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.