After almost 4 years of fun based in Auckland I’m setting sail bound for SYD, NAN, SIN, LHR and finally DXB to live. What a ride I’ve had, and almost 11,000 of you out there have been riding the wave with me.

Over the next few months this guide will alter drastically, but retain the same mission statement with which it began, “Get as many people out as possible, doing new things, interacting and having fun. Through providing unbiased daily event options”. There will be a team taking over, making the skill set vast, spelling good things for guide-getters; In the form of exclusive deals, entry to parties, free music, colour, fun and a whole host of novel ways to interact with others.

My involvement will be as an international roving reporter, contributing a weekly tale of my inevitable mischief. I have no idea really where I will end up, all I want is a fresh start in a fresh environment. I just have the plan of flying to Sydney for a wedding on April 4th, Nadi for another on May 9th, Singapore has another knot tying session on May 16th. And Aldermaston (an hour out of London) the following weekend. Dubai rounds out the quintupplet where I plan to reside, ponder and explore. I thank my friends for not doubling up on nuptial dates, and giving me the huge nudge required to leave NZ’s kind shores.

I am often asked how Party Marty, and this guide thing, came about. Now seems a good time to explain… My nickname fully flared up in Christchurch when I was about 23, by my circle of friends who found it hard to keep up with my endless enthusiasm and energy, but I’d been hot for parties of all sorts since kindergarten. I tried to fight it, I thought it made me look as if I was going nowhere, and that partying was all I was good at.

I went to broaden my horizons in the UK for 3 years, aged 26, it arose there without any assistance also. Due to my incessant passion to party (damn this FOMO condition), push the envelope and never say when. Also, that my mission there was to solely have fun and experience different ways of life. Mission accomplished.

When I returned to NZ, I moved from my hometown of CHC to AKL, seeking opportunities vocationally, climatically but principally socially. I knew 2 people, Anne-Marie, who I’d met on The Spirit Of Adventure yacht in 7th form (now a flash physio), and James, my best school chum (now a kick-ass Doctor).

Within 6 months I knew 100 or so (mainly thanks to www.findsomeone.co.nz), and somehow the tag arose again. This time I embraced it, thinking… what the heck. It was about then that I began my guide, and was in the About Town section of The NZ Herald for the first time.

The guide began as a way to share event options that I was lucky enough to be invited to, so select friends had a choice; to either stay at home and watch telly, or seize the day, do something different, have fun and meet others.

The Guide was incredibly basic in the beginning, I used colourful fonts, assorted type styles and sent it out via Yahoo to about 40 people. Since then it’s had 2 major upgrades, and is now sent out weekly to nearly 11,000 people worldwide.

Whenever I go out I’m often spoken to by people I’ve never met before, even CEO’s, Mums and sports stars, they tell me about how they read it weekly, and like to keep in touch with what’s going on. Some just browse and never go to anything, others use it as a firm guide to their daily actions. This kind of chat keeps me going forward from week to week, as I put about 60 hours a week into The Guide’s look and feel. It’s good to know that people actually read it, so I thank them, and normally take a photo.

Finally, perhaps you can take a leaf from my personal motto and do something out of the ordinary today, “It’s always happy-hour. Life is short. Enjoy every opportunity! When I do depart anyone reading this please remember that I’m only ever just a mouse click away. Stay in touch and come visit.

Bound for the Bay Of Plenty my intentions are good, 4 nights of refreshing good times and solid sleep sessions. Then it’s back in time for the 2pm ferry to Waiheke on Saturday. You see my Big Day Out was bigger than most.

The week began normally enough with The SkyCity Supercar launch. NZ’s latest A1GP car was choreographly unveiled by 4 stunning pit gals, amidst techno lights and hundreds of ooos and arrhs.

The BDO build up began directly after with The Prodigy team turning up at The Pony Club. An untrained eye wouldn’t have given a second glance, but a nudge from a trained lady friend put me in the know. Time ticked, corks popped and a couple of the girls were duely invited to escort them home.

The following day was a stinker. I did my chores in the morning, then did my most important errand for the day and picked up Pee Wee Ferris from the airport. I met him at a wedding 2 years ago in Sydney, he seemed cool, we stayed in contact and now he was in my town to rock the BDO party. We went on a tiki tour ending pool side at The Backyard Bar for a homemade steak’n'cheese pie, garden salad and Mojito. I jumped in the pool, my adductor magnus (that I’d injured on Boxing Day) flared up. I doggy paddled to the edge and sought assistance in the form of Jaeger, it helped.

I’d been informed by Oscar (the NZ Breakers power forward) that a win was guaranteed, and liking to support winners we moved up the line a few blocks to see The Breakers do just that, trounce the Townsville Crocodiles. The caven was crammed with fans of all ages and abilities, including half the NZ Warriors rugby league team.

My highlight was the power being cut after the 3rd quarter. The last section of play was controlled manually, 80’s style, and in half light. Elated we continued the tour and the drivee became the driver, for consumption reasons. Pee Wee didn’t seem phased by the added duty, and we bar hopped the CBD before roosting at Cassette #9.

The Prodigy boys were at it again, as were The Artic Monkeys (fresh from a sell-out show at The Powerstation). Girls swooned, with varying levels of success, I smiled in observation, mild jealously welled. I leapt over the back of my booth and attempted my signature ‘Raindrop’ dance winner (misjudging the 1.5m drop) that normally impresses the dresses. Unfortunately, I didn’t even make it over the backrest, my shins hit the edge and I hurtled forward toward the dancefloor, torso leading the way. The firm grasp by a kind sober gent prevented hospitalisation. I hobbled for the rest of the night, with tail between legs.

Rising from a foreign bed, sleep deprived I clicked that it was the Big Day. I found a half full beverage from a few hours earlier, it did the trick, sorted me out and let the games begin. Amassing 10 BDO buddies we lapped up the sun, memorised the performance timetable and watched Alex trying to inject a bottle of Feijoa vodka into a watermelon. We Googled the technique and found out that a week was require for the operation, so the valiant attempt was shelved.

Thankfully Pee Wee was available to drive once again. Even more thankfully, his passes enabled us to drive to the back door of The Boiler Room. Instantly, looking around it was a ‘who’s who’ fest, but I wanted to get out amongst the chaos.

I’m not sure I entered all the zones throughout the day, there was so much going on behind the scenes, the AAA pass was brilliant, an eye opener as to what it takes to be a rockstar. When chatting to the Elemeno P boys it was discovered that the promoters had missed an ‘E’ from their title on the cabin door. I ran about trying to find a marker to rectify it, found my way into Neil Young’s dressing room and to my glee, he had one. I felt like a hero when I returned and put right the injustice. That reminds me, I still have Neil’s pen.

Pee Wee played while The Prodigy set up. His 45 minute pumping electro set broke all hell loose, the thousands in the tent blew their lids. Prodigy finished them off good and proper.

There were many after party options, but not wanting to taint the glorious day in any way, we bylined it for Nina’s takeaways on Ponsonby Rd, then home to bed and a good book

The following day began not dissimilar to the last. Great weather, a hangover, bruise inspections, supergluing crockery to the ceiling and flicking through my camera to piece it all together.

The arrival on Miss Ashcroft sparked a fairly good Saturday build up into a sensational one. Absolutely chomping at the bit we wove our way to Heron Park, for George FM’s beach park party. The perfect party vibe had already erupted, and we slotted in beaming.

Like all good things, it came to an end. As we searched for our car we wandered past a house party playing wicked tunes. We introduced ourselves and were soon dancing in the paddling pool with our host Grant, who’d turned 23.

Not wanting to outstay our welcome it was on to Massey East for Isaac’s 30th. When Regan pulled out a sealed bottle of Agavero, and Hanna the sparklers, the gathering ignited.

We pit stopped via everyone’s house to refresh on the way to the rendevous point, that took blimmin ages. We played deck soccer, limbo, poo-sticks, jousting and pole-vault. Glowing we moved on to Club Luxury’s Summer Fiesta. There were 2 clubs to go between, Spy or Trench, it was the latter though that the majority enjoyed the most, maybe it was Sam Hill’s stonking tunes, or Grant Hall’s enthusiasm for those tunes, I’m undecided, but I’ll be back.

One text lead to another and we were back at Pompallier Tce to crack on. At approximately 8am I clicked that we were all in fancy dress and dancing like ompaloompas in the living room avoiding the persisting drizzle outside. I took pix but looked at them the next day and erased the evidence.

The day panned out well, the sun joined us again as did some oomph-adding new recruits. Because of this OTT party extravaganza I going to Whangamata and Mount Maunganui for the remainder of this week (email me if anyone’s down that way). But I’ll be back fighting fit come Saturday morning, ready to tackle a sure to be stellar dance event at Stonyridge. Catch the 2pm ferry with me, pure fun assured.

Over the past 4 weeks I’ve managed to dress up as Santa, compete in an avant garde fashion show, cause a bus to break down, play a woman ranked 4th in the world and shatter a bottle of Absolute in hospital.

It began nostalgically, 8 days before December 25th, in Christchurch, eating the icing from the top of the Christmas cake, and leaving the dark raisiny bit below for Mum. It was good to be ‘home’, it always is, the 7 star service is unbeatable.

Following 2 days of acclimatisation I was whisked down the line for a day trip to Timaru on relative duties. It’d been years since I’d seen the rellies, I even met a couple of the freshly hatched ones for the first time. On the return hike I put the finishing touches to my Qantas international travel writer entry. Where in 250 words, or less, you had to describe a true incident that spurred your desire for travel. My result is below…

“I remember sitting in the front row of Mr Williams’s Classics class in my final year at school, when he colourfully described the ancient Greek Gods. My favourite was Zeus.

10 years later, wanting a break from my London girlfriend, the offer from a fine filly friend to tag along on her mental breather escape, to Crete, appeared to be just the answer.

The Mediterranean island was more arid than I’d expected customs slacker and locals friendlier. We rested by the pool for the remainder of that afternoon reading brochures.

Leaving the filly to shop, I began my quest. I’d read that my hero Zeus’s birthplace was in a remote cave 45km inland. With a complimentary map clenched in one hand, and fingers crossed on the other, I set off on my hired nifty 50 I’d named Maverick.

Vehicles screamed past on the highway, white-knuckled I puttered on. At one stage I found myself up a deserted track, with an overheated engine. After multiple reassuring deep breaths I sort shade, reclined, grinned and reflected about where in the world I actually was. Lost on a Mediterranean island, sunburnt (to the point of blistering), and in search of a mythical God’s manger, this was awesome.

Maverick cooled off and we continued. The descent into the damp dark cavern was electrifying. I imagined what it may have been like when it housed such a powerful entity. My thirst for adventure and discovery had begun, now it needs regular quenching.”

I’m waiting to hear back from the jury, I suspect it’ll be ‘when the cows come home’ or when the moon turns blue, as on inspecting the T&C I uncovered you had to be an Ozzie citizen to enter. I sent it regardless, as you never know.

The next large fun spike in my break’s timeline was just prior to Xmas. I drove to Sumner to a house party, but I went covered top to toe in a Santa get-up. Mental note: Don’t go into a busy supermarket dressed as a giver of joy on a Saturday evening, especially with jingle bells attached to your gumboots. After giving the nagging kids the slip I turned up to the gig, was met by a concerned look, then laughter. When the night left us and daylight crashed the party we were asked to leave the pool and beat it. For some reason we ventured to Lancaster Park (aka Jade & AMI Stadium), through a stroke of luck the barbed gate had been left ajar and we moon-walked onto the pitch and had a few Summer Ales in The Black Caps’ honour.

The 25th was family fun, but why do I insist on having a late night on Xmas eve? The 2 pie $5 deal, and 35min sobering dawn stroll through Hagley Park doesn’t leave me refreshed and rearing to take on the next day like it did a decade ago.
There were 4 more exceptional moments leading up to today. The Boxing Day races at Ellerslie Racecourse, the NYE party at Matakana, whacking a ball around with Elena Dementieva and Summadayze at Vector.

An 11th hour double Windsor knot lesson by a crowd random gave me the motivation to leap the fence and strut my stuff in the avant garde section of the mens best dressed in the Viva fashion zone. I didn’t win, that accolade went to some Autobot, but I did manage to tear my left adductor magnus when I pulled my trademark ‘Raindrop’ dance move on the see through staging.

Overall it was the best day at the races that I’ve ever had in this country. The free-for-all boot-party in the inner racetrack was so much fun that when our mini dance party got shut down at 6pm I insisted that we all leave and reignite everything at mine. Which we did, until that to was closed down.

The only let down with the New Years music festival at Matakana was that it wasn’t long enough. After the months of build-up, feverish expectation and regimented preparation, I, like many others, could have done with an extra day, or 2, of festival good times. I am sure this will be rectified for next year. My highlight for the excursion was oddly the en route breakdown of my hired 55 seater bus halfway up a hill. For almost an hour we waited on the side of the road soaking in the sun playing drinking games, attempting to hitch (some succeeded) and watching the world go by.

I took a good 2 days and nights to recover after the NYE aftermath spree, so the ASB Women’s Tennis Classic tournament was a nice way to ease back into society. I was amazed at the athleticism and power of the ladies, no woman impressed me more than Elena Dementieva, her hulking sex appeal and tennis finesse was astounding. I was so dazzled by Elena I tailed her to the practice courts after her straight sets win, watched her swing for another hour, then as she finished up I offered my services. She’d noticed my friendly attention so obliged, knowing that she’d make my tennis career complete.

Lastly, and most recently, Auckland saw Calvin Harris, Boys Noize, Utah Saints, Kid Millionaire and The Potbelleez grace us by performing at Summadayze. They played where the sun didn’t shine though, inside the giant Vector Arena, thankfully as the Gods weren’t happy and rained down with great vengeance and furious anger. 3 pre parties later we turned up and ducked backstage, instantly the DJ told me to get up on stage behind the decks and pretend to mix, so I did. He ran off to the loo, returning seemingly hours later.

The night shone on, each international act better than the previous one. We got to the Utah Saints and halfway into their set my date turned ill, due to playing lethal straight rum drinking games with a seasoned Potbelleez gent. She did well, her never say die attitude very nearly took him out. But it was the paramedics that took her out, and I had my first ride in an ambulance.

I knew she’d want to continue the party when she came around, so I ordered in some vodka and ginger ale. The only problem was though that the kind delivery person dropped everything while pouring me a relaxing nip, they scarpered and I took the wrap on the chin. 4 hours later we were asked to leave and Sunday was spent in the recovery position piecing the night together.