It was hard to do but I pulled myself away from attempting to attend 2 bikini comp finals, 3 dance parties, 2 afternoon outdoor music gatherings and a flat warming on Saturday. Instead I scampered up north to Matapouri for some R’n’R. Now a few days later I feel refreshed and invigorated, even though I probably had less sleep than I normally achieve on a weekend.

Before I got up there though, I had 3 days, and nights, of activity. It started with Luke Thompson and Brian Platt’s concert at Tabac on Wednesday night. I had to wait two and a half hours for Luke to take the stage, but seeing I’m a fan I endured and took the opportunity to catch up on the gossip about friends, colleagues and people I know. I’ve seen Luke perform live 3 times in the past 3 weeks and he’s getting better and better. Take some time and have a listen to some of his songs online; you’ll be enthralled.

I knew Thursday was going to be big, but not as big as it was. An accidental pre-party began it all at my place. All the disco lights were plugged in, the latest dance download throbbed from the speakers and we got creative with drinks. Pasha was the primary culprit. I’m not sure if it was Sam Sarge’s 20th birthday celebration, or that the place is normally that alive, but all the stars were out to seek and destroy. Pony club was a super natural progression for most, and mischief (when Brooke’s back was turned) was rampant. I got on a bit of a roll and when Pony closed, I tried Globe and then Forte. It was only when I looked around and saw nothing but unfamiliar male faces that I made for a taxi.

There were only 2 things I HAD to do on Friday and I managed one of them. First up was The Kingsland Festival. Now if that was on each week I firmly believe that Kingsland would become the new “place to be”. It boasted a variety of DJ’s and bands in the many bars and restaurants, street performers, comedians and balloons on the pavements. The sip’n’walk drinking laws were relaxed so multiple bar-hopping went without saying. Like last year it wasn’t only the entertainment that was different to normal, it was the cliental. Obviously a huge wad had trekked up from The Viaduct to wallow, so the spread of peeps was interestingly marked.

The other mandatory event to check out was hard dance provider Fevah’s 8th birthday celebration at Galatos. The crowd ranged in age from barely legal to nearing retirement, showing Fevah’s, and the scene’s, wide appeal. 3 rooms sweated it out till dawn with the highlight being Defective Audio playing live and the regular kiwi crowd favourite High Dosage.

I made it home at a decent time, rose at lunchtime and began the jaunt to Whangarei, stocked up on supplies, then hung a right aiming for Matapouri. To my glee I went against former mission traditions and didn’t get lost, arriving soon after 3pm.

It was Saturday, the sun was out, I was among friends and on holiday, so what better reason for us to flag the R’n’R and “get on it”? 16 hours later as the sun showed us what a stunning day lay ahead, and after long deliberation, we pulled the pin and lay down. The PG stuff that happened during those 16 hours saw a mixture of play-doh sculpting, charades, poker, karaoke, bush walks, epiphanies, beach decorating and star gazing (not necessarily in that order) take place. All other activities undertaken will “stay on tour”.

St Patrick’s Day has never grabbed me. I’ve tried to immerse myself in Guinness and green hats many times, but never seem to fully grab the Blarney Stone; instead I head home slightly bemused. Having said that though, thousands wagged work, enjoyed lengthy liquid lunches, applied Irish memorabilia and partied on down from sunrise through to sunrise. The Muddy Farmer in town probably went to the biggest effort; they closed the street outside, filled it with festivities and charged a tenner to enter their pot of gold. Others like O’Hagan’s and The Claddagh stuck with the traditional, by hiring leprechauns, giving out green blow-up swords and blasting out Irish classics. I like the concept of it all and won’t give up. Maybe next year will be the year where I become the latest St Paddy’s convert, and eat green pancakes with black Guinness sauce for breakfast. Stranger things have happened.