http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJWxBwgxoGM.

I’ll keep this week’s blog short as I know you’re all very busy, and because I had quite a dry week, alcoholically speaking.  My week was filled though with quite bizarre arty movies, such as “You, the Living”, and inspirational ones like “Run, Fat Boy, Run”. I caught some stage shows too; with the Auckland International Comedy Festival launching on Thursday the options were bountiful. “Loser” shone out. 6 youthful talented actors had us clutching our bellies in rapturous laughter for 90 minutes. We selected the elevated front row to watch proceedings and one member of our group was a little red-faced as she’d neglected to slip into underwear before leaving the house, and her skirt was quite the opposite of long. I’m sure I saw one eagle eyed actor cotton-on.

My sober self was timid about going to First Class at Flight Lounge on Friday after the show, but peer pressure always works and I found it very interesting. Many thought I was sick, in my seemingly sedated state, but I was merely observing the activities of others. Karn Hall played a delightful warm-up set till midnight and it was those tunes that held me there for so long. Cam Robertson took over at 12 and my attention wandered to the promo girls and the exit.

I went ballistic at the gym Saturday morning, taking my life’s frustrations out in the form of sweat and going for a personal bench-press record (that I nearly achieved). Satisfyingly completing some stocked-up household chores came next, then a pleasure craft trip over to Stonyridge Vineyard for Miss Universe NZ pre-judging. It had been stressed in the party promotions that it was NOT a dance party (like the venue recently has become famous for), and it wasn’t. But after the 12 beauties had drifted up and down the red carpet in 3 different outfits, we were all ready for some pacey beats. The vineyard owner was against the idea, but, like me, is easily swayed by lovely ladies, and the funky sounds began to emanate, as did our Saturday night smiles.

The journey back was like a Laurel and Hardy flick. The boat’s staff just watched from their quarters keeping their “tut tuts” to themselves. We splintered after docking. I nipped off to SkyCity to see Tony Lee, the aggressive R18, stone cold Steve Austin wrestler look-alike, hypnotist. He stressed he’d done over 5000 shows like this one, and it showed; no improvisation here.

We couldn’t sit still for any longer and bailed 1hr into the show; besides it was fast approaching pumpkin time. Trotting back to the car we did a Superman outfit upgrade and zig-zagged to SpyBar for Club Luxury.

It was never my intention to stay for so long. Bar Retro, 4:20 Club, Ink and Space Bar were all on my “to do” list, but the tunes were soooo gooood and people soooo friendly. Kudos to Jolyon Petch for his killer set, this was supposed to be his final DJ appearance before heading back to Cyprus, but I have a sneaky suspicion he’ll be back behind the decks before his flight boards.

So at 6am it was out to the airport to pick up some weary traveller friends of mine. The texts flowed in with info on ostentatious after parties, but I politely fended them off and headed for Mickey D’s and home and some Earl Grey.

It was priceless receiving updates from those still up from the previous night. I was jealous, but I knew I’d be the one feeling bouncy come Monday, not them. So instead of nursing a pounding head, bruises and the exasperation of lost personal items courtesy of the past 24hr’s escapades, I went out to Coco Club for a Cuban party celebrating Havana Rum. The Pernod Ricard team put on a neat event. A makeshift clothesline wove its way up the alleyway 2m above us with op shop clothes attached. Butch brollies with comfy deckchairs beneath splayed close to the metres of meaty South American cuisine, that was cooked before us by native pros.

Inside Coco the focus was on sampling cocktails. Oddly the one I liked the least had just come 4th in the world at the crème de la crème of alcohol concoction awards, its base flavour coming from an expensive mashed up cigar. Some awards and spot prizes were distributed. I was not one of the lucky ones.
 
I’d met all the contestants the previous day on Waiheke so I thought what the hell on the way home, and stopped in at The Novotel Hotel in Ellerslie to see the crowning of Miss Universe NZ. Proceedings were predictably running late but just before the bewitching hour Miss Horowhenua, Samantha Powell (my fave), was crowned; all in all a fine way to wind up a weekend. Feeling jovial I welcomed Monday.

It came quickly. Post work it was gym time, I lasted 35min before a high kick threw me writhing to the floor, yet another injury, adding to my list of ailments that so far include 2 fractured ribs, bronchitis and a deaf right ear. I weazled to the shower, the car, then to The Basement (formerly The Silo Theatre) for George FM’s photographic exhibition (the show must go on whatever the weather).

I’ve been to about 100 art exhibition openings, and this was like none of them, so I stayed a while, chatting to industry friends and enjoying the complimentary Tiger beer. Red lights ruled the zone, Dean Campbell dominated the decks and Jodi, the George FM representative, coaxed us all to text vote for what we thought the best photo was. I went for #7, a drunk lady pretending to drive a full-sized fire truck.

Slightly numbed by beer, but still in agony, I drove to Northcote for sympathy and a succulent meal with my overseas comrades.

Jamie Bowen’s comedy gig on Tuesday, “Bowen Arrow”, was definitely not what the doctor ordered; it was too funny. My aches and pains went into overdrive, after 5 minutes, eyes bellowing, body taut and teeth seared I was cursing the little blighter. I had to switch off and think of fluffy clouds and playful puppies to calm down enabling me stay in the room. I know that 100% R&R for a week would no doubt cure me, but then all my other phobias and issues would ignite, I can’t win really, so best just keep doing what I do best aye?