World Expeditions has asked me to be at the helm for this fantastic adventure. The tour has been designed to capture the pulse of Thailand. Whether that be the traditional culture of the floating markets, soaking up the sun in Phuket, or experiencing the more modern beat of the full moon dance party. 2 places have already been filled, so if you are interested, reply to this email and I’ll send all the details.
 
Focusing forward to the weekend, the 2 big parties are Deep Hard & Funky at The Vector Arena and the Ohakune Mardi Gras, I’m going to the latter on the recommendation of my psychiatrist. Get out of the rat-race for a bit, and sample the crisp air, new scene and plenty of white stuff.
 
Last week roared along. At this rate I’ll be 40 before I know it, or at least look it. Who’s heard of Aquamatta? It’s a very cosy, quiet, refined Italian restaurant at the back of The Chancery. Camillo explained they’ve been there for 4 years and been chugging along quite well, and after he’d made me a Manhattan, Caipirinha, Apple Martini and a neat Negroni I saw why. We nipped across town to the PSC to see friends, but all went next door to SPQR due to the loud music being as annoying as a slow healing scab. From here I could only find 1 taker to hit Globe Bar with me, but after an impromptu jam Dougal and I headed out. Globe was rammed for their famous $4 night. I felt 10 years too old to be there, but had a blast anyway. Opting against a taxi we athletically sprinted down Queen St to Pony Bar, I lost the race, but had unfair footwear. Grant Marshall has been replaced by new resident DJ Rain, and the place has lost its Wednesday edge, thus the saloon was vacant. I could hear the kebab shop owner next door calling from the top of the stairs, so I left.
 
Standing alone as my favourite event last week was seeing The Potbellez, one of the hottest dance acts in the world, perform live at Met Bar on Thursday. The 45min promo set flew by and it restored my faith in club nights like this. The older crowd helped, as did the boosted sound, lighting and the $5000 open bar-tab upstairs. I was convinced to go home early, by a more sensible partner, but the party raged on till very late with cameo DJ’s having their 2 cents worth.
 
I was so impressed by The Potbellez on Thursday I wanted to see them again the next night. After cracking up to comedian Ben Hurley at The Classic’s cute upstairs studio, I did just that. Being Friday (not a school night) the crowd was younger and vibe less social, but the main act was even better. I wonder where in the world they’re playing this weekend, maybe I could fit a flight in.
 
Last Saturday was the shortest day of the year, so I went swimming to celebrate. Despite the pool being heated I still froze; it was only the Pinot Noir I consumed while submerged that kept the hypothermia at bay. 3 bottles down and the sun had just closed it’s eye on the day, where better to go but to Dougal’s, the best pre-party Ponsonby pad ever. If you get to meet him ensure he invites you over. He’s playing at Forte this Saturday from midnight if you want to check out his uplifting electro tunes and meet the man.
 
The party pumped till 1ish then we cabbed to Spy. There’s something about that place that keeps attracting me back, as if brainwashed. In spite of all the pleas from my lady to go home with her, my stubborn self went anyway. Luckilly when I ascended the stairs to the surface again it was lousy weather, so I didn’t notice the late hour (breakfast was about to stop at McDonalds). I did notice the texts to after parties though, but to hear more about those you’ll have to come with me some time and see for yourself.

Before I get going on this here’s a quick bonus for all guide-getters. I’ve been lucky enough to be given permission for you all to download Phil Stoodley’s latest album “Valiant Hum” for FREE, http://www.valianthum.com. The tracks are sweetly crafted rock ballads, along the lines of Coldplay and Travis. The heavier numbers remind me of Muse, and early Radiohead.

As I was saying; Saturday sycophants, Sunday drivers, moody Mondays, buzzy Tuesdays, sheepish Wednesdays, juicy Thursdays and lame Fridays. Let me explain what I mean as I run through how the past 7 days panned out for me.

I used to be a whizz kid with the spaceys but ever since controllers with more than 1 button became the norm I’ve left the craze alone (bring back Pac Man and Super Mario). So you can imagine how over the moon I was when I was introduced to the Playstation game Buzz last Tuesday night. It was my first time and now I’m a fan. It’s colourful, educational, humourous, interactive; so splendid when played over a few drinks with friends. My next Buzz night is firmly planned in my diary for Tuesday July 1st. Who’s interested in joining in?

Tuesday was doubly buzzy, as I went to a real estate presentation at Kellands Realty in Freemans Bay. There were pronounced moguls, MP’s and minor celebs in attendance. Nice nibbles and vivacious vino circulated as we gazed over the proposed multi-million (more like billion) dollar plans, and models, for the super styley Rhubarb Lane residential and commercial development, to be built behind Victoria Park Market. Doug Rickard-Bell’s (the Aussie developer) speil held me in a trance and I wanted in, then I wondered if it was the vino making this decision for me. It wasn’t, as the following week I found myslf asking my folks for aid so I could buy in.

Red Band gumboots are things I only wear when I visit my olds and help chop the wood, but I found a pair and blended into the thousands of moleskin and swandri garbed farmies weilding cattle prods at the annual Fieldays farming extravaganza at Mystery Creek, Hamilton. There was an astonishing amount of free stuff; not just the usual promo material that you’d expect but also clothing, food and alcohol. Before long the latter had me playing Bob The Builder at the John Deer stand, then a Dog Show contestant in the stockyards.

Mr Vintage is a solid supporter of this guide, and last Thursday head honcho Rob invited anyone into his Parnell showroom for drinks, chocolate afghans and to take advantage of the t’shirt sale. I chatted to fellow friends of Vintage, Brittany and Aaron from Juice TV, at length, and the outcome was a party-oriented TV show for me. Within 3 months (just in time for the wild summer parties) I’ll be racing around the best parties that Auckland has to offer, going crazy, interviewing overseas celebs and bringing the best bits to you each week in a half hour show. Elated and elevated I went to Huffer clothing HQ for their Yes King party, a party to welcome the UK musicians to town and prepare them for the following night’s show. A bath tub chilled the Red Bull, Jager, Becks and Good Water, while the main men from out of town showed the invited crowd why they are regarded as kings in the ragga and dancehall world.

The Paddington is a place I’d been to 2 years earlier, and on Friday evening I clicked as to why I’d left it so long to go back. There were drunken baffoons acting like cheerleaders, breaking glasses and forcfully disturbing the peace. They were finally escorted out, but the vibe remained dead, so I lassoed some ladies and partied it up at a Ponsonby house party. There were turntables and I couldn’t resist, I played for almost 3 hours as the others got intoxicated, one lass even insisted on licking the length of my jeans. There were few options (like most Fridays around town during the winter months), so we massed to Excess, at Met & Code.  The getfrank VIP area was more popular than the rest of the club; it must have been the complimentary vodka as the tunes were quite catchy. Needing sobriety BK was called upon.  It did a treat. We stood munching onion rings watching a busker. He sat reclined casually juggling a soccer ball with his feet a thousand times at will. The party plug was pulled early due to tumbleweed rolling across Queen St. There was nothing rocking.

Normally I can’t hold a grudge more than a day; one still lingers for the NZRFU but I watched the All Blacks v England game anyway. It was alright I guess, but I was more excited about where I was going afterwards. DDub played with international prowess at Galatos, Liam Finn had me captivated at The Powerstation, Karn Hall spun a sworded 5 hour set at Sponge Bar and DJ Shaveer gave away 500 shots at Coherent, as well as putting on a populated uplifting electro party called Word. I finished myself off with savage hard house at Space bar at the Born2Bang dance party, then meekly made my way home, heavily out of pocket from trying to please those who I am sure assume that I get drinks for free wherever I roam. I would love that to be the case.

Why do we drive with OTT caution on Sundays? Are we attempting to evade Monday longer somehow, maybe savour the pleasure of limited traffic congestion, or perhaps that Sunday roast puts us into a dreamy trance. I don’t know, but I do know it caused an accident resulting in injury last Sunday. Fortunately it occured outside the entrance to the North Shore Hospital, so help was just a stone’s throw away.

After an eventful weekend, Monday rolled around. Monday’s a day where I reflect upon opportunities missed (and taken), and where I realise that the next one’s a whopping 4 sleeps away.

The wild week that was, was eventful. One major event each day saw me amazed at art, schmoozing with celebs, bow tied at a ball, dancing with dolls and banging bongos.

I don’t think anyone knew Brooke Howard-Smith was so skilled. His maiden art exhibition, titled “Stolen Moments”, was a hit, with many works sold before the last Mojito was shaken. There was no obvious theme, apart from avante garde and appealing, but if I’d had some spare readies I definitely would’ve invested.

Forgetting it was Wednesday the troops were roused and we enjoyed some scrummy Verve at Suite Bar, swung by Globe for a shot and increased our party pack numbers, roosted at Pony, rendezvousing with others from the gallery who’d also mistaken Wednesday for a more happening day of the week, and partied to the retro party sounds provided by my favourite NZ DJ, Grant Marshall.
 
Waking up nuzzled under a bush in the Parnell Rose Gardens was uniquely new. Not wanting to drive home, I’d attempted to walk. The pie at the last servo had made me drowsy, so I sort seclusion and comfort. Where better than a bed of thorns. After my 90min power nap, I felt decidedly more mobile and called a cab to complete the journey to a bed I was more accustomed to.

I was under dressed, there’s no denying that; the glitz and pomp was remarkable. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been invited to such an event, but this was one of the world’s elite fashion brands. Louis Vuitton cut the ribbon to it’s latest shopping jewel in the empire, on Queen Street last Thursday night. The outlet was immaculate, down to the last mirco-millimetre. I inspected the pimped-out viewing room upstairs; it was eye-popping to experience the kind of decadence that the rich and famous deal with daily.

30 metres along the pavement was the after party entrance. Corridors, stairs, twists and turns and then, WOW! I was ushered into a former movie theatre, painted white, contemporally lit and decorated in LV theme, with polished wooden floors filled with people, all of which you could tell had something interesting to say.

The Pony Club has been a club I’ve visited well over 200 times, for various reasons, but why did a bouncer have a knife last Thursday? It seems that ever since head bouncer Ben moved on to Globe Bar, the welcoming vibe on the door has been lost. There was a disagreement downstairs, The Feelers front man, James Reid, was bundled up and out onto the pavement, getting a cut hand for sticking up for a lady. A few minutes later another defenseless bloke was man-handled out, and delt to. The cops came and did their piece, but not a good look for one of my favourite clubs.

I don’t get a chance to listen to George FM regularly, as my car aerial is missing, I don’t have Sky, and live out of reception range. However they have played a big part in my lifestyle since I arrived in The City of Sails, so when I heard they were having a ball, celebrating 10 years on, I got excited.

I’ve never mastered tying a real bow-tie and Friday was no exception. 2 pre-parties down I was chauffeured to Pontoon to mingle and celebrate. My shimmering Versace velvet long dinner jacket was getting more attention than me, so I checked it. We’d arrived in time to see Peter Urlich’s band’s last song, but it wasn’t till the especially reunited House of Downtown’s first note of energising live vocal house that I got into the groove. Over half of the 900 strong attendees were comped their tickets as a show of thanks, then there was the odd sneaky bugger who navigated through the security screens, but all bonded and rocked till close.

Slinky is an international dance party brand that I’ve been a fan of since school. I’d known of them coming to town for months, and had big organised plans; so feeling as disasterous as I did, I had to brave the wintery cold and get hard. Arriving early meant a wee car party to get in the zone. It was heaving by 11.30 when we entered the arena. I was whisked backstage and amongst 30 odd tipsy beauties, all dolled up to the 9’s, in skimpy tight revealing costumes and fluro wigs. Fortunately I knew a few so my stunned initial reaction eased.

The 2 international main acts were Graham Gold and Lee Haslam, and they couldn’t have been more of a contrast. Graham, a 54 year old 5ft veteran, whose been through 3 marriages and more gear than Amy Winehouse and Elvis combined; and Lee a thirty-something fresh faced eloquent gent from Doncaster whose still enjoying his first marriage. So come closing at 6am, we chose Graham to party-on with us.

Who didn’t get a text from me early morning? The majority of those in my phonebook did, as I put out the signal to join forces. We’d come to a recording studio in Kingsland to carry on our merry way. It made sense to record some music (keep your ears open for “Better Than You”, to be released in November), so we did, singing, rapping and strumming bongo drums.

When I made it home at lunchtime, food was furthest from my mind. I was still amping for people to join my joyride; alas there were no more takers, so I bit the bullet and dialed 0800 83 83 83, and popped on Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. It had been a good week, why flog it? Sit back, marinate and plan the next one.

I take this as meaning that anyone can have a blast no matter what their situation. Keep aware of possible opportunities, keep it varied, keep smiling and the good times will teem your way. If in doubt of options, attend some of the things listed below, there’s a better than average chance that I’ll be there, and we can P.A.R.T.Y, forgetting that we have to wait a full 5 months till we get another legit long weekend.

Playstation, false human enhancements, references, fashion, rock stars, business plans, reunions, hotels, babies, art and magazines. That was my week. Let me break it down, so you get a visual of how it went.

Knights in armor don’t come any shinier than Warwick, one of Sony NZ’s top guys, who is heading overseas. He threw a party. Many of the hoi polloi attended, and many drank more than their share. I realised that I can’t drive game drunk (those controllers are little devils to operate), and that I am appalling at Singstar. I did somehow manage to Hugh-it though and sign off the night in my jacuzzi with a handful of ladies (mean age 21.5) where only one hadn’t had enhancement surgery.

My 2.5 week house-sitting stint ended in smiles and I now have a glowing reference if anybody out there wants to feel secure about going away and leaving pets or property. I’m just an email away.

The Fashion Industry of NZ (FINZ) meets a couple of times a year. Last Thursday they swarmed the Pony Club. I’ve never been to an event down there that’s required you to behave. It was well lit (added illumination from glowing branded torsos), well catered and the attendees (although a largely different bunch from those I normally move amongst) were friendly, fun and all achieving in their own areas. The most interesting new people I spoke to were; Nigel Eru, former head Bendon lingerie designer, now charged with tackling Line-7’s range aiming to boost its pubic, and industry, perception; Roy Young, Maxxium Liquor’s Northern Regional Sales Manager, who used to be on the upper rungs of Wilson Parking. We chatted at length about business, sport and women (yes in that order). Lastly was Trelise Cooper, I’d been told her personality was like barbed wire. What a farce, she’s lovely. Interestingly her son’s doing something similar to me in Europe.

Clap Clap Riot impressed me beyond belief, every chord a classic that I would actually pay to hear again. They shone out as the obvious winner at MTV’s Kickstart finals concert, so they got the $200,000 package of boosters to aid them into orbit and stardom. Moshing up front brought back university memories, getting whacked by a hurled drumstick was new, yet I felt blessed concurrently. They ran the show with military precision, pizza dished out at 6.40pm, and devoured by 6.55. Show starts at 7pm, ends at 8.45pm, ultimate winner announced at 9pm, lights out at 10pm. Amber Peebles, and to a lesser extent Jay Reeve, hosted like Oscar winning pros, with the 10 worthy judges relaying great feedback and the correct result.

It’s not all play time for me. Recently I devoted myself full time to making this guide, and the website, a soaring business success, as I’m continually told that I’m sitting on a goldmine. So with the help of many mentors I spent most of Saturday drafting a business plan, and the following few days adjusting it. Watch this space over the coming months for big changes.

Exhausted from too much brain work I kitted up and headed around the corner, up the street, past the lights and down a steep driveway to “Carnevale”, a friends masquerade party in the tradition of the movie Eyes Wide Shut. Have a look at the album of pictures on the website to see what I had to deal with. I said my goodbyes as the temperature began to go skyward and we meandered to Spy Royal, which really should have been named Spy Reunion. It’s been a long time since I saw so many great party people in 1 place. Grant Marshall showed why he’s one of the best club DJ’s in NZ, with solid mixing and track selection. Like an incurable disease he had our feet shuffling, and hands in the air till he signed off about 5am, when the fever raged on with more from a different set of hands.

The Westin hotel opened almost a year ago and honestly is a cut above everything else we have in Auckland. Instead of leaving town with the masses I got a suite with harbour views. The plush place is very calming, hassle free and all staff are hooked in to a main frame like secret service agents. So you could call the concierge for a bucket of ice, and by the time you’d replaced the receiver there’d be a knock at the door. It felt like I was in a 5 star tropical resort hotel, but without any signs of jet-lag. There was a choice of 1m long pillows, squidgy feather traditional, or modern and ergonomic, and the bath could hold 3 with ease. The only downer I came across was the $17.95 charge to watch a movie, but then again, a treat from time to time is always allowed.

People say I’d be a good Dad. I’m not overly convinced (well not for a few years at least). On Monday afternoon I played father figure for 2 boys, one 6, the other 2. Nintendo Gameboy Advance took care of the older and a cracker and TV remote the younger. It felt incredibly odd walking around the Viaduct checking out the boats pushing a buggy, with a midget hitched on. When I passed at friend I just said hi and kept on truckin’, not knowing how to explain my sudden family.

I self performed the Heimlich maneuver on myself on Tuesday, when I clicked that the lady I’d just had a rambling discussion with about the sloppy usage of negative space of a photo, was none other than the NZ Minister for The Arts, Heritage and Culture, the Hon. Judith Tizard. She was in town as guest speaker for “They Were Young Once”, a photographic exhibition of emerging and iconic artists. I went along early evening to unwind after a rough day in the hood, before I moved on to something more racy; a magazine launch at Bungalow 8. Mag launches have been weekly lately, this one is special though: it’s NZ’s first carbon neutral mag. Called “Good”, even the ink’s good for you. 2 highlights were being taught how to make paper napkin roses to impress ladies, and falling in love with Robyn Malcolm, what a down-to-earth star she is.

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