I arrived at the most amazing house I have been to in NZ. It was a promo girl pimp-fest, Hefner style. On a high we aimed straight for SpyBar. In Da House was pumping, there was nothing extra decor wise (as far as I could see), but the crowd was definitely more excited than normal. One thing led to another and it was time for them to close up. I agreed, besides the crew and I had a crack-on to bolster. I’m not sure if it was Shanes back flips, Suzanne’s limbo technique, my biscuit eating record attempt that ended in a cracked cheekbone, Mr Cow’s perpetual jovial smile, Leighton’s attempts to fool the Sober Check 2000, or Samantha’s love for the Sunday paper, but it was a sublime time.
 
Corporate Water Brands, this guide’s longest supporter, launched the future of water to the world on Monday night with Good Water. It was a powerful affair with a crowd of go-getters that only Grant Hall could muster. John Key spoke last, crisply and candidly, leaving me with no doubt that he will be our next PM. Pasha called and we answered. 20 or 30 of us wanting to keep the party vibe alive. 10 bottles of Monkey Bay later we headed to Denny’s, where I had a meat lovers salad, isn’t that an oxymoron?