The past week of pure sunshine must have got even the most stern homebody hermits outdoors. There was the odd morning when I rose, peeked between the curtains and internally said “Oh no, not another glorious day”. You see I was indoctrinated at an early age that if it was a stunner day you had to be out making the most of it. When it’s gloomy and less than favourable out, then you are allowed to head for the mall, DVD parlour, junk-food outlet and curl up on the sofa. So this extended fine spell has had me ballistic with varied activity, not all on the party tip either.

With masses still away on vacation the bulk of the businesses have the closed sign displayed, or are on limited trading, so early last week we struggled to find quality fun. A bunch of us got together at a pumping oasis, Magnum, on Tuesday in preparation for the arrival of Canada’s richest man’s son, and best mate. We’d be asked to entertain for the evening, you know, show the tourists how we do it here. We waited and waited, throwing everything on this enigma’s tab. We moved on to Coco and did the same. I got tired of this trick, so moved on to The Globe and Margarita’s to cut loose and celebrate my cousin’s birthday. It turns out that these guys never evolved and they’d done a similar stunt earlier that day with a helicopter fishing expedition. Grrrr.

I’ve been a tennis fan since I got my first swing-ball set at age 3, table tennis was next, patter-tennis followed, then the real thing. So having some of the world’s best players in town was a rush to say the least. I hadn’t been to a pro hard-court match since I was 13 and saw Lendl, Becker, Edberg, Graf and Sabatini kick ass at the Aussie Open. I had forgotten how damn fast the ball flies, and how easily these guys cover the court pounding back precision shots. What made the day even more spectacular was The Heineken Hotel. I’d been given access to utopia; they happily serve you scrummy food and alcohol all day without asking for any payment. Needless to say I’m super-glued to the idiot-box, when possible, for the next 12 days to see Federer take his 4th Australian Open title.

Living a stones throw away from Ellerslie Racecourse paid off last Friday. I had some friends over for a party warm-up before the main event, Global Summer Dance Festival. I thought arriving 2 hours after kick-off, at 6.15pm, would be bang-on. I was wrong. Our group doubled the party attendees, but we were outdoors, drinking, with great friends and tunes around so we “made hay”. Sample Gee managed to get us dancing under the Red Bull gazebo, while he sucked down bottle after bottle of Smirnoff Ice. When darkness fell we were herded inside by 6ft wire mesh fences like lambs to the slaughter. I played on the escalators for a bit (always a highlight for me) before I did a reconnaissance circuit.

Because of poor ticket sales, half the acts had been pulled and 4 of the 7 rooms abandoned (including the VIP one). Always the optimist I did my best, but had the most prolific time in the smoking zone (not that I condone the act) talking codswallop to strangers, reminiscing with friends and taking pictures. The main acts, Stonebridge and Warp Brothers, were nothing to write home about and by 4am the party was over, just the hard zone upstairs continued with a healthy crowd till the advertised end of 6am. Out of the twenty odd people I have spoke to post party, none had anything overly favourable to say about the party or the organisation.

I needed a break so was persuaded to go to Omaha beach the following morning. I am so glad I went and didn’t do the usual and waste the day away behind closed curtains. On arrival the Speedos where donned at pace, zinc smeared, snorkel, flippers and mask located and Roman sandals buckled. A hop, skip and a jump later I was crunching shells as I apprehensively made my way to the lapping waves for my first swim of the season.

We did all the usual beach activities before the searing sound of beer-o’clock overwhelmed and we retired to the deck for a few cold ones. I drew the short straw and was on tent erection duty, I loathe putting them up but enjoy the concept. I struggled as 16 eyes watched offering me unhelpful advice. I was the first to bed that night; I’d been requested to go on account of my nonsensical conversation being held up intermittently between snores. I was the first to rise though and went for a bike ride around heaven, a before body-surf and sea-kayak attempt.

Goat Island was a place I’d heard about for years so I wanted to tick it off my large list. I was interested to find out that its name was derived by the early settlers who found goats to be the only animal that could survive there, due to the lack of fresh water. That aside, I am definitely going back, mid-week, when all the kids will be behind desks. It’s a colourful fish paradise, all visible from the rocky shore. The swarms of humans gave me cabin fever, so with the promise of returning made we ventured to Pakiri Beach for some R&R. That achieved it was back to The Leigh Sawmill Café to regroup with the others and attack a pizza, the local vino and homemade fudge. The chronic queues of traffic on the way back to Auckland that night didn’t phase my impression that I’d had one hell of a magical day. Lucky I left when I did as there was a shark attack the next day and the beach was closed.

Chow is an uber-funky Asian styled restaurant chain on the corner of Sturdee St and Pakenham St East, in The Viaduct. Originating from Wellington, where they have 3 establishments, owner Paul Ryan opens up inner Auckland to some fine flavour. It opens to the public tonight (go as they have 2 4 1 cocktails made by veterans). I was asked to go and sample the cuisine last night by the GM Dave; Of course I accepted. Suzanne and I smirked as we ordered half the menu to go with our Pinot Noir. There nearly wasn’t enough room on the table; we sampled away merrily for over 2 hours, leaving only the sticky rice pudding. The banana leaf chicken and lime posset shone out in my pallet. But it was the intimate cosmopolitan décor and friendly service that probably out-shone all.