I thought my white & pink number in the couture couples comp, at Auckland Cup Day, would be a winner. It wasn’t. I’m a tad bitter. Hung-over to hell I geared up and headed to Taupo to see 1495 take part in a grueling 226km race. I’m told that our group alcohol spurred support method got more photographic attention than the race winner, Cameron Brown, at the prize-giving.

I spent the best part of 3 weeks borrowing, buying, contra(ing) (thanks Frank Casey) and tweaking my outfit for the races. I’d been coaxed in, by a lovely lass, to enter the Stella Artois Cup Couture couples best dressed, and didn’t put up too much of a struggle. I’d entered the Boxing Day races avant garde category of the Viva Fashion In The Field, and come a deserved second, this time I was confident to go one better, especially seeing the prize was an all expenses paid weekend escape to Taupo’s Huka Lodge (with all the trimmings), and years supply of Stella (and this has got to be a tonne).

Our white and pink outfits, and head pieces, were in sync, and for 4 hours we posed for the cameras and gladly accepted the bountiful compliments. Boosted with confidence we made the top 3, then brain explosions by the 3 lady judges (or a long standing personal grudge) ensured that a husband and daughter team, dressed in a mourning suit and her 21st dress, took top honours.

After the robbery I threw in the towel, got heavily liquored, danced and met some fantastic people.

Town beckoned, I followed the signal to Pasha for magical curly fries, calamari and champagne. I don’t know how it happened but Kiran, Harry, Zoe, Kathryn and Anna (5 of my true bestest friends) were there. We commiserated the loss and moved on to Pony Club. Bearing in mind it was a Wednesday we didn’t expect much, we got the opposite. Royal treatment, a select fun crowd and kingpin dance beats. I could’ve stayed till closing.

I’ve never been a good day sleeper (nor a night one come to think of it), but I tried the next day as I was driven to Taupo. Failing, I called a truce with the sandman, snapped out of it, got some pinot noir, sushi and grain waves, then proceeded to make a happy day of it.

The 3 more notable events to occur the next day were a pack morning run in drizzle, where I tore my calf. The subsequent consequential deep tissue massage, with cooking oil, from one of the elders that procured writhing, sweat beads, laughter and tears was an eye-opener. It did the trick though. Secondly we did a 3 hour hike from Kinloch to Kawakawa Bay in the mist, I had my inaugural wearing of compression tights and discreetly liked my time.

Once the gravel had been shaken from our shoes, squashed mosquitoes from our naked skin sponged and disheveled hair put back in place, to my surprise there was a prize-giving ceremony. I’m not sure if camp Mum and Dad were trying to make up for the Cup Day fiasco, but I won 2 awards. One for ‘Best Dressed’ and the other for ‘Overall Supreme Hiker’. I was officially presented with a well wrapped figurine of Toad (from Wind In The Willows) that could hang from the lip of my cuppa, and a very cool blue plastic mug, with 2 rubber fish on the side (Paul and I named them Rhonda and Stacey), this has been my vessel of choice ever since.

The last biggie for the day was to fabricate motivational signs for the iron people that would pass past our front door four times a piece, as part of the marathon final leg the next afternoon. Once my designs had been vetted I set my permanent markers to work. There was ‘Go Go Gadget Legs’, ‘Wave If You Need Encouragement’, ‘Go Kiwi’ (boldly written below the buy kiwi made logo), ‘226 KM Of Pure Fun Aye?’, and the last 2 that got the most use, ‘Need A Hug?’ (with eye-catching red hearts strewn) and a heap of score cards so we could rate the marathon runners (very few attained below a 10).

Blarey-eyed we rose soon after 6am. We missed the Ironman start at 7am, but caught them up at their first transition after the 3.8km swim, as they headed out for a 180km cycle. During this 5 hour window we cruised the lake on a launch named ‘MYGO’, window shopped, read the papers, had lunch then set up camp on the grass verge outside. We weren’t the only ones, it appeared to be the done thing as I looked up and down the crescent. We began timidly with a few lazy 9’s and 10’s, and hour later with booze in our bellies we rocked the party, yelling personalised encouragement to every competitor, even some shell-shocked bystanders.

The boom-box boomed from the balcony, and as the day wore on the runners became more and more friendly, perhaps the lactic acid had seeped into their brain. They sang, waved, hugged, danced, and on the odd occasion, kissed their way passed our support station.

Even in flawless darkness our props could be heard miles away. When the runners became too sparse for our attention span we legged it to the finish line in town. Floodlit, grandstanded, crowded, club-like (with the MC raving and beats banging) it reminded me of the Wellington 7’s. I felt proud of all those I saw finish, I didn’t know them, however I could sense the joy of achievement that glowed from their faces.

We chose Finn MacCuhal’s Irish Pub for our after match function. We mingled with some buzzing competitors and found some talkative travelers. When the ‘Raindrop’ dance maneuver was pulled out of the bag, I was pulled out of the bar, placed in the boot and the 7 of us whizzed home to review the day. The outcome = I’m doing one before I’m 35.

I did the closed eye thing on the way back to Auckland, opening for 30min at the Kaimai Cheese Company, in Waharoa, for a handmade jumbo sausage roll and roast vege salad.

I hate making plans on Sunday, they rarely get accomplished. Nevertheless I’d made one VIP one for last Sunday. My main mate from my London days was in town for 1 night. Kafuddled, I pulled into The Langham’s docking bay, typically he wasn’t ready so I nosyed the ground lavish floor. He showed, and it was instantly like old times, just 4 years later. We’d both changed a bit. He was marrying another UK pal in Sydney in 4 weeks (hence the start of my world travels there), and had gone back to Uni, but I was approximately the same (maybe sporting 1 or 2 more laugh-lines).

I didn’t realise how much I missed his friendship, and that of those who’d also be attending the unification. So, I’ve altered my flight and now I’m going even sooner. I took him to Sale St for a bottle, then on to 2 bars that you have to visit. Down Factory Lane, off Custom St, is Agents & Merchants, and next door is Racket. They own this quaint cobbled lane (used for cigar smoking, and lounging by the mammoth gas fire and shrubbery). We had 2 more bottles here. When Mel, his fiancée, arrived we ordered another. We didn’t want to go, except the hidden yawns from staff suggested we should. We hi-fived out the barnyard door, and I can’t wait to do another with him, and the rest of my London crew, in Sydney in 20 sleeps time.