There are 11,152 of you guide-getters out there to date, and I’ve met almost all of you. After 4 years it’s up to someone else out there to pick up the party ball and run with it. I know there are a few bidding for the crown. Rob, Sammy, Damon, Brad to name but a few But if anyone wants any kind of piece of this party empire that I’ve created, let me know ASAP.

I’ll be back, but unsure when and in what capacity. If I win this Nite:Life award I’ll swoop back for the ceremony. If not, it’ll be more like a fleeting visit for Xmas. While I’m on ‘the award’ topic, if you haven’t already, please vote for me in the annual Nite:Life Awards (and tell your friends to). I’m gunning for back 2 back victories in the ‘Best Scene Personality’ category, and Phloss won’t go down without a fight www.ourhouse.co.nz/nitelifeawards

I managed to get out to a few events during the week, which were much of a muchness, but by far the major thing on my mind was the organisation of my 33rd birthday/leaving party held at The Ponsonby Bowling Club. It was great to see people who’d come to my very first party in Auckland (a Cowboys & Indians themed house party) rocking’n'rolling with cool/fun peeps I met only a week ago.

We bowled, drank jugs of beer and played free pool, then as the afternoon shadows got longer we ate, chilled-out in The Antartic section and were serenaded at sunset by a lone bagpipest. With party techno beats emanating from the DJ zone across the complex it was action battle-stations, get ready for launch.

We skipped upstairs next to listen to comedian Brendhan Lovegrove followed by 4 of my favourite Kiwi bands Silver Revival, Move, The Exiles and Airspace. While this monster jam session was happening, Chewy and his dozen strong drummers, and fire spinners, had a hundred odd mesmerised by athleticism, ability and sheer lack of fear, outside amongst the glowing giant rhino cones.

The fun police visited once to no avail, nothing of worth got broken and I saw many new couples forged. So as far as I’m concerned it was just what the invite said, ‘10 hours of power fun’. The only downer was the scolding I got from management, when Scotty and I went nude hydrosliding across the greens while the sprinklers rinsed the greens.

I was not ready for the frenzy that was my after party at Pasha. I’d never seen the place so busy and alive, it was another New Years. I felt like a King. It was brilliant to see scores, and scores, of friends who couldn’t make the main event during the day coming for catch-ups.

One hour was all we lasted at Spy Bar, even though it was to be my last time for some time, I felt as if we parted ties some time ago. We re-grouped at a familiar Ponsonby turf, and numbers swelled to nearly 30, 75% of whom were uncommonly of the female.

A hardcore group of 9 trucked on to an inner city hotel, to carry on waving the Party Marty birthday banner. I’d planned this maneuverer weeks in advance, so the room was fully prepped. It was a couples-fest, even a make-out room. Fun in the sun on a Sunday with genuine friends is hard to beat.

People paired off and veered homeward to sensibility. We flogged the horse, dragging out the celebration as long as possible, but when dusk set in, we turned in, with a smile on my dial and a job very well done.

Some of the pictures are in this link, http://www.viewauckland.co.nz/gallery_martys_party/img1.asp

P.S. If you’d like to be in my DOCNZ movie, out later next year, my crew are filming snippets over the next month. All you need to be a part of this movie is an opinion of me, and this countries nightlife. Easy, just email your name and number to my Director, Nick Jack npj@xtra.co.nz. He’ll take it from there.

It’s been great guys. Please stay in contact, I’m always interested in what you are all up to, even the one’s I only email, and have never officially met. Smile, have fun and remember… It’s Always Happy Hour!

Curious things to happened to me this week were. In no particular order; Mega pimped-it at the magical Ti Point Retreat, gave blood, was treated to a Balinese full-body pamper, toured The Northern Club, fell off my seat, ate a green scone, filmed a skit with Mr Urlich and missed out on 4 AAA passes to Coldplay due to my appetite.

At last people are taking on dress-up opportunities as they arise, always leading to a heightened night in the fun department. Unless you mistake a real cop for one in fancy dress, damn my rose-tinted beer goggles.

Early last week thousands dressed up and celebrated St. Paddy’s Day. Many revelers were blottoed by noon, most by sunset, however by midnight only a few hardened Irish souls remained. I don’t like Guinness, red-heads (there’s the odd exception), the weather in Ireland and green is not flattering on me, but I do like their drinking ethic and the happy-go-lucky leprechaun vibe.

The heavenly 90 minute Balinese rolf, with citrus oils, on Wednesday took that days most memorable honour. Thursday’s was the Taste Of Auckland maiden launch, on the infield of Ellerslie Racecourse. There wasn’t only a myriad of the finest food in town, there was fine alcohol to. I obliged to everything offered. My indulgence though caused me to miss repeated calls hailing me to collect AAA passes for Coldplay. Ahhhhh!

The Northern Club took Friday’s cake. Exclusive, regal and steeped in tradition. I was meeting bio-chemist masters, professors and health-care head honchos, so I was on my bestest behaviour, and in my Sunday best.

Having to wear a jacket’n'tie is just one of the many rules of the club, being nominated to join by 3 existing members, and the chance of being blackballed, is another. The walls display portraits of some our countries most esteemed men (women are only a very recent addition to The Club). The library and snooker rooms fizzed a feeling of finesse and upper classiness. You could just tell that many decisions, deals and relationships to shape our lives had been struck there. I nursed my 2 beers over a 70min period, and held my end of the conversation up by asking genuine questions, then topping them up when the previous one’s answer was about to be completed. I left while the going was good, and before being coaxed to pull out ‘The Raindrop’ dance maneuver.

Without a doubt Ti Point Retreat, located 10min passed Matakana on the way to Leigh, is my pick of bliss accommodation spots in this country. I mean, have a look at www.tipointretreat.co.nz and see for yourself. Acres and acres of rolling vines on your doorstep, and a breath-taking expansive ocean view to the left, just past the friendly donkeys and mammoth tame sheep. Only one group at a time can stay there, as there are only luxury 2 bedrooms, but once there you don’t want to leave (and we didn’t), the place comes fully stocked with complimentary fresh food and drink (you could want for nothing more), oh, and there’s Blackie the resident super friendly, well-behaved feline.

Leaving was hard, but they didn’t have Sky. Reluctantly we legged it back to the big smoke in time for the Warriors 2nd NRL match of the season, and what a stunning win it was for ‘our’ boys. I yelled at the telly, leaped up, cheered, clapped and literally slipped of my seat. I only wish that I had literally put that $1000 bet on them to win as I’d planned.

I want to be in tip-top shape when I depart NZ in 9 days, or at least know what needs to be done to rectify things, so I nipped in for a ‘works’ blood test on Monday. I always get the heebie-jeebies when getting the jab, but it’s for the best, so gotta grin and bear it. I’m thinking my liver may need an adjustment, and perhaps the old iron levels, and God only knows what else. In fact my health is one of the reasons I’m moving on from the professional party lifestyle I’ve led for 3 years. I’ll let you know the results next week.

Now Tuesday was fun, we began the penultimate chapter in filming for my DOCNZ film. Filming well-known kiwi’s whom I’ve met during my Party Marty reign, and great friends who’ve stood by me. The funniest so far is Peter Urlich’s matter-of-fact candid answers (done in The Office TV series style). But Te Radar, Brooke Howard-Smith, Anthony Tuitavaki and Leigh Hart are still to come.

Along with all this activity I’ve been burning the midnight oil in preparation for my farewell party. Here’s the link: click here. If you’d like to come, let me know asap. Else, come to the free after party with your friends. It’s to be held at Pasha from 10pm – 3am.

And, if you haven’t already, please vote for me in the annual Nite:Life Awards (and tell your friends to). I’m gunning for back 2 back victories in the ‘Best Scene Personality’ category www.ourhouse.co.nz/nitelifeawards

Things that help me get though crazily busy days are funnies, like this one sent in from Guide-getter 4118, a.k.a Leon Austin. He sent me this cool music link… click here.

If anyone else has some great, non-pornographic, funnies, send them on over PLEASE! The keep my sanity at a manageable level.

I did. So there was that, seeing/hearing an unrivaled orchestra, strong-armed out of Shed 19 by a feisty bouncer, spinning a 480min funky house set, dress-ups, a greater than great beer festival, Mr Wright’s 50th and one gigantic Big Club Night Out.

Easing off the pedal of my manic party lifestyle, due to my fast approaching NZ departure aye? The weekend began on target with craning over the crowds to take in the fantastical ‘People In Your Neighbourhood’, feat. The UK’s ‘Urban Soul Orchestra’, on Thursday. They’re playing my next big party for sure.

Friday started on track, checking out the ‘Every Dog Has His Day’ opening at The Letham Gallery. A house-like exhibition space with many nooks; I gazed, sipped and roamed for over an hour.

The devil then piped up, chipping in with some naughty ideas, I had no valid comeback for his convincing argument. It was on! Scooting about Ponsonby I picked up 3 car loads of stray party orphans. We tripled the Parnell pre-town party, and got the guaranteed, neighbour-knocking, surround-sound system humming.

Heightened and enlightened, my slimmed team bounded into Opium right on que. I wished DJ Falcon had done the same. I handled 40min of looking at every euro looking fella that rolled in, hoping that this was the DJ I’d come to see play my favourite party anthem ‘So Much Love To Give’.

Staying on party schedule we sadly moved on, vowing to return in an hour, or so. Crossing the road to the car I commented on the nearby cool, slick, white double-decker tour bus. All of a sudden there were 3 forceful voices charging me on to climb aboard. I’d never struck peer-pressure like it. Climbing a tree, and onto an overhanging branch, I lowered myself onto the roof, and did the jig I’d been hounded to perform. Scared I’d wake the snoozing driver within the cocoon, I shimmied down the sheer bonnet and scuttled to the get-away car, which happened to be parked out the front of the Auckland central police station, how unlucky.

Get Shaky was absolutely quaking upon our arrival. The council had halved the allowed capacity prior to opening, making it appear oversold. I made my way in, was thrown into an involuntary arm lock and marched back the way I’d come. Red faced, with a grazed forearm, but unphased, I stealthily tried again. Successful, we traipsed about Shed 19 (that’s indistinguishable from the former Float, the last bar there). The attendees were young and buzzy, but they had no staying power. By 4am, they were sweeping the floors.

A quick look in at Spy gave us directions to a crack-on. In the zone I reserved the decks and played for 8 hours. Having just 14 CD’s was a drawback, so I got creative and doubt anyone noticed the double/triple-ups.

As Beerfest o’clock rolled around, the intimidating clouds rolled away. Thousands turned out at Ellerslie Racecourse, well it felt like it anyway. The vibe was excellent and entertainment steller. I wish it was just more regular than annually. I say put Jordan Luck, Wagne Anderson, The Tutts, SJD and Pluto on the next set of NZ postage stamps, they all performed like heros.

I couldn’t miss Steve Wright’s 50th birthday bash, it had been on everyone’s lips for weeks. Cutting a few corners we made it, and were not let down by any means, think of a Hugh Hefner party, but just on a realistic budget.

Regrettably I had to duck off early and get the ball rolling at The Big Club Night Out. Out of the 5 clubs I’d been booked for the newish Shadow Lounge. It looked great, staff friendly and the DJ set-up was bliss.

I felt like a rockstar up in the booth. People smiling, and yelling encouragement in my direction, hands in the air, taking snap-shots, it was buzzy. It was only after my set that I ascertained it had been simulcast nationwide on George FM. With a bounce in my step I went exploring the other zones and venues, the gig had sold-out and K Rd was as busy as a red-light sale at Supre.

As the little hand ticked on, my big weekend out caught up with me and I set the compass homeward.

Thankfully I’d left my diary at a friends place, else I would’ve remembered about Sunday’s wild party opportunities. Instead I lazed on the beach, went to a nutty performance light’n’sound show called Siren, at MOTAT, cooked a scrummy BBQ and watched 1/5 of Guy Ritchie’s latest movie RocknRolla. I would have watched the last 4/5 but I was sound asleep.

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.

Firstly, defending my “Best Scene Personality” title I won last year at The Nite:Life Awards. Please click on this link and put in my name in the appropriate box to help in my quest. http://www.ourhouse.co.nz/nitelifeawards.

The second is to see that all the finest party people can make my 33rd/leaving party on Saturday March 28th. Click on this link and have a read of the lowdown http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=47481854009&ref=ts

Annoyed at missing all of Splore’s Living Lounge event, The 09 Bush Party and the start of Auckland Cup Week, I turned up for my first chosen obligation of my Christ’s College Old Boys’ reunion in Christchurch.

Handicapped upon age I began 40m behind the next youngest racee, and more behind the rest. The pistol cracked and I launched around the first bend, in the oldest regular running race in NZ. The next youngest competitor was 20 years my senior and rather nimble, but I got past him OK. Passing all but 1 opponent, I came to the finish line of the 200m race, he was mid-70 odd and trotting comfortably. Lunging forcefully, falling and tumbling, the photo finish proved that I’d been pipped at the post.

My 20 years on gathering was part of the school’s sports weekend, and there was a 30, 40, 50 and even 60 years on catch-ups concurrently. When it came time for the photo session the following day I saw my classmates who’d begun the institution like me way back in 1989. Fortunately a good third of them, like me, had a severe case of hair loss, so the stares I’d been anticipating didn’t happen.

As expected there was the usual Lawyer, Doctor, Lawyer, Banker, Lawyer line-up, but very few Professional Party People. It all flowed very painlessly, the ‘coolness’ hierarchy had dissolved and we drank, and laughed, well into the next day, all vowing to stay in contact, and me offering my services to sort a function for next year, the unofficial 21st of the class of 1989.

These last 4 paragraphs sound fairly tame and average don’t they. I’d better let you in on a bit of the other stuff that I sprung up..

Well, when I took my bags from the boot, after arriving late on Thursday night, the lid closed on my head, piercing the skin, causing me to drop to one knee and a golf ball sizes lump to rise. The next day I cut my hair with my Mum’s pro clippers (for race aerodynamics), I was too thorough leaving bald patches, a rash and flecks of blood. I scooted to a skate park on my 20 years on mountain bike next, and pulled some phat 2 inch air, before being teased on my way.

Later that day I went to my first Super 14 rugby match for the season. Sitting way up on the top shelf for the first half I froze, so I sought seats closer to the action. I eyed 4 mega prime ones and wondered why nobody had bagsed them. Thinking it was my lucky day I circled in stepping on many toes and nestled into the box seats. Less than ten minutes later I was asked to vacant immediately, I’d settled in amongst the Canterbury reserve players. I obliged, knowing that all my worldly blagging experience couldn’t sway this massive fluro-top-wearing security operative.

Then there was Saturday night, once I’d lost my school buddies. I decided to pull out the break dancing moves at a hard house club night. I was in my Sunday best suit, and yes ‘The Raindrop’ maneuver was unleashed. So that’s another suit that needs surgery. In my state I tried to change the chip in the video camera, dropped them both and in doing so lost 3 full days of footage for my party documentary. At least I still have the camera though, for a change.

I spent Sunday and Monday searching for a white trilby hat to complete my winning (fingers crossed) white and pink Auckland Cup Day outfit. Trying, hirage, Facebook and IOU avenues, in the 11th hour I settled on a stark white Al Capone number, that I doctored to look like a million bucks. Roll on Wednesday arvo, I just gotta win.

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.

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.