Hump day kicked off the weekend. I’d just regenerated from the last one and here we were again. Ever heard of Nicolas Feuillatte? I hadn’t, but it’s the latest Champagne on the shelves, and it launched at Opium last Wednesday. The hype was big and decisive (e.g. Doors locked tight at 8.20pm). Filled with reps and associates it appeared like just another premiere as I entered, but PR company Madant had other ideas, their theme being naked women and performance art. The highlight being when guests were invited to pour coloured paint on the girls, then watch them mix it up by tastefully writhing on each other. When it wound up I went to see Oceania’s best erotic dancer be crowned at Showgirls.

I knew there were a few others in the world going by the code of “Party Marty,” but Showgirls in Auckland was the last place idea expect to see a double. There was a Party Marty 2.0 (with a full head of hair) judging the comp. In a nut-shell 2.0 let the PM name down, coming up well short on the cool-o-metre. The announcer had the odd jab at me and my guide, but I was more focused on the hotties parading before me.

I didn’t want to go out the next night (but my FOMO condition would have none of that negativity). I was furious when I arrived at Chapel and discovered I had left my camera at home. My mood compounded when my dates showed up looking majorly dolled up and I had no way of getting evidence. Nancy, Rebecca, Jessica and Adriana and I enjoyed a couple of drinks there, then moved across the road to PSC. I felt supreme, for once my eyes didn’t stray for one second away from my immediate company. PSC has now acclimatised to the Ponsonby way, so most of the patrons were there for the duration. Unlike normal I was the first to exit, like normal (sadly) it was on my own.

Friday dawned stunningly, blue sky from east to west. I nearly took a photo looking out all my windows and got them enlarged onto canvas, so that when it’s gloomy I can throw open the curtains and feel fab gazing at a perpetually delightful day. Friday stayed dandy till dusk then the heavens opened, but by this time I was safely drinking at Lion-Nathan HQ as they launched a lusty new pink vault, and 9% Billy Maverick RTD (that was aptly impulsively expanded to Ready To Dance for the evening by a certain Mr Bruce). I came a close second in a limbo contest, narrowly missing out on a pink bean-bag, dismayed I moved on to a packed La Zeppa and 2 house parties, gathering people and momentum at every pit stop.

Coco Club was a sweet surprise. Oxana had her birthday there, amassing a great crowd of friends and associates. Onny K did wonders with the retro grooves on the decks and had me inspired, so I took up a previous offer and joined Dougal up at George FM for the 12 – 2am DJ slot. We had a raucous time just managing to stay professional. Come 2am we decided to go till the morning show began at dawn, but auto ad breaks kept on interrupting our mixes so we called it a day and hit up Spy Bar.

Spy was as busy as a Saturday, so we treated it like one. Home time came and went, I wound up in a loft apartment in Parnell being bound in packing tape and my chest waxed. Things got testy so we moved to a more welcoming abode 5 minutes away. Here we stayed and went to great lengths to coax ladies from all walks to come and grace us. We failed in that area, but had a blast along the way.

Saturday was always going to be big, and when night-time rolled around again troops did arrive, boosting energy levels and possibilities. Moving on into town was a good option, I just wanted a place with Sky TV, we found one on the waterfront and settled in. There was one Aussie in the joint and he began to bleat. After half time, we all lost interest in the rugger test, put on booming tunes and attempted to learn “The Melbourne Shuffle”.

Hed Kandi at Asta was the first club stop, we didn’t even stay for a drink. Bang Gang at Code next, that was better. Flight Lounge wasn’t bad, but it was Forte that held me bopping for well over an hour. Pony lacked any sort of kick. However Ink & Coherent up on K Rd captivated me and I didn’t want to leave, the beats from The North Shore Pony Club were funky, fresh and charging, with a good crew on the floor.

It was almost 5 by the time we made it to Spy. But we did manage to catch Amy Ivancic singing live  vocals to classic house. It was her first public appearance and she was sensational, I hear she now wants a pink diamond encrusted microphone.

Soon after she finished the oddest thing happened. A game of spin the bottle subtly began on the main coffee table in the lounge area. Jamie tried to stop the game by taking the Heineken bottle away, but we had a few more lurking. Yes there was the odd same sex connection.

My final party for the week ensued. We did the mass text-out to qualified ladies to pop over, but only got a 20% reply ratio and a 2% arrival rate, but better one than none. Next weekend I’m taking out flyers to hand-out to perfect after-party female attendees, to save hours of toil once the horse has bolted.

I think so. Everyone has pre-drinks somewhere before they embark on a night out, and many continue the party on back at someone elses house (or if you are unlucky enough, yours) for at least 1 more nite-cap. Does this mean that we are lacking the sort of establishments that cater for our ever changing needs? Or are we just what the media depicts us to be? Binge drinking, shag-a-delic individuals.

Wednesday’s big ticket event was a singles party at The Grange. The weather was fugly but by far the majority of the female ladened crowd were not. The next night’s excitement took me to see a comedy show, drink perfectly crafted cocktails at Bungalow8 (thanks Kristen) and b-bop post-op at the Pony shop. Tarnos’s 30th birthday bash house party took out Friday night’s top award with DJ Lady K working up the Hawaiian themed party into a hurricane force sweat. Stereodays at Space was the surprise mega hit. I stopped in to say hi after dancing on the mantelpiece at Our House’s Winter Wonderland party and was greeted with a capacity crowd going bananas to the main DJ act, Tara Reynolds, very reminiscent of my old London raver days. I couldn’t leave, and my hands stayed in the air till I managed to hail a cab heading to the after party.

Speaking of after parties, a new Ponsonby after party force has risen to challenge Dougal for supremacy. She’s blonde and her name rhymes with Havana. New challengers welcome

A quick mention. Two guide-getting friends of mine, Rebecca Dearing and Ben Hanna, are doing the $10 Auckland to Queenstown charity challenge this year. Check out their plans and what they intend to do…  www.fundsonline.co.nz/rebecca.robbie and www.fundraiseonline.co.nz/corporateclownspoker

Actual race info is here: www.experiencequeenstown.co.nz/events/feature-events/10-dollar-race-cure-kids/

It was a rampant and varied week with my first lesson learnt on Wednesday. The Comedy Club does not have a BYO policy. Big Wednesday at The Comedy Club attracted a full house and some guide-getters got turned away. The evening was MC’d stealthfully by Jeremy Elwood as he linked the acts into one gigantic laugh fest. He was so stealth-like he witnessed me pouring from my ripper-sipper under the table and tore strips off me, in a comedic kind of way.

On Thursday my message to remember was to never allow the 3 brainiest people in the room to form a Buzz team (my fave Playstation game). They managed to accumulate more points than the rest of the other 3 teams combined. It was a hilarious start to the evening though. Bungalow8 for Slynkey.com’s launch followed, as did the usual Pony Club after that to see The Neons utterly rock. We cracked on, and I shamefully thought it’d be fun to take the train home to Ellerslie later that morning, it wasn’t, I got drenched and hassled by homeys.

Whimpering, clutching my liver and forehead I went about my Friday’s duties. If it hadn’t been for my pre-arranged evening meetings I would have pulled the pin on all plans, and had an early night. But my 2 blonde drivers arrived and we made it to SublimeNZ’s modeling division launch (but Amelia, can you please watch your following distances next time, I was white knuckled).

The event got me out of my slumber, some red wine coaxing ignited the after burners and I was away. Every bit of the event was well done, but it was the friendly happy people there that took the tiara in my eyes.

Friday’s lesson was a large one. Unless your are severely ill, take all your opportunities. You just may have the best night of your life.

Greed indoctrinated me and we nipped around most of the CBD’s bars and clubs. The best one was where we roosted, for 15 hours. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Dougal has the best after parties. Keep your ear to the ground for the next one.

A costume change and we were on the road to an 80’s themed house party, some break-dancing, and cherrios later we rolled up to Pontoon for The Love Boat dance party. People wondered about my get-up, but remained largely tight-lipped. It was when I foolishly went to SpyBar that I knew I’d made a horrendous blunder. Lesson 4, to never go to a club of any sort, sleep deprived and in a hideous stand-out costume, when everyone else is in styley attire from the covers of GQ and Vogue. I lasted to about 4am before I was ushered to a cab for a well deserved ride home.

I didn’t leave the sofa on Sunday. I heard of scattered after parties raging, but I was ill and taking advice from lesson 3. Funnily enough Friday’s lesson relates to Sunday’s epiphany. Before you try and endure a second or a third night out on the trot. Don’t think KFC is nutritious, strutting around the house in your boxers doing fashions show for friends is wise (especially ones with cameras), but most of all get at least a few hours shut-eye before you tackle another night on the turps/tiles.

My talent agency sent me to an audition for a new Ford commercial first thing Monday morning. Lesson 6 is don’t attempt a vigorous winning acting display when feeling sub-par. I thought I aced the test, but my agent thought the contrary when she called later in the day.
 
The 40 Below chat is a series of cocktail evenings hosted by the National Party. The series aims to bring young Aucklanders together to network, and hear high-profile speakers talk about their achievements, ideas and how to make NZ a better place. The latest one was Tuesday just gone at Bungalow8. I got to meet a long time hero of mine, Hamish Carter. What an inspirational guy. He taught me lesson 7, to believe in yourself and never give up.

Later that evening I talked over my learnings from the week with my friend in her spa pool. Some were tweaked, but most left as is for you all to read and maybe take heed.

There was an abandoned bike, amongst other worn household items, recklessly stacked on the curb near my home last week. I wheeled it home, named it Maverick, and nursed it back to full working order. Now those Video Ezy, Burger Fuel and Glengarry short drives, to satisfy unrelenting cravings, can be replaced by something more friendly to the wallet and environment.

This past week saw me get fired up over a rugby league game, coax strangers to talk to me, ride in a big rig, critique amateur cocktails, pull a hammy and watch 9 episodes of Scrubs back to back.

Following a Dixie Chicken stomach stretch at The Lone Star I watched my beloved maroon wearing Queensland rugby league team triumph over New South Wales and win this year’s State Of Origin series. Not one to ever get too riled up over a televised sporting fixture, this win had me gloating, even to the bouncer. The commercial truly is correct: it is more fun if you have something riding on it. My lazy tenner had grown into 18.

My Juice TV party show plan is blossoming. Last Thursday we got filming under way for the pilot show. In a nut shell, I do what I’ve always been doing, jetting around parties like a spider monkey, but now I have a microphone in my hand and bulky black lense pointed at me. Both my camera man and I require further skills in the art of interviewing while under the influence, but we should have this deficiency rectified come this weeks gallivanting.

Friday I was woken to the sound of choppers and big rigs. Realising it was the day of the truckies strike, I slowly surfaced (last night’s extra enthusiasm had drained me, and I had a savage hangover that could easily slay a walrus) and zoomed into the CBD on Maverick. Fortunately it was predominately downhill. Unfortunately my full-length jacket wasn’t waterproof, contrary to the label’s assurance. Nevertheless as I watched the rigs trickle by, I saw a grimacing face I recognised. Locking Maverick, I climbed aboard and took great pride when assigned the job of horn operator. I was happier than a kitten chasing a leaky cow.

That night I’d agreed to entertain 30 employees at HRV. Fully prepared I began the 90 minute exercise. It played out like a cross between charades, The Krypton Factor and The Generation Game. The final task was to concoct, name and present a cocktail with the materials provided. One spilt mess (that narrowly missed a computer) named “3.15am” got high marks for originality. Another, with a delicate French name that I can’t recall, was fit for consumption at Singapore’s Raffles.

Sleep is an asset I cherish when given the opportunity. I got a big dose Friday night so went bananas at my aerobics class Saturday morning. After readjusting myself from a near very embarrassing fainting situation in the weights area, I began the class with vigor. 40 minutes in, with sweat flinging from me with every movement, I did one high kick just a little too high and limped to the edge with my tail between my legs. I tried to continue, but it wasn’t going to happen.

Arriving home, I ate, then immediately began rehabilitation: a glass of deep pinot noir. By the end of the bottle the pain had subsided, so I spruced up and went visiting. Marina was first, Hanna second, Rochelle third and the infamous Dougal 4th. With passenger numbers increasing at every stop the smallest was relegated to the boot.

Pontoon’s a very different place when there’s not a huge party on. I got lost navigating my way to Alison’s 23rd birthday soirée. Time not being our friend we moved to Fu and Zen bars for Liquid Recreation’s 2nd birthday party; what a wicked venue. The D&B sound was unfamiliar, and I couldn’t grasp the dance moves needed to look co-ordinated, but I was impressed with the live vocals and electric guitar. Seba was next on the cards for Mint’s 4th fresh monthly outing. Those housey anthems always work and the crowd was smiling from ear to ear. Good news is that I’ll be mixing at the next one, and you’re all invited.

Nearby Dougal Swift played an electrifying set at Forte. Bummer for management was that when he left he took 80% of the crowd with him. Flight Lounge was busy, as was Pony. One bright beacon was Celebration 08 at The Transmission Room. A mainly gay affair with all the colours of the rainbow on display, in regards to music, lighting, decorations and get-ups. No complaints here, the team had created a super event, I just wasn’t in the mood.

The last port of call was Spy. Oddly, the only area where you could move freely was at the bar, so I stayed there and spent time testing the bar staff’s improvised drink making ability. Time flew, when closing came I chose not to head for the after party, but for my flannelette sheets. Does this mean I’m getting old?

Ohakune’s a very unique town. In Winter its population sky rockets 10 fold on weekends, and once a year it’s 100 fold.  That happened last weekend. I didn’t see much snow, but the arctic air told me that it was about.
 
Meanwhile back in Auckland, the talk of the town was the sold-out Deep Hard & Funky dance party at Vector Arena on Saturday. I lost count of the number of people calling and texting wanting tickets; some I could help, most I could not. A few other things occurred last week for me; power cuts, Panasonic Toughbooks, lingerie and cabin fever to name a few.

To see what I mean, read on…

I’m not sure if it’s where I live but I suffered a spate of power cuts last week. The biggest was a 12 hour bastard on Tuesday night. A real bummer as I’d organised a dinner party. They all turned up and were greeted by scores of candles, extra chilled sauvignon, takeaways and rugs. A fun night indeed ensued, board games leading the way followed by a splitting headache when dawn came and I saw the pigsty left behind.

The Kids Can charity organisation has been the flavour of 2008 for many event organisers. The most recent fundraiser was Fantasia, a lingerie fashion show along the lines of the famous Victoria’s Secret. For $200 you could sit at a table next to the stage and enjoy all the hospitality you could consume, otherwise it was up in the balcony for a reasonable $45. The event was internationally worthy, with contemporary cuts, colours and blow-waves. The majority of the models must have been flown in, as unfortunately you don’t see jaw-dropping ladies like that strutting around. The after party at Opium was busy, but not packed, just right really. The who’s who were there, but nobody stood out beacon-like.

I stayed in Thursday. I wanted to get to know my brand new Toughbook laptop a little. It’s a gem: you can drop it, spill booze on the keys, even twist the screen a full 180 degrees. It does lots of other nerdy things but those were the main qualities that appealed to me. Following this wee 1-on1 session I filled the living room with nice friends, drank a gorgeous bottle of Crawford Farm pinot noir, discussed the differences between Magnum and Topsy ice-creams, devoured full strength popcorn and watched the inspirational movie Charlie Wilson’s War.

With a full 8 hours sleep under my belt Sam, Carla and I set sail with Dan at the helm Ohakune bound for the annual Mardi Gras. The 4 hour drive flew by, without even the mention of a game of Eye Spy. Uniting with the earlier arriving posse at the rented cabin around 4.30pm we set to bagsing beds and stocking the fridge. Buzz and Singstar were plugged in, as was general tomfoolery. The final car load rolled up, and the real games began.

I somehow ended up nodding off on a broken fold-up sofa in the living room at 3am. This would have been acceptable except that the first person rose at 5.20am (as she’d flaked out at 8 the previous night). Not being the best sleeper even in the most ideal setting, I stoked up the fire and set to work putting the place back to the way it was when we arrived.

The morning dragged on. I lasted until 11.30am before I changed from iced water to iced vodka and tonic, I was on holiday so where’s the harm. 2 hours later I was in a person’s house, with 20 guys and 2 girls, all whom I had never met before. We were all on the sauce, so soon mingled and started showing-off.

Following our noses I splintered off with some fresh friends and bounced about some other houses in the Kune village, staying no longer than 30 minutes and never letting our breath alcohol level dip below 1000ml. My trendy Auckland get-up was no match for the bone-chilling temperatures, this was one time I would have forgone Gucci and Prada for a woollen jersey and some long-johns.

There was a NYE atmosphere, only dampened slightly by the weather. A 15 minute fireworks display started the carnival and the cordoned off streets came alive with youngsters of all denominations. I opted to stay indoors like an old man and view the revellers from the Powderkeg balcony. It was here that the infectious grooves of Manual Bundy, Cian and Submariner (aka the Turnaround crew) where spinning, so this was the best place for me. The Turnaround party stayed half full from start to finish. I found it odd not knowing many people, but this meant it was the perfect opportunity to really cut loose.

I awoke on Sunday, with eyes like a rehab patient, to the news that Ohakune was cut off from civilisation due to a blizzard. I felt cabin fever welling within; there must be a way out. I thought of friends with helicopters or ski-bikes who owed me favours, wondering if rescuing me was asking too much.

Thankfully, after another few games of Buzz and a silly Tommy-Lee movie, the powers that be cleared a path, and we were freed from Kune. Dan drove like a trooper all the way back while I dozed in the back, periodically waking wondering where in the world I was. When I saw the golden arches in Huntly I felt at home, so nipped in to readjust and acclimatise.