The whole Fashion Week (FW) shabang launched on Monday evening with PM Helen monotonely addressing the guests. As I’ve now grown accustomed to though, this glitzy soiree came after a 7 night escapade that took in; meaningful art from Otis, fashion that stopped traffic, the Silver Scroll Awards, stand-up comedy, a golf cart sized Hummer, 3 bad boy NYC rappers, a house party where the DJ was 7 years old, the Qantas Film & TV Awards, a park bench and a Sunday Roast. All while maintaining a 1.5 pie per day consumption habit.

I used to have Mondays off the party scene, now I can’t afford to due to my FOMO condition (fear of missing out). Last Monday Absolute Vodka unveiled Otis Frizzell’s Absolute inspired Auckland installation at Lenin Bar. Like a dreamily stenciled multi-coloured Tiki, with an outline of a bottle in it’s belly, the piece looked possessed; but a friendly informative chat with Otis later uncovered his meaning, which actually stemmed from Hawaii. The event had been classy, so I kept the level high and nipped in for a Rosebud cocktail at Chow, this was chased by their infamous Vick’s Formula 44 taste-alike sensation, that I continually forget the name of. I recovered by enjoying soft conversation with my date, and nibbling on a few items from their winning menu.

Tuesday was one of my oldest friend’s 32nd birthday. I got delayed in transit by 50 gorgeous girls with placards lined up along Parnell Rise. While I enjoyed the Grandeur hospitality, the girls, 10 at a time, carefully crossed the road in a square-like circle continually for 45 minutes, indeed stopping traffic and creating quite a spectacle. Kiran’s party at La Zeppa came next, he was already beaming as he slid me his tab card. (Geez I love celebrating, there’s such a happy vibe in the air, not an ounce of negativity). Kiran kept the ball rolling while I went off to complete a couple of un-postponable missions. We rendevoused again up at the ALT TV studio. He was in a slurring state, but passable, so we put him on the window sill muted in the background for 30 minutes staring at a wall poster, then beckoned him over for a chat on air. Hilarious times, try catching the show next week, Tuesday’s 11pm – 12am on ALT.

I felt sensational the next evening, I had my 3 most stunning (inside and out) hottie friends on my arms. They got instant paparazzi attention when we entered the Town Hall for the APRA Silver Scroll Awards (all about Kiwi music). Once the ceremony began our attention wandered, it wandered out the door, up the street and into The Classic. I’ve always loved comedy, especially stand-up, it seemed that Tracey did to as no sooner had the show begun than she stood, flicked her hair and did some serious heckling. I cringed, wishing I’d only bought out 2 stunning babes, but she calmed down and the MC picked on 2 annoying girls closer to the stage.

Back at the awards, we arrived to catch my favourite PM (tongue in cheek) giving a speech, and the last of the big awards distributed. I managed to get a brief convo with The Thompson Twins (they’d just been elected into the NZ Hall of Fame) and Henry, an incredibly camp R&B songwriter on the verge of being discovered, but it was my brief run in with my all time fave Shortland Street actor, Craig Parker (aka Guy Warner), in the bathroom that really impressed me. What a gent.

By this stage in the week I felt like a dehydrated camel, but Good Water replenished I trucked on into Thursday. Went to Mr Rickard-Bell’s now legendary underground Green Room session (imagine your ultimate play den as a youth, it’s a bit like that), then to Pasha to witness the new MiniHummer, picture an uber flash golf cart, but with surprisingly few bells and whistles.

My next stop was impromptu, but I was raised on rap music, well ever since I was old enough to make my own musical decisions, and biff Herb Albert and Boney M. So when I was offered tickets to see Project X, that consisted of the rap legend Kool Keith, and his homeys Tim Dog and Marc Loud, I said hell yeah mofo. I chanted up front for a good hour to these NYC guys who I’ll swear were all packing. I reckon that if I’d gone to that concert when I was in my Public Enemy and NWA phase I’d have wet my pants with excitement, but I soon grew tired and jogged over to the familiar turf of The Pony Club.

It was Jo and Leighton’s turn to host the crew at their place, and in no way shape of form did they disappoint. Jo’s 7 year old son Enzo got the crowd’s attention with an ability on the CDJ’s normally associated with someone with months of experience, not a matter of minutes. When it was his bedtime Dougal and I took over. I didn’t want to leave, in fact I postponed the taxi twice, but plans are plans and it was time to see Groove Terminator spin.

It seems that whenever you add the 3 famous words “Ministry Of Sound” to a party it’s an absolute success. Recent gigs at Met & Code have had the line-ups, but not the punters, or MOS. This one had everything, so us oldies actually stayed and sweated it out up front with the younguns, showing them a thing or two about the hardcore.

Enthused, we drove back over to the shore, Leighton was horizontal on the sofa and Jo tucked up in her room. Never one to let sleeping dogs lie we picked up where we’d left off, Dougal and me serenading the house to battle stations. Mid-morning, with Mission accomplished, we mozied back over the bridge and found a pocket of smiling faces, we merged and had a memorable afternoon.

I had no idea what to wear, to be honest there weren’t many options, especially ones that didn’t require ironing. I had just arrived home after an intermitent siesta and had 40 minutes to SS & S, put on the glad rags and be at Pasha. Making it I immediately ordered a Mojito, it was all I could stomach, and rounded up my friends that I’d chosen to join me, they’d all gone to great lengths and all the guys in the group approved.

We were treated to decadence at Pasha, with knowledgeable helpful service, I mean one lovely waitress (Hannah) even showed me how to tie a Windsor knot, which I was mega appreciative of. In one swoop we were at The Qantas Film & TV Awards at the glorious Civic Theatre. There were so many familiar faces, I didn’t know where to glance, half I knew, the other half I’d seen on screen. Most of the “famous” people would talk to you, and pose for pix, but when they discovered that you probably couldn’t assist their careers the convo was over.

TVNZ and TV3 had separate after parties at Flight and Pony, but they were jammed and a bit wanky so it was on to Spy. I rarely turn down drinks, but I was hanging by a thread, so when my stomach churned at the thought of another alcoholic beverage I knew it was time to depart. I made 3 blocks before the cabbie was urged to pull over. I drifted to a bench in a cute courtyard for some z’s, then to my car where I dozed till 10am and was woken by a parking warden. Dial-a-driver did the next leg of my journey (proud of me Mum?) and I was back in quarantine.

Not even the very tasty lure of true friends, a home-cooked roast and a wicked Warriors win pulled me from my house that day. I was in serious need of R’n'R’n'R’n'R plus even a few more. Besides FW was to begin the very next day.

It launched with a few speeches from VIP’s, lashings of Moet and oodles of orgasmic canapes. About 300 people circulated at a rate of knots, looking you up and down making mental judgements as to your worth. Down the hall the FW art show kicked off as did the bubbliscious new Moet drop. I do suggest you all to try and see one catwalk show, or even have a gander around the site (down Halsey St in The Viaduct), the atmosphere is unsual, but in a good way.