When I was growing up there was a coded chat amongst similarly aged young-guns called “Pigme”. You switch the first and last letter of every word. Designed to fool adults, we could communicate openly and freely, or so we assumed. On the weekend FYI, friends, without mental illnesses, were chopping down one-liners to a bunch of letters and having conversations. A simple sentence like “The taxi’s waiting outside” was contracted to TTWO. A more complicated one like “When you make my drink can I have extra ice please”, became WYMMDCIHEIP. Is this to shield information from fellow revelers, or has our quest to be faster, cleverer and more curt etc, gone a little OTT?

My weekend stretched 5 days last week, or looking at it another way, my working week lasted 2.

Whenever I meet famous people I clam up and act like a mutant, even for well known NZ people it’s the same deal. This is why I prefer not to read gossip columns, or watch the E channel. This means that when I meet them, and find out what they do, I go “Really? That’s nice”, then we talk about more pressing topics. Meeting The Veronica’s last Wednesday unfortunately was no exception to the mutant rule. I had planned a spiel how it would be a fantastic idea for them to come and party with me the following night, but it came out gibberish and I was lucky to even get a picture.

Rallying from that dismal show I was invited to judge heat one of the Miss Hawaiian Tropic bikini comp, at The Safari Lounge. The venue was larger than I remembered, but ideal, and the 9 girls, some very seasoned, some novice, put on an entertaining and alluring performance. I can’t wait for this, and next weeks, heat, oh and the final.

I tried to make cheese scones on Thursday, they were only really edible when doused in butter, more cheese and a rash of bacon. This week I’m stepping up to the lofty height of concocting a banana cake with passion fruit icing.

When evening rolled around we moved to Bungalow8 for Cocktails & Decks. I’d arranged for forty friends to meet and mingle, while I spun a selection of my favourite tunes. Fortunately Dougal Swift was there to take over, as I found chatting more fascinating. In retrospect I should have gone home then, but no. We hit up Pony Club; to our joy we found that Ben had been lured back to work the door, and there was a new resident DJ doing a sterling job. I guess management have begun listening to the rumours. Now all we need is for The Neons to play there regularly, and for more than 45min, and we’d have a club I’d go to always.

Thursday merged into Friday, then dusk came. Time had definitely flown. If I hadn’t arranged for friends to come over for pre-drinks ages ago I would’ve gone to bed and chilled in the recovery position for a very long time. They showed up early and the games began (for them, but resumed for me).

By 9.30 we were at Flight Lounge for Mel’s 30th, there was a friendly turn-out and the food catering was remarkable. An hour or so later the place began to flood with people for Club Couture’s Mid-Winter Dreams party. I danced for nearly 6 hours and saw some amazing dance-floor antics; DJ Mr Phillips blindly mixing while texting, DJ Mr Hall who incredible hulked a couple of t’shirts, now the 50cm tears down the fronts need to be mended, or was that deliberate? Also those naughty naughty nurses, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such displays of PDA.

I had been looking forward to Saturday for weeks, so it sucked that I felt like death. But like clockwork 8 friends came knocking at 6pm. Popping a bottle of Deutz every 15 minutes we were all soon on our feet grooving and rifling through my vast dress-up box.

The luxury Lincoln Limousine came and whisked us away at 8pm. I felt like Busta Rhymes living larger than large, enhanced when Karen couldn’t help but dance out through the sun-roof, Jessica spilt champagne down her front and Anita lip-synced to Sirmixalot.

The purpose of the limo was to transport us to SkyCity for the Les Mills 40th birthday party. The theme was the 1960’s and dressing up was mandatory. I thought we’d arrived too early, but nah, we were bang-on. The Beat Girls started in the main zone and Karn Hall in the techno room, then were replaced by Spacifix and Lucas respectively.

I could see why the 1000 tickets had sold out. Those 1000 people had the nous to know that the party would be flamin’ amazing with no visible flaws. I had a superb time, bravo Isaac on your effort.

The party ended at 1am sharp, not to worry, we went to Coherent for Shake. Once again, charging universal beats and a full house. After SpyBar I went to a joint dress birthday party on Great North Rd. They were all still eager for more, so we fitted in well. It was like the house had been built for just this purpose, and everyone was so nice. One person who wasn’t though was the lady who owned the yoga studio next door.

Things began to fizzle about lunch time, not that we were hungry, so the troops were rounded up and marched over to Harry’s. Reinforcements came with our rations and the heat was on.

I’m glad someone more sensible bundled me into a car at dinner time, and cooked me a yummy butter chicken dish that I devoured hungrily, else I may still be going.