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.

Out of the 19 parties I went to last week the ones that shone were, the opening The Backyard Bar,  Playstation’s Singstar ABBA launch, Strippers R Us’s Christmas hoedown, the Sleepless party at Spy and Demon Energy’s Carnival Of Freaks. Meaning that there was a lot of mediocrity out there, but let’s gloss over those and stay positive.

I was itching for some thrills after the twilight summer horse racing series at Ellerslie failed to excite, the grand opening of The Backyard Bar in Northcote provided them. The gaggle of glamorous girls that management had mustered caught my eye first, wowzers, it was a shame I had to leave in less than an hour. The tiered lush wooden layout registered next, with multiple bars (including a tapinyaki one) and comfy booths. It was the indoor/outdoor flow towards the inviting pool that took the mega wow for me, all I could picture was me, in the weekends, shirt off, loving the live music, sipping a Long Island and getting a massive dose of vitamin E. Hats off to Steve Gillett and Gary Braid, for pulling off another big bar sure-to-be winner.

Moving house is something I loathe doing (mainly because of my 32 cubic metres of stuff), on Thursday I did it for my 8th time since coming to AKL 3.5 years ago. I shouldn’t complain really, it had been over a year since my cousin kindly took me in, so with the help of my trusty comrade Dave we stepped up. A healthy reward followed the blood sweat and tears, 6 Christmas party invites. The top 2 without a doubt were Playstation’s Singstar ABBA launch at Boogie Wonderland and the Strippers R Us’s Xmas extravaganza. The former began at 7pm and showed no signs of letting up when I left at 1.30am. I asked the host what the craic was with quitting time, she simply replied “When the bl**dy tab runs out (which I estimated to be approaching $20,000). My kind of answer.

I used Boogie as my base and whipped around a few CBD Christmas soirees. Not being a fan of strip clubs, the eye-popper for me was the Strippers R Us bash. I’d not seen women do these kind of things since my Sunday School teacher’s stag night some 10 years ago in a rickerty bus atop the Christchurch Port Hills. But these birds were 10 times hotter, and much more highly trained. With steam still escaping from under my collar I did the rounds and dropped of my support crew, as Friday was ‘the big one’ and I’d already encroached on a few hours of it.

The party was called Sleepless, and I’d had a big hand in it’s organisation. The venue was Spy Bar, we wanted to create a fresh feeling in the place, promote interaction, smiles and great memorable times. We seemed to succeed, I feel a large reason was due to Dougal Swift’s set, he has the Spy crowd sorted, to be honest I’d have liked to see him play the entire night (I’m sure this will actually happen early in 09). Watch out Cuffy, your residency may not be so secure.

At 6am we went to celebrate at a familiar villa, then, when that packed up, another on the other side of the suburb. Here I bought out one of my fave after party games, the improvised obstacle course. I narrowly won by 0.2 of a second, but the battle injuries incurred were not worth it. I then challenged my host to guess the number of wooden planks on her deck. Upon counting them, she was weirdly bang-on and my attempt lagged some 50% behind. The ‘Top 5′ game was easier, you got given a category and had to list your top 5 (ie. Top 5 friends, or top 5 junk food items to eat on a Sunday). Hide & Seek sucked, I was left hiding for almost half an hour when people gave up playing without letting me know. I knew I’d come out on top when my forte, Charades, began. I took out the overall games title with my whisk impression.

Now, who knows a team of NZ pro wake-boarders? We got to know them even better at the newest bar in The Viaduct, Four Nations, on Saturday arvo. On arrival we saw the finishing touches being made to a blue marker moko covering the face the eldest member of the group. He’d passed out on a public bench. We all got asked to leave, we went next door to Cargo, the same response. Danny Doughlins took us in, before they to suggested the same.

We waltzed around the bay to The Westin Hotel, one nimble rascal scaled the exterior of the building to his balcony room, then heroically danced a naked gig. We were asked to move on. Bidding bye bye, we splintered, freshened up, were picked up by Apu and driven at careful pace to Adam B’s parents pad for his annual Christmas party.

My Sleepless crew held up remarkably well under the pressure, everyone else was looking as glorious as ever and asking probing questions. Demon Energy had their Santa celebration at Studio, it was called Carnival Of Freaks, and I was absolutely impressed by the whole affair. The comp. drinks helped with my impression, but the entertainment was the main factor, it was a cross between a thrash metal concert, residential house party, playboy mansion and freak show. Total thumbs up to the max.

When that curtailed, we rolled down to Spy for their Xmas party, half of our decorations from the night before were being reused, but a lick of holly, tinsel and bells altered it slightly. Feeling the pinch from a substantial week, we made it home well before dawn and spent Sunday reflecting on what on earth had happened.

See you all at Matakana for New Years, I’ll be there, then back for an early morning geez at Destination 09, and of course a cheeky look in at what Spy Bar has to offer.

I came within a foot of him on more than one occasion during his 5 day gallivant around our city of sails. My camera burned with desire to take a snap, but I obeyed the published rules and just gazed, wondering what it must be like to be one of the most well known people on the planet.

David was smaller in person than what he appeared on the telly (like so many actors), and not as good looking, however he was a lot cooler, and that’s what counts. He was dressed incognito, drank boys beer and was a gent to both guys and his forte, the ladies. I am not sure if his PR people schooled him on how to act, but all the stories I heard about him while he was here makes him out to appear like a cross between a 6 month old cute little Labrador puppy dog, Mother Teresa and Barrack Obama.

Apart from Beck-a-mania the season to be jolly is at full throttle. Last week I went to 3 events at the newly opened bar called Cassette Number 9, on Vulcan Lane. A dark, atmospheric upstairs venue with booths, a well-appointed balcony and a style that could handle a mini-rock concert, hardcore club night or a 21st birthday.

Oakley opened their NZ flagship concept shop on Queen St last Thursday, they call the “O Store”. I’m told the number crunchers from America came down to tweak and pick holes in the place before opening, but the fit-out was so precise all they could recommend was a lick of dusting on the stoop. XBOX launched their version of Playstion’s “Singstar” game on Thursday to, theirs is called “Lips” and has a much more contemporary, user-friendly feel.

Somehow I managed to fit in an hour of Te Radar at the Classic Comedy Club. He was supposed to speak for 1 hour about his hit TV show “Off The Radar”, where he lived on a farm for months and came across all kinds of chores, hurdles and darn right disgusting things. But garrulously he wittingly held court for 2.5 times that, so long so that management had to call for a 15min recess after he’d shot well past the 60min mark, and showed no sign of slowing. He’s a classic NZ comic gem, the thing is, he’s actually getting funnier the wrinklier he becomes, and the longer his ginger locks extend. I feel that before long he’ll become our modern day Billy T.

I was lucky enough to be asked to judge the final of Miss fallen Angel at L.A.X on Thursday. Sitting beside a current All Black and a NZ surfing legend, I felt a big out of my league, but we bonded and got to work scrutinising the ladies as they tried to impress us in their various costumes. Bikini comp junkie, Hannah Norton, took the tit-le, and a deserved Jessica Pendergrast came close behind. The show was sweetly broken up by 2 dance interludes from the super sexy Vixens who had the crowd howling (they did similar routines for my last party with a similar fizzing crowd reaction). Absolutely pooped, I recoiled into bed at the reasonable hour of 2am.

I chose to forgo the Ministry Of Sound warehouse party in Avondale, seeing international hard house master Andy Farley destroy a sold-out Studio (with equal legend Nick Sentience as his accomplice), and cheering for the L.A. Galaxy, as they pussy-foot around the Oceania All-Stars for an easy win, in favour of a jaunt around the Far North (I never knew there was actually a region of NZ called the Far North) with a leggy blonde.

We chose Keri Keri as our base and speed toured around in a late model luxury black Range Rover feeling omnipotent. The treaty grounds at Waitangi was an eye popper, as it was my Great Great Great Grandfather, Henry Williams, who translated the treaty form English into Maori. So I got my picture taken with his portrait. We caught a ferry from Paihai to Russell and had a grand chin-wag with some local guys on board. They were heading over to go lawn bowling as part of the first leg of their work Xmas party. The boys rattled off the do’s and don’t about the picturesque historic village, then after the placid 30min boat stint we bid bye bye with a homeboy handshake.

It felt like we were in another country, time stood still as we peddled around, up hill and down dale on our hired push bikes; The sun blazed and my skin cried out for warp factor 30+. During the Tour de Russell, I was amazed at the sheer number of NZ first’s, oldest’s and most’s there were. It held the country’s first/oldest police station, church, pub, mission, yacht club and residential dwelling, it was situated on the shores of the most scenic harbour in the southern hemisphere, and up top on the point was the most expensive resort (that we couldn’t get into).

The next day, with scorched skin, we went in search of sights, we found an extremely flash golf club (Kauri Cliffs) that when we illicitly snuck in, were chased out by a grizzly man on a red quad bike. Tails between our legs we climbed a massive mound to gork at Greenpeace’s Rainbow Warrior memorial that overlooks where the wreck now lies on the bottom of the ocean, in Matauri Bay and near a bunch of cute islands. The next tourist attraction I wanted to view was biggest Kauri tree in the country, we couldn’t find it, as both mine, and my co-pilot’s, map-reading skills were gimpish. But we did find a 15min loop track on the side of a metal road that housed some jolly jumbo ones, one had a girth of 13.5m, so that quenched my thirst for locating Tane Mahuta, who holds the world record with a circumference of 20cm more.

Time to chill after all the excitement, and we chose Marsden Estate Winery, a delightful spot to dine, caress and dream amongst the vines and lazy ducks. With a smashing pan fried Orange Roughy within me we aimed for Managawai Heads, and got there 2 hours later. Dipping our extremities in the luke warm water felt fantastic, and my headache evaporated.

1.5 hours after that I reluctantly handed the Rangy back to its rightful owner, black beauty had served us very well indeed. No time to rest on our laurels we had 30min to freshen up, and make it to The Classic for The NZ Guild Comedy Awards. I have no idea what time they all started drinking, but my sobriety made me paranoid amongst the sea of drunk, swaying, comically abusive TV personalities, comedians and other various forms of media. I slurped on a few lagers and mellowed into the evening.

The funniest bit for me was not Brendhan Lovegrove’s arrogant acceptance speech when he won Male Comedian of 2008, and the cutting heckling that jabbed at him throughout it, but it was the inebriated C4 writer/producer/editor/actor who was announcing the winner (names not important, but he’s large and wearing a light blue suit in one of my photos this week). He chronically swayed (to the point of nearly keeling over) against the heavily decorated Christmas tree on the stage, it tipped then settled back into it’s original position. However a couple of decorations had, unbeknown to the prize-giver, attached themselves to his jacket. He got the hugest fright when they both dislodged at the same time a minute later, when he opened Brendhan’s bottle of pricey red pinot and necked half of it during Brendhan’s egotistical rant about being the best in the country. I’d hate to guess what went down after I departed, but I’m sure I’d be shocked, disappointed and just a little bit jealous, but nowhere near as jealous as I am of Beckham.

This was supposed to be my last Guide transmission for 2008, but I think I’ve got enough gusto left in me for one more. Get out there and get amongst it this week, I sure will be. Try and make my party at Spy Bar this Friday, it’s called Sleepless and will be a true eye-opener.

I’m not sure how much more I can take. I’m told there are bets on as to when my liver will cave in, anything up to 3 more years they say. I’m banking on a whole lot more than that, but this week I went slightly OTT, but due to what I feel to be valid excuses.

Michael Pattison’s fashion boutique fashion party last Wednesday evening got the desired result. 100 people coming into his shop (most for the first time), schmoozing, grooving and buying. Elixa energy drink boosted my enthusiasm to a level rarely seen, so I cashed in my Kraftwork tickets and continued the good times on at Pasha.

The grudges were put aside, and Pony rocked like olden days for their 3rd birthday. I do remember relieving my stomach into an ice bucket at some stage, also kicking Grant Marshall from the decks, exclaiming that I could do that with one arm tied behind my back. I couldn’t, and I looked stupid (something he’s reminded me of twice since). As you do, when Pony shut, we carried on, and on. I think I was given the wrong drink, as for 4 hours I was at the mercy of my very hospitable hosts, parallel and paralysed.

Crookers played live the following night, it had sold out, but all those I spoke to apart from the die-hard fans felt let down. Maybe we aren’t quite ready for their electro eurostyle funk, or perhaps Booka Shade the previous week set the bar too high.

Friday got better as the day wore on. I began at The Wharf, a fab new venue at the foot of the North Shore side of the harbour bridge, that looks and feels like a million dollars. From there onto my monthly residency at Easy Tiger, where I drink $200 worth of booze with one of you out there. Trench Bar came next, and with it a nice bottle of bubbles, and blonde company. On the up, feeling not so bad, and remembering that it was Friday night (so no real responsibilities the following day), I looked in at Act Yo Age at Met&Code, not recognising anyone in my age bracket I pushed on to Space to see Sharkey get up to his old tricks on the mic and wheels of steel. I saw him at the start of the year going ballastic with Kevin Energy, and wanted more. But Sharkey had been barred from the airport by customs and sent home, this explained why I could hear crickets in the club.

I knew that the Above & Beyond boys were more sensible, so they’d show for sure at Studio. When they came on the boost in music quality, precision and freshness was marked. I hadn’t heard euphoric trance like that since I was in a club called Eden in Ibiza late 2003, when halfway through Dave Pearce’s kingpin set, the side wall opened, doubling the size of the club, and cannons fired foam filling the club waist deep (it was here where I lost my very first camera).

Last Friday, I danced like I used to, no care with hands in the air, upfront and exalting. Just when I was wondering if I should hang up my raving shoes in favour of sheepskin lined slippers, the Above & Beyond boys bought me back to earth and gave me a good old fashioned wake-up reality slap in the face. Bravo boys.

I believe in making hay while the sun shines, that’s why I didn’t go home at a reasonable hour on Friday. I regretted this firm belief of mine when I stirred from my slumber Saturday morning. I had so much to do, and felt like I’d been hit by a water-logged 2 tonne sandpit, and it was still doing it’s best to smother me. But I also believe in snapping out of it and hardening th’ fark up, so I began working my way through my game day list of things not to forget. You see it was Magic Bus Party Adventure day. I had 110 people counting on me.

The day was as flawless as Halle Berry’s skin, I wouldn’t let anything come close to blemishing this Magic excursion. Not even the idiotic texts and calls I always get from people asking handicapped questions. The magical wheels of the party bus were set in motion just post 2.30pm, 100 friends, and friends of friends set sail, first stop The Pumphouse, on the shores of Lake Pupuke. Franko Yates, from Airspace, delighted us with solo rock covers, and one of his classy originals to finish.

The Masonic Tavern welcomed the Magic Bus tour party next, by this stage people were loosening up and tomfoolery began to surface. Vann Dizon’s band, complete with their own groupie section and female drummer, performed for us there, and they were sensational. I thank them immensely for the fantastic show, you even had techno junkie’s like me jiving up front. You’ll go far and I’ll help where I can.

We massed it to, the about to open, Backyard Bar in Northcote, then The Lounge next door, then the bar beside that. We aimed for the CBD from here, but stopped in at Stafford Park to savour the last of the sunshine, roll down the slopes and continue the interaction.

Bang on schedule we hit SkyCity, the last stop and not a tear had been shed all day. The concierge ushered us at haste to the pool deck on top of the hotel. The DJ was already spinning and the laser glinting off the still pool. Then Chico went and bombed it in his Calvins, others followed.

Drinking frozen cocktails with my feet up watching the sun go down over the harbour, with 110 new and old friends having fun dancing behind me gave me one of the warmest fuzzies I have had in years. When I used to put on parties I’d always say never again, it’s not worth it, people don’t appreciate the effort. But after this one, I’m thinking that maybe it is, and maybe they do.

I spent the rest of Sunday continuing to drink with 3 fantastic friends in the stunning sun. We played hop-scotch, scrape the moss from the skylight, skittles, a new game we called petonker, but it was one called nibbles that kept us wanting more.

29 sleeps till Xmas day, start that shopping, send those greeting cards and jolly well sort out your NYE celebration agenda. There’s only 1 NYE party for me this year and it’s in Matakana. Join me there for one of the best parties you’ve ever seen in NZ.

Nothing more than praise from me this week, I won’t bore you with stories about how I got drunk with a bevy of babes on a moonlit beach, or did backstage agavero shots with the world’s #1 DJ. I’ll keep it as brief as a porccupine’s hiccup and simply say well done to Nathan King for his storming gig last Wednesday, Kiwi rock Weta for blowing the top off Galatos, my man Shaveer for bring over Booka Shade who played a performance worthy of a knighthood last Friday. And lastly to The Grey Lynn Festival Committee who gathered together tens of thousands of people to revel and soak in the surroundings, before freshening up and moving on to dance the night away to the beats of the international techno junkies The Bodyrockers, and Vandalism, at Deep, Hard & Funky.

2 other things made me stop and ponder last week, a quote and a joke.

The quote was spoken by Leonardo DiCaprio, from the movie “The Beach”.

“Keep your mind open and suck in the experience. If it hurts it’s probably worth it!”

Secondly, this clean funny, sent to me from guide-getter Alexander Brown made me chuckle.

Scenario: You are driving in a car at a constant speed. On your left side is a grass verge, and on your right side is a fire engine traveling at the same speed as you. In front of you is a galloping pig, which is the same size as your car, and you cannot overtake it. Behind you is a helicopter flying at ground level. Both the giant pig and the helicopter are also traveling at the same speed as you.
What must you do to safely get out of this highly dangerous situation?

Answer: Get off the children’s Merry Go Round, you’re pissed.

In a nut-shell my 7 day stretch consisted of mild sunstroke, a homebrand visit to A&E (cheers for the TLC Nurse Mum), a plethora of gee-gees, Princess Anne verse tractors, a seahorse wedding and roast chicken with Yorkshire pudding. But I can’t fool myself here, Christchurch is not always this much fun.

Cup week in The Garden City is the highlight for all Cantabrians, I’m one, always will be, but I choose to live in Jaffaland, due to the expanded amount of options, especially socially.

It’s a week that evolves around horses, tractors and traditionally stinking hot weather. 2008s display showed me all this, and some. The second Tuesday in November’s the biggest horse racing carnival day in the country, this year nearly 30,000 came along to eat, drink, bet, flirt and get merry at Addington Racecourse. I had my first alcoholic beverage at 9am, and my last some 22 hours later. I only stopped as I fell from a table, cut my leg and found walking incredibly painful, and the squirting blood nauseating.

The day began with Lindauer Brut and finished with Moet. Everywhere I went people had made an effort to dress-up. Some stayed in the carpark and partied, others went trackside for a punt. It was the sold-out Lindauer Lawn zone (most of which was tar seal and concrete) where everyone wanted to be, it was OK, but I preferred mingling ,and making friends, on the inner track. People had gone to elaborate lengths to want for nothing, they had it all. One set up consisted of a rave room (with vibrating floor), plasma screen to see the races and a paid barman.

From there 11 of us piled into a Nissan Terrano and went to an after party (this was at 6pm). The owner had it all, arcade games, fully stocked bar, DJ room and most gadgets a guy could want. I got the call I’d been waiting for, filled my pockets with roadies (after asking permission), and moved on into the CBD. Liquidity was the place, it was alive. Dance anthems rang from all corners, I must have got a bit carried away on the dancefloor, because a bouncer pulled my aside and threatened to throw me out unless I calmed down.
 
People and places turn things up a notch during Cup Week, every day I found excitement; Even if it was during the afternoon watching sheep getting rounded up in Cashel Mall, there was something horsey, or agriculturally, related around every corner. Another major part of Cup Week is The Royal A&P Show held out at Wigram (Hornby way). Where the country, and all it stands for, comes to town. 120,000 went along this year, most on the Friday (Canterbury’s anniversary day, thus a holiday), Princess Anne was one of them. She came to represent, smile and present some of the major awards, not bad looking really, for someone who’s 2 shy of 60.

I’ve never been to a wedding where both parties are good friends of mine, so after flipping a coin and picking a side to sit and saw Hard House DJ/producer legend Jon “Captain Tinrib” Bell marry Sarah “Horsey” Terras, at the Christchurch Cathedral on Saturday. The reception was at Pegasus Bay Winery, just north of Amberley, a glorious fitting spot to celebrate the unity.

Many of the guests were visiting international technoheads, so when the after party kicked in just after midnight I was in heaven. 200 metres from the restaurant, down the hill, through the pine trees and over the creek, a rave zone had been constructed, with lasers, roboscans, overflowing bar, an oversized sound rig, the whole shabang. It became riotously wicked and most got extremely messy, and they carried on well into Sunday in the searing heat.

My last supper was a classic favourite of mine, roast chicken with all the trimmings. I never get tired of staying with the olds; what with washing that has a turn around time of less than 12 hours, and meals that can be at any time you choose, I felt like privileged royalty.

Seeing this was my last night I chose to not have an early one, and took the offer of “watching a movie” at Monie and Yves’s place in Sumner. What a good call I made. It turned out to be one of the best leaving parties I could ever wish for. My camera was banished to the car, and I was pressured into following the crowd and letting my hair entirely down.

So I’m back in AKL now, and planning my next 4 parties, that all fall before the clock strikes 2009. I hope to party with you all real soon, somehow. Remember, if you hear of a fun/wild or party/event going on drop me a line, I don’t hear about everything.

In some ways my week was as exciting as ever, Rihanna, Chris Brown and Stevie Wonder were there, so were the NZ Breakers basketball team. Halloween swept the city offering me invites to 16 themed parties. An old school buddy got married, 1 good party friend left the country bound for a new life in Dubai. There were birthdays, bbqs, big launches and of course the AB’s had a good win. But it was me fully falling for a former flame, again, that has me muddled to the max.

I’ve been sitting here since 8.15 this morning attempting to get my usual flow on, but I just can’t see it happening. I’m thinking about how I’ll handle my upcoming holiday in Christchurch, what I’ll wear to the races tomorrow, if I should join the army, will the cat pee in my bedroom again, how I don’t like growing facial hair even when it’s for a great cause, and of course my painful love-life issues.

Now it’s 1.28pm, I’ve not procrastinated this long since Haley’s Comet was last in town. I’ve been for a 12k run, baked some cheese scones, waxed the car and fixed the hinge on the pantry door. So what actually did I do last week? Largely it was like most others, but with the afluent summer buzz about the intensity almost doubled.

There were some big concerts early in the week, both were quite different and quite sensational. The Halloween theme was big in Auckland this year, most bars had something happening on Friday. Due to my off the cuff ginormously large Thursday night I let the team down, and couldn’t be bothered dressing up (so the costume stays pristine in the box for it’s 3rd year). Pasha took the cake for their party, with Crow Bar second. There were multiple dance parties to, Floorplay’s antics at Space narrowly edged out Lady Waks at Code.

When I got to the after party on Saturday morning, and was asked what I’d been up to I drew a blank, then noticed the markings on the underbelly of my arms, so rattled of the names inked on from the pretty stamps and bracelets that I’d been given. There was a great gathering of 25 people, half which I knew well, who didn’t want the night to end. Dress-up hats were dished out, as were refreshing drinks and a warm handshakes/hugs. People came and went all day, annoyed neighbours and noise control included. My highlight was finding a long section of blue clothes line and playing jump rope with Karn.

The commencement of the evenings schedule was drawing near, we bid our goodbyes and readied ourselves. We were too efficient, and were all set half an hour before departure, so put our feet up to dwell on what had happened recently. 7 hours later I stirred again, it was now 1.30am. I’d missed out on a Saturday night. I sincerely pondered jumping in the car and making up for lost time, I didn’t, instead re-awoke at 9am, went to the bakery (as it’d been a long time between snacks), then cuddled up and watched “Bring It On – All Or Nothing” (like all follow-on sequels it wasn’t a scratch on the original).

At noon we caught up with a troop that had lasted the distance, done Auckland’s Saturday haunts then found a home that would have them. The trick for them that morning had been to see who could successfully swallow a tablespoon full of cinnamon, they all attempted, and the failed results sounded priceless, I could still see Dougal’s watery attempt splattered on the deck.

Slightly sunburnt we all moved on to Rob’s very well catered 25th birthday BBQ. He was in fine form, as were the people who skipped bed the previous night. I almost cried when Evan put his D&G’s back on his face, but he used the hand that had his glass of champagne in it, the wet patch on his party clothes was rather large; He took it on the chin, laughed with us, and I got him a refill.

Not at all hungry, my group went over to Takapuna to test Chow’s latest addition to it’s fresh asian restaurant chain. It was a test run for the staff in all areas, so we could order whatever we liked, I’ve eaten at their other spots a number of times, so ordered two plates of the best for all. The atmosphere and food was so good we surprised ourselves and ate excessively before we waddled out shortly before 10pm.

That brings us up to today. It’s now 4.05pm and I have guests arriving any minute so have to go scrub up. TTFN.

It happened again. I misunderstood the invite and turned up to a party dressed in theme. But this wasn’t any old student house party where you can blend into the mis-matched furniture. This was the national launch for Yellowglen bubbly, at The Floating Pavillion, with lots of famous people. I did my best to make it look that I’d done it on purpose, but I felt like a dork.

The party fizzed for 2 hours longer than planned, then management forced General Lee to pull the plug on the CDJs. The team at Ogilvy PR did a topnotch job, the right combo of everything; I didn’t want to leave. Yellowglen is a superb alternative in the affordable bubbly steaks to the traditional Lindauer, but it is Australian.

The Phantom Of The Opera was nowhere near what I imagined. It was like when you meet someone that you’ve admired for years, a celeb of some sort perhaps, and they turn out to be a slob, tramp, junkie, numbskull or just a general idiot. I was buzzing at the thought of attending my first opera, and the one I knew the most about to. I got into my best suit and asked my most alluring female friend to enjoy the experience with me. I mean if over the last 21 years 80 million people have seen Mr Webber’s show it must be something out of this world, right?

When the lights came on, signaling the conclusion of the first half, I semi hoped it was the end. I’m sorry, but over the whole performance I didn’t catch myself going “wow” once. I repeatedly found it difficult to decipher who was singing (maybe due my 2nd tier seating), and when they sung together it was just muddled noise. I hoped for more from the staging to, I’d rate it alongside a well constructed secondary school production. Having said that though the chandelier, punt journey under the theatre, candelabra pyrotechnics were well done, and The Phantom’s love interest’s voice was heavenly.

What I like, and what local entrepreneur Luke Dallow provides, is very much in sync. The Chapel Bar used to be my local, a place where I could go any night of the week and be assured of an appealing atmosphere, now his his latest invention, The Sales Street Brewery Bar, that has my undivided attention.

Last Thursday Chapel turned 3, it wasn’t a huge huli, just a nice bunch of guests and apt entertainment in the form of circus stilt walkers, and the Sentimental Soundsystem drunkard duo of Dave and Thane. I had to leave at 9 to hit up his other joint. Funnily, Lara, Silmara and Brad had chosen the same venue and date to celebrate their birthday. It was like 20 others were celebrating to, the place was heaving, happy faces everywhere.

It began to empty just shy of pumpkin time. I drove home past Chapel, like a true trooper it was as busy as when I’d left it.

I invited a bunch of guide-getters to (most of whom I only knew by their email handle) the Quad Bar (the Quadrant Hotel’s sweet house bar). The promoter had asked me to bring some people down to enjoy a $600 tab, and check out the new regular Friday night party night slot there; I thought I’d share the whopper with some fresh faces. Most of us got on very well and I saw quite a few numbers flung back and forth.

Electric’s 7th birthday at Ink and Coherent on K’ Rd, came next. Luckily we found a close park so the persistent rain wouldn’t damage the looks of my cargo. It did however damage the clubs night, we arrived to a very sparse audience and buckets scattered about the place catching leaks. I’d purposely come in time to see P-Money take the helm. It was another Phantom Of The Opera moment, I couldn’t believe my ears. He played commercial songs so old, I remembered a few of them from my 7th form formal, the mixing wasn’t even all that slick. Stick to the hip-hop nights till you get a better grasp of the electronic scene Mr Money. Needless to say we left early and had a look in at NZ Rave’s AGM at Kiss, then a quick circuit of Spy.

We packed the car as if we were going away for a week, not 24 hours, fully ladened we took off, destination Matakana. The pre-party team were rinsed from their previous nights liveliness, but we caught up and soon were all on the same page.

At 5.45pm we arrived at Heron’s Flight Vineyard for Sundown. The organisers were stretched from the word go with a spree of naughty peeps with ID that wasn’t theirs, however everything else was like a dream. This new vineyard party destination doesn’t have the dreamy sensation that the old horse Stonyridge has, however it’s a close second. All the old faces were there, and they were all totally on party form.

The 2 hours of daylight partying was dynamite, and Karn Hall’s track selection was even better. Time flew and before long it was time to pick an after party. I chose an intimate one and was voted to be DJ/Barman for 5 hours, a role I lapped up, but grew tired of when my energy levels became dangerously low, and the night’s sky diminished into dawn. Calling “shotgun” I nestled into the front seat like a butterfly with sunburnt feet.

The rest of my long weekend was one of just that, rest. Soaking up vitamin D, reading periodicals, eating very well and long walks on the beach.

There are just 69 sleeps till 2009, and in this time Documentary New Zealand will be on my tail filming my antics in the spotlight, and behind the scenes. The last time I was on film I performed poorly, and it ended in tears, fingers crossed for a reversal of fortune. Also, if you’re stuck for a NYE option come on my 24 hour party bus trip to Matakana, for Highlife Entertainment’s huge dance event. Look at http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=33575155317. Email me for more details.

They’ve got names like Betty Bo Peep, Lillian De Lace and Judy Garment. They performed last Thursday at Toto’s to a full enthusiastic house. I’ve seen the Hootchy Kootchy Burlesque Girls perform 3 times over the years, this was the slickest by far. MC Toni Bambini guided the show with wit I never get tired of, and with the help of duet singers The Lemon Honeys, soloist Gilda Goldentone and sweet seller Candy Kane, entertained the 200 strong audience as the lusty ladies slipped out of, and into, their various old school lingerie layered outfits. The introduction of interactive props to the show, like Japanese umbrellas, large pink bouncy balls and a mini shopping trolley was successful in leaving us with much to talk about when we returned to the new Sale St bar for a few night caps.

I hadn’t been to New Lynn in over a year. We got lost, and felt uneasy as we followed our noses along the dark streets. Arriving at the address, I began to apologise to my sidekicks, nobody likes a wild goose chase, but it was too late, we’d been spotted by the host. This indeed was the place, but we were the only one’s there (perhaps a start time on the invite would’ve been a good idea Miss Holley), with chins up, we knuckled down (I must admit that the faint flicker of the Sky Tower on the horizon put me more at ease). The hospitality was faultless, and when others arrived I was very content.

I was given BBQ chef duties, a role I took great pride in and snarled if anyone offered to help. Tequila and OJ in a cask, and ready salted crisps were replaced by Jager shots and Cuban cigars, and the party ignited.

I thought it a bit strange that the bloke I’d chatted to the most, cleaned the grill down, re-lit the flame and cooked his own meal. I hadn’t realised that he was indeed an All Black, and off to Hong Kong in a few weeks for the final Bledisloe test match. So he had a very special diet. This is fine, but why was he drinking Corona?

Reluctantly we had to go. Bidding new, and old, friends adieu, we bopped to the Beamer. Being clear-headed I drove, while the ladies did a full outfit change, and make-up application, around me, oh for a spare set of eyes.

We were early to George FM’s Doorlist Party at Galatos, this gave us time to say gidday to the hosts, and acclimatise ourselves. By 11.30 it was busy, and 30 minutes later packed. Revelers ranged from pretty promo bunnies in high heels, to unkept westie mechanics, but we all got along swimmingly. Being mostly sober wasn’t as much fun as I’d remembered, so we had a look in at the clubs down Fort Lane and surrounding blocks, it was like a ghost town. Unimpressed, I beamed it home, muttering something about how people should get out and party more. I was 3 hours late for my midnight snack, but it meant I could make my Body Attack class later that morning.

I made it to class, but limped off upset and cursing after the 4th track. My cartwheel injury from 2 weeks ago, and old football knee ailment had flared up, geez I’m flippin’ falling apart. I couldn’t wait for night time to douse my frustration, so got cracking early. The duty-free grog I picked up from my recent Samoa trip was nipped into at an afternoon drinking session in Parnell. As daylight faded I moved on for more pre-drinks in Ponsonby, then a great schmooze-fest nearby celebrating Kyla’s birthday.

My friends bailed before me as I was on a conversational roll. I tumbled down Franklin Road and into the Sale St Bar. Ned Roy was playing rocking party beats for the throngs, again I didn’t want to leave, but I was behind schedule, and I had it on good authority that the next stop was pumping.

It was, Met & Code’s 5th birthday party featuring Aussie’s Sam La More on the decks. The place was on fire, I hadn’t seen the venue this alive since MOS’s Potbellez party back in June.

When I arrived there was a bunch of youngsters having a Melbourne Shuffle-off, I joined in, but my alcohol ladened legs wouldn’t move properly, so I bowed out. Both floors were packed, we danced for hours, mainly downstairs where Mr La More was spinning. I was uber impressed with his tunes and mixing, but when will these big time DJ’s start to put some animation into their performance? Great tunes and mixes are super, but if you can get on down while behind the decks you’ll be a superstar.

My only downer for the night was being told off by a burly bouncer for rearranging furniture and fake shrubs. I’d created the feeling you were dancing in a private jungle, my effort was dispersed, but mission accomplished really.

Moving on to the traditional end of night meeting point of Spy Bar, we danced till 7, then surfaced to a glorious Sunday. You can’t waste a day like this by sleeping! We made some calls, warned a sleepy bed dweller that we were on the way, and vollar, there we were, on a lovely deck dancing, glugging chilled Miller, sipping Tequila on the rocks, and slip, slop, slapping.

We were fast becoming beached, so headed over to the shore, and revved up a quiet drinks gathering in Milford (their sun-trap had a pool). I dove in before I got pushed. Chitter-chatting and dancing till dusk it was time to move once more. This time though, back to The Viaduct to check out the Diwali Festival Of Lights. There were a few lights, ton’s of food and nik-nack stalls and thousands of people. It was too intense for me, so I opted out, and ducked home for Renkon Thai cuisine and Top Gun.