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.