As usual it was a week of motley action, Wed – Wed. Toxic teapots, tropical storms, titillating lingerie, scintillating sounds in the sun, athletes at the top of their game, National party big wigs and one heck of a movie named Hedwig.

I’m glad you do, I’m sure I’ll have a couple as I reminisce about my week that was…

Who’s been to the Kingsland Macs bar, called Neighbourhood, and seen that humungous window that looks out over Eden Park? It’s as if you’re in some elite corporate box, only you get to see the aura of the game, not the ball or players. Wednesday evening started with me gazing through that. My new preferred CBD launching pad Chow superseded and Bungalow8, with their now quite popular Freestyle night (where notorious DJ’s tinker at will. The especial Jason Eli is this weeks top dog) was the chaser. My Wednesday petered out at Wine Hot back in Kingsland. I heard of the gem time and time again, and whized by even more often, in a nut shell, you have to go. Authentic friendly funky French staff who know vino from vinegar, and a provocative ambiance that let’s you think you’re not in Auckland.

Thursday was short and sweet. I cheered on the NZ Breakers basketball team, who went bananas dropping an atomic bomb on the Adelaide 36ers, notching up the most points in the clubs history. Puffed up and flying high, Cassette Number Nine’s Thursday Night Tea Party (that focuses on selling teapots ladened with moreish alcohol, and in tune beats) summonsed, and delivered a jolly good show.

A storm hit Friday, consequently the town buzz was a minimal hum. I still managed to get wide-eyed and bushy tailed at a couple of out of the way places. However, on the way to Kitty Club’s seductive soirée, where wearing ones unmentionables, and that’s all, is the name of the game, my wingman fell ill, and my game was over.

Thus Saturday I felt fairly reasonable, my wingman did not. Weighing up the party choices for the day I jumped into the deep end and aimed for Devonport. This was to be my 4th successive Sounds Of Summer spree. Upon gaining entry, and feeling the flow, I wondered why I’d contemplated not attending. Each year Adam (the promoter) adds something significant to the mix, this year it was a stretched ‘U’ shaped canopy over the primary DF, last year it was an Hawaiian sandpit in the VIP sector.

From there, it was on to La Zeppa for Harry’s gathering. I took 5 outside on the patio to acclimatise, midway I felt a whisker whiz by my skull and smash nearby. Confused I looked up at the balcony, and went to investigate. There could have been only one culprit, a liquored bogan oaf with his shrieking GF. I politely enquired if he was missing a drink, he goes “Yeah, and how about you miss some teeth, as I’m going to throw my fist at you next”. Shaken with this response I froze, wryly smiled and hailed security. The rest is obvious.

I said at the top of this that I met 4 famous people, I should probably modify this to well-known kiwi blokes. The first was at my ensuing stop; Tony Veitch looked a little rumpled, but I liked him instantly. We didn’t stay long, there were more stops on the list before the finale, my first public DJ set for 09.

Following the bounce about we made it to the doors of Club Luxury. I was on in 20 so limbered up and chugged a Long Island. I’d been downloading fresh tunes all week so was quietly confident. Beginning with my knock-out blow of a track, and ending with a phat remix of The Kings Of Leon hit “Use Somebody”, I loved the opportunity to cut loose, and the sight of seeing my good friends jamming away gleefully.

Getting home late in the morning wasn’t my intention, but these things happen. I zombied about loathing feeling as tragic as I did, until I was picked up.

The crowd grew and grew, by the time the Vodafone Warriors stormed the paddock there were nearly 17,000 at North Harbour Stadium, and 100m queues for hot-dogs and chips. The win made me feel better but all I wanted was my bed.

I’d made a full recovery on Monday, and by Tuesday was rearing to meet the Prime Minister. As I’ve mentioned before, DOCNZ is doing a film about me and my lifestyle, so I jacked up a few minutes with NZ’s Key man. While I was waiting I had a candid convo with Auckland’s Mayor, John Banks, about the bible, encyclopedias and what they have to do with parties in this country. Then a brief hello to ‘The Don’ Brash.

I was granted my minute with ‘the man’, cops and bodyguards glaring, he actually remembered me from 6 months earlier when I’d been a part of his campaign commercial, I was dubious but he seemed sincere. I asked him about his party ways currently, and back when he was a lad. The answers were as you’d expect, nevertheless I could sense he wanted to let rip and tell of brothels, beer and late nights.

MIC Gallery blew me away with their opening of Standing In Silence 30 minutes later. I have been to hundreds of art exhibition openings, but nothing near the vibrancy of this one. 150 happy people from all sections of society conversing, sipping, viewing and most importantly buying the pieces.

Glen from Toto once more hosted Dinner and a Movie at his talented establishment on the last Wednesday of the month. The biggest bunch of peeps yet, eager to sample his offerings, assembled and were treated to a magnificent vibe, meal and an ‘off the hook’ movie named “Hedwig”.

Hey, don’t forget about my 33rd birthday/leaving party on March 28th. Drop me a line for more info on that. Party on, and have a fun filled week

Sometimes I feel like my life’s a daily soap opera. Last week started with a hiss and a roar, then went into Top Gear, into orbit around HamilTron the next day. Got seduced on Friday the 13th. Hit a speed bump Valley Day. Was wrapped on Saturday. Made new friends Sunday. Thought about the future the following day. Strassman and his puppeting posse tore me apart Tuesday, and an outdoor movie with Bollinger and cocktails at Chow rounded out the week.

The Lindauer Twilight Summer Series at Ellerslie bucked my week into action, with more of the same glorious pomp and ceremony that is horse racing. The still newish Macs Neighbourhood Bar in Kingsland took all of our winnings from the track, but we didn’t mind, they gave us good times and beer in return.

Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond and Greg Murphy launched Top Gear Live the next day at the sprawling ASB Showgrounds. They did crowd wowing skids, wheelies and jumps for Africa during their 75min motoring extravaganza. Then like rockstars they took off avoiding fans, the press and me. That’s cool though as I had bigger fish to fry down the line in Tron.

Hamilton gets a bagging from most in NZ for it’s dullness, in fact many from overseas to, I know I’ve said the odd hateful thing about the big little city. However last Thursday night it had me feeling out of my depth and b-bopping with kids half my age on the DF of a sticky saloon.

I’d seen the Vodafone Warriors kick the Melbourne Storm’s butt in a pre-season NRL warm-up duel earlier. The corp. hospitality then twisted my rubber arm, convincing me to get a hotel room and party up large. We started at The Bank, it was doable but I wandered off, and found a hive of back alley watering holes that were rocking off the charts. I didn’t know a sole, where I was or where I was heading but I mozied about, found some talkative locals and my night sky rocketed, not returning till well, well past the bewitching hour.

So Friday was kinda blurry. The seductive Hootchie Kootchie Burlesque Girls did another number on me, so when I turned up to Hanna’s rooftop birthday party I was quasimodoed.

A good sleep assisted in making Valentines Day memorable. I spent it with wonder woman. A sensational lady who I know will be reading this, so will force curtail this snippet. Late that night I celebrated with James Ehau and Tracey King at their engagement soiree, in the new Sugar bar, Newmarket. They looked fully in love and sitting on top of the world. I was jealous, but glad that one of my favourite lady friends was about to unite with a super bloke that I’ve gotten to know quite well.

Once again, after a full nights sleep it was time to relish the day, and see what the BFM Summer Series concert had to offer. I arrived to Albert Park at 2pm and was hailed by friends to join them on their comfy, well positioned mattress. The supporters were strewn all over the show, due to the geography and layout of the park, but I liked it. Some appeared to still be in Wellington rugby 7’s garb, others thought more is less by stripping down and others just seemed to just be from another planet, but I admired them all.

Lately I’ve consciously been going to new places, thus having fresh experiences and this was one of them. There was no doof doof music, or fluro raver whistle posses, instead the vibe was more subdued, the punters intently listening to the dubby tunes, slowly nodding their heads to the beat. Without trying I met the pockets of people that circled me, all were mega friendly and details were exchanged.

I didn’t want to leave but commitments pulled me away to Sale St for a brief beer, then up to the roof of the SkyCity Hotel for Dougal and Karn’s pool party. I felt like I was in Hollywood, boobs and muscle city. I clung to my sun lounger most of the time, sipping yellow frozen cocktails and watching the world strut by. As the sun declined in the sky the realisation that tomorrow was a school day surfaced. By 8.30pm all was still on deck.

I kept a lid on things Monday, then the next day dawned. I was to meet my youthhood idol, David Strassman. The ventriloquist puppeteer’s comedy TV show many moons ago was a staple for my weekly TV viewing. I’d tape the show if ever my skateboarding addiction left me stranded TV-less.

We had a couple of primer vinos in the casino main corral, ascended the stairs and were seated with moments to spare. I was so excited, but I didn’t want to be in case I was let down. But David had got better, moved with the times and done his homework on NZ. By half time my face ached from laughter and I’d got my moneys worth. The second half was even better, the show was well structured and executed, occasionally you wondered if he meant to do that, and often just wondered how on earth he did do that.

We calmed down at Chow for tasty treats, Rosebud cocktails polished off by a lusty chardonnay. On reflection we deduced that David Strassman’s one man show was fantastic, and although I got my ticket for free. I actually would pay the $49.90 to see him again. Hurry he’s only on till Sunday.

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WHOOPS!… SMALL TECHNICAL ISSUE WHEN LINKING FROM THE GUIDE SORRY!

IF YOU ARE WANTING THE 19 FEB BLOG ENTRY, CLICK HERE:

Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives…

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Otherwise, read on below…

International megastar musicans Crazy P, Norman Jay and Nic Francuilli all entertained crowds in Auckland last Thursday. I caught them all. This was followed by a Smokey and the Bandit style run to the airport, to catch a flight bound for the time of my life.

It was a somewhat blessing that I’d missed my first plane on Thursday morning, costly, but a blessing. I’d booked the flight not knowing how much of a stacked evening I’d be missing out on.

Wednesday night wasn’t even that big, just a few street performer’s shows from the busking festival in Market Square, and a couple of night caps. It’s just that early starts have never been my forte. The drive out to the airport was a race against the clock, after couple of General Lee manouvers there was hope. Too little too late, the flight closed 2 minutes prior to my dash for the line. The worst thing was (as I stood debating how important it was that I should be allowed on) that I was wearing the costume I intended to wear to the rugby 7’s. Sheepishly I sulked to a lone bench and hailed my driver to return.

Following a solid day of work, the mornings episode was all but forgotten and I was prepping for a large one on the town, intending to be home in plenty of time for a power deep sleep (I’ll get to that bit in a sec).

Crazy P, at the freshly refurbished Opium (that looked very very similar to before), was first on the list. They got cracking an hour late, but it was worth it, the room rose to their feet and bopped to the remix intro of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. 2 minutes after the power blew. I love the unpredictable, so for 40 minutes the anticipation grew, then whamo I heard the best live electro-disco-funk music of my life. Crazy P, you’ve just notched up another massive fan.

Norman Jay at The Sale Street Brewery Bar was next on the cards. The place was half full, but the buzz was flat. The DF had 200 people standing barely moving to the retro funky tunes. Norman, with his trademark Dr. Suess hat on, did his job, but his performance was nothing compared to other times I’d seen him jam. 30 minutes later we pushed on to The Studio.

Ah, so this was where everyone was. Shaveer (Decline Events) had done it again. The finest pedigree of house music DJ and producer, in the form of Nic Franciulli, had attracted the masses.

Nic was already behind the decks when I arrived. Rather than risking injury by weaving to the front, or even death by attempting a backstage run, I viewed the master from afar. The quality of mixing, and music, was vividly evident. I was in awe, I didn’t even drink as this would have take my attention away from ‘the master’. So when 4am rolled around, I was wide awake and feeling great. In fact I only noticed the time, and snapped out of it, when I noticed the cavernous club was a quarter full, and losing ravers at a fast rate of knots.

At 5 I called it an evening, and a superb one at that. I now had the awful decision to make; To sleep or not to sleep.

I tried but to no avail, I was about to dock at my first Wellington rugby 7’s celebration. Getting to the port this time was easy, thanks to the practice the previous day. I landed at 10.05am and boarded the Petone Express, or Hutt Valley Flyer, it was a fast bus service anyway. My pimped out mates greeted me at the stop, forced a strong drink down me and gave me 8min to get ready before our magic bus left.

I finished my drink and getting decked out at the stop, then we we’re off, me in my Michael Pattison original kingpin classy stripper attire and my boys donned in big daddy pimpin’ hoe costumes. The bus was riddled with peeps on the same mission as us, which we unamimously agreed to be “Do everything possible to have the time of our lives”.

The first stop was The Loaded Hog on Jervois Quay, where the hoards gathered to mingle and build up to entering the stadium (a 15min walk away). Apart from the amazing scene of 1000 people dresses up in outfits ranging from bee-keepers to ChiPs and minnie mice to iPods, it was a bunch of blokes in pink tutus who entertained by luring passers by to stop in front of us all and flash their breasts in exchange for gifts of Jager and rugby balls. Many actually did, many also scuttled off shocked at the thought.

It was from about here on, till I arrived back in Auckland, that the blur began. Occasionally I’d take my glasses off and just look around at the sheer mayhem and madness that was going on around me. As far as I could see it was bloodshot eyes and big smiles for all in the stadium.

The rugby was going on but very few minded, it was all about wandering about, drinking, pointing at great costumes and whispering about others who could have done better.

After 17 hours binge drinking it was tough to get going the next day, in fact if I hadn’t had a ticket I may have flagged it. But a stern talking to, and a slap, by the ring leader snapped me out of the gloom, and had me in tip top nick to tackle another boombasstic day.

We took the train in this time, it was even more fun than the bus, I nattered to some hicks dressed as backward duck hunters about the price of fish for the journey, then latched on to some penguins for the waddle to The Hog.

The Hog surely was ‘the place to be’. The pink tutu guys were still at it, and had a great hit to miss ratio, all the ladies appeared keen.

The walk to the stadium was a run, as we were behind schedule to catch NZ play it’s first game. We made it and OMG it was all on again, but this time doubled. Sorry for being vague but even now with a clear head I still can’t recall a heck of a lot.

The tear-jerking, devastating loss to England didn’t bother many. We hit town with force tailed by 30,000 liquored fans, and that’s where it got even more bizarre.

The CBD was shut down and the streets were one big party. I couldn’t believe that it had taken me 10 years to attend such an amazing occasion. I made it back to a pad in Thorndon for more drinks before heading back to good old Petone to die.

The pimps had other ideas and round 3 erupted, but on a mellower tip. The day was a scorcher, so the pool, cocktails and shade were welcome, as we all tried to piece together what had happened over the past 48 hours.

Some of the fun Argentinian posse we’d met were sprawled out on bean-bags at St John (a converted St John’s HQ, now a glossy bar). We hitched in, and joined them around 3ish. Food seemed a grand idea, but unachievable.

At half 9, tipsy and tired, we walked in the door. The cricket was on (NZ v OZ), they’d attained 301 and I liked our chances of toppling them for the 3rd time in a row so I put my feet up.

Walking up sometime later I realised we’d lost the cricket, and I was being eaten by a hungry swarm of mosquitoes. I rolled into bed wondering when this very actioned packed adventure would cease.

It actually stopped then, because besides the visit to The Weta Workshop Cave in Miramar the next 2 days were spent in the recovery position rehydrating and building up enough strength to fly.

Something that touched my funny bone this week was this funny sent in to me from a longtime guide-getter, Leon Austin.

You are on the bus when you suddenly realize … you need to fart.

The music is really loud, so you time your farts with the beat. After a couple of songs, you start to feel better as you approach your stop.

As you are leaving the bus, people are really staring you down, and that’s when you remember: you’ve been listening to your iPod.

Have a happy, fun, party filled week guys

Valigrad put on a party last Saturday that took on Stonyridge’s best. It was weird not knowing anyone, but kinda cool as I was either found wandering about the vines, or up the front applauding the artists on stage with hands fully aloft. Aside from that, I’m going to Wellington for the rugby 7’s and I intend to let my hair all the way down. If you’re going, drop me a line, or search my FB party called 123456 7’s.

I began the hedonism normally, like many with a few after work drinks in The Viaduct on Friday. I was celebrating the launch of The Louis Vuitton Pacific Series and felt pumped, as I was in my new white Harry Exclusive Italian swish shirt and Workshop green wool-blend plaid pants. No sooner had I taken ownership of my initial vino, than it was upturned down the length of my outfit by an intoxicated ogre.

I got a double shock instantly after when I encountered some of the best service ever. I was taken aside, given a brand new top (still with the creases down the front), and my ruined one given a jolly good seeing to, before being sent away for dry-cleaning.

Spirits raised, I set about schmoozing, and met the perfect people. I now have someone taking care of my banners, lighting, sound and props for my leaving do. Others looking after my next legal dispute, car prang and airline booking. Things ran dry about 9pm and we were ushered to the top floor with 30 other revelers. I scrounged around some offices and found a transistor and scrambled to tune in George FM, the pilfered catering arrived and the show was on.

The pin got pulled before it got too leery and my group moved over the water to the Heaven Scent soiree at Degree. Greeted by angels pouring compulsory lethal shots of vodka & apple sours at the door, it was game on. The gifted, and gorgeous, Tania M played first, and her equal Disko Diva brought up the rear, with great uplifting dance beats at the funky venue. A one stage I was recruited by the manager to bring in extra ladies, lured by the deal of one free drink of my choice for every 5 girls I enticed in, I got 3 down me before it was time to hit A’isha.

It’s not a place I go often, however they’d brought D.I.M over from Germany to spin. I did some research on the gent, and deduced that it was the place to be. Arriving at the start of his set I was dripping in sweat beaming by the end, his un-polluted charging electro tunes finding their mark.

As night began to turn to day I found my way home, as I was looking forward to Valigrad later on.

If I hadn’t made firm friend plans I would have thrown in the towel for the evening, nevertheless I put on a brave face when the posse arrived at my door at 3pm, in mere minutes we were off on the 304km round trip adventure south.

Having never been there before I was stressed we were on the wrong track as we drove through the rolling terrain. The inevitable happened… we found it, did a recky then nestled near the vines with a luscious recommended Chardonnay Gewurtztrameiner blend. The Knights Of The Dub Table were the first to get us off our asses. Their wicked novel dub remixes got the punters attention, and ours, as we flipped petanque balls about.

Another 2 bottles down and we were with the majority, grooving on the main floor in the sunlight. The set up was sensational. Like a true dance party, colossal speaker stacks, nipping lasers and animated somewhat on-to-it party people, who chose to buy a bottle of wine each and sip from it, rather than risk certain spillage on the dancefloor.

What made it all the more mesmerising as I held court in the front row were the added extras. Playing hell for leather in tune, was Adam on the electric guitar, his bro Jacob on the sax, MC Rolex rocking the mic and Tua on percussion duties. It all worked in perfectly, inparticular when Cuffy took the DJ helm, even the whistle-blowers in the crowd knew how to rock a beat.

Not wanting to tarnish a dreamlike party excursion, when it ended we tripped home chippering to each other about our favourite bits.

I’ve no idea why I chose to wear yellow trousers, with yellow jandals and matching sunglasses, to the Louis Vuitton Sunday Sessions, that Lisa and I had prearranged for a couple of hundred Facebook friends. Maybe it was sleep deprivation, maybe I was still under the influence, I don’t know but I was on fire. Hurdling seats and breaking out the ‘raindrop’ dance move, that I though I’d never be able to break out again after my Boxing Day balls up.

DJ General Lee rocked the CDJ’s for 5 hours straight and I think I was in front, giving him ideas, for most of it. The turn out was perfect, great old friends, new ones, even former ones that I though had turned to the dark side, all interacting like kittens.

All and sundry in fine form, those critical words surfaced, ‘after party’. Javana held up her hand, perchance in practise for her birthday party next Wednesday at Sale St. I made it there in the boot of my own car, with a road cone and Sammy ‘The Salmon’. In a bit of a state I was put to bed twenty minutes after in the spare room. Things got fairly fun while I napped, but a reality check erupted when my lady twisted her foot on the trampoline and was taken to hospital for xrays.

She’s OK, no break, just an elephantitis kankle and I’m on nurse duty for the next week or so.