pettifogspot

Listen to me, Butterfly,
there's only so much wine you can drink in one life
and it will never be enough to save you
from the bottom of your glass.
-The Handsome Family

A history teacher of mine once told her bemused class that when she was growing up she was too poor to afford lipstick, so her and her friends used to suck telephone books to give their lips a rosy glow. I believe to this day she was being serious. However, there is another way to have nice red lips, and that’s to drink shitloads of red wine. Which is basically all I did this weekend.

Friday night I cooked dins for some chums and got drunk, Saturday I forgot to eat and got drunk, while out with chums. But 3am Sunday was when the fun really started. I stumbled home trying to remember that line from Unforgiven then plonked down on the sofa to watch TV. I was looking forward to watching all the latest infomercials, but was instead confronted by TV2’s National Anthem for the Play It Strange Trust (NAPIST), a 24 hour music show featuring almost every kiwi band you know and plenty more you don’t. Sort of like a telethon, but with more music and less kissing. Anyhow the bit I managed to watch through bleary eyes was hosted by none other than ole Peter Urlich who I hadn’t seen since Truebliss days. Well actually that’s not quite true, he’d been on the news earlier in the evening having organised a protest about inner city noise restrictions. Busy man. Anyhow for some reason last night, he reminded me of the gorilla in the old Nintendo game Donkey Kong, who runs along the crane hurling down barrels. I don’t know why this was, as I said, I’d drunk a lot of wine.

I was a little scared that the wee small hours would contain novelty acts dancing with lampshades and squelching out underarm farts, but was gladdened to see a band called The Have play a great little set. They won the rock quest a few years ago, they’re good, a tad too hairy for my liking, but that’s rock ‘n roll I guess. I watched for about twenty minutes but had trouble keeping my eyes open so walked up stairs as quietly as I could before tripping on the last step and stumbling noisily on to the landing.

Not doubt Urlich was up nice ‘n early, but not me, the hangover was a killer. I tried several times to get up but was suffering from a curious delay in my reaction times. I was also drooling from the side of my mouth. My bloodshot eyes …eh, you get the picture. Anyhow I surfaced this side of noon and switched on the radio to hear Ian Mune talk about the state of the New Zealand film industry. He’s obviously proud and passionate about the subject, and it was great to be able to listen him talk about the talent and we have in this country, then turn on the television and watch a 24 hour long programme devoted solely to New Zealand music.

By some perverse equation the more sprightly Peter Urlich looked, the worse I felt. For there he was looking for all the world as fresh as a daisy while I suffered a gradual decline on the sofa, slipping in and out of sleep. But wait! I woke up with a start and pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. For there on the TV, sporting the same goofy grin, but this time framed in a ghoulish blonde haircut, was none other than Jason Gunn. Yikes. I always thought there was something quite sinister about that man. I guess I still do.

It was great hangover TV, and all for a good cause so I hope it makes the cash it wanted and some of those bands profit from the exposure. Anyhow it’s late so I’d better go flossing and head to bed, resting assured that somewhere out there, Peter Urlich is still fighting for my right to party.

And when you realize the freedom money buys
You'll come running home some day.
I've been looking for freedom
I've been looking so long
- David Hasselhoff


Appalling quiz round last night. We came eleventh. I blame everyone. I’m angry at the world, much like Avril Lavigne.

I must admit to namedropping Avril Lavigne in order to steer this post towards its subject, either that, or get more hits from sk8tr boiz. Anyhow, during a break in the quiz I mentioned how crap the reviews on Amazon.co.uk were. There was much nodding of heads, so this morning, here’s a couple of my favourites:

For Avril Lavigne’s new album:

Avril Lavigne appears clad in a black tutu on the cover of her new album, Under My Skin. While on first glance this looks to be nothing more than a generic album cover, further analysis will reveal a poignant insight into the psyche of Avril and the theme of the record. For, externally Avril might appear standoffish, dark, rebellious, and “anti-everything” (as portrayed by the pseudo-goth duds), beyond the media misinformation she is simply a shy, vulnerable, impassioned little girl searching for her piece of a fairytale (hence the tutu).

A poignant insight into the psyche of Avril? I wish.

And from the collection of stories I’m reading by O. Henry:

Similar to the life, this author writes short stories full of surprises. His style of unfolding the surprise is unmatchable. Must read book, for them who believe in the twists of life. One feel envious with the simplicity of the plot, that why didn't it clicked in my mind. The sentence building is just great.

Yeah, I guess I’m one of them who believe in the twists of life.

But perhaps the best you can do, if you want a laugh, is to have a look at David Hasselhoff’s Greatest Hits album and read the reviews, which as of today, number 960. I was alerted to this rather odd confluence of five star reviews last year, and it kept me busy giggling for a whole afternoon. Here’s just a taster:

Not since the first performance of Beethoven's 'Eroica' shook the Viennese haute-monde out of their seats has there been a more determined, brutal attempt to wrench the tree of music up by the roots. For my part I would rather have been behind the mixing desk during the first take of 'Hot Shot City' than in the audience at the Theater an der Wein on April 7, 1805.

And:

The music is accomplished and exquisite, the lyrics deep, meaningful and equal in stature to the poetry of Keats. Repeated affectionate gazing at the cover led me to also appreciate the avant-garde artwork and recognise the effortless genius inherent.

Finally:

Once you've been encapsulated by the emotion and wisdom of Hitzeldongers words ("Parlez-vous anglais didn't bring no success|And she won't say her name or even write her address") you will never look back. The song "Hot Shot City" is particularly good!

Ol’ Ben Lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin’ right out of his nose.
He picked and picked till it made you sick
But back again it grows.
- Kinky Friedman

Good weekend?
Yeah, me too. Nothing too outrageous mind, but I finally shrugged off this damn head cold. Be gone! I chanted and looked to the east. Be gone! I chanted and looked to the west. I blew my nose three times, listened to a Sophie Ellis Bextor album and wa-hey, it’s a fine and clear day in nostril city.

All joking aside, this weekend I must admit I did dabble ever so briefly in the occult. I was at a dinner party with Miss A in Paekakariki, it was a 70s theme, so I made a pineapple and cheese hedgehog, clad myself in polyester and put on my best party smile. Early in the evening I saw this fella dangling a weight over a salad.
Are you a plumber? I asked
He raised an eyebrow and turned slowly towards me. No, my pendulum is telling me whether I should eat this salad or not.
Oh, I said, cool. Can I have a go?
Pendulum? Can Chuck have a go?
The pendulum swung in an anti clockwise direction.
No, pendulum says you can’t.
I shrunk back into the corner and stuffed my face with avocado and shrimp. Stupid pendulum.

Later, I found myself sitting next the man. And his pendulum. I thought I’d try my luck and see if either had changed their minds.
Pendulum? Can Chuck have a go?
To my astonishment the marble weight began to move in a clockwise direction. Now we’re in business, I thought to myself and grabbed the string.
Tell it to be still, said my mentor.
Be still! I commanded, and lo! pendulum was still.
Now think of the word ‘no’ - you have to find out for yourself which way the pendulum will swing.
And before my very eyes dear reader, the pendulum slowly began to sway from side to side.
Tell it to be still, said my mentor.
Be still! I commanded, and lo! pendulum was still.
Now think of the word ‘yes’.
I did so, and slowly but surely the pendulum swung in an anti clockwise direction.
Now, he said, ask it a question.
A question? Gee whiz, I hadn’t thought of that. After all, what do you ask a small stone on a string? It’s not like making a wish and blowing out birthday candles, this was going to require some thought. And so having harnessed all the spirits this side of Bulls, I didn’t know what to do. It crossed my mind to levitate Miss A from the table, or set fire to the cat, but to my everlasting shame the best I could ask was…
Will I ever go to Mexico again?
The pendulum thought for a while, then swung from side to side.
No.
Hmm, said guru, that’s probably not the sort of question pendulum could answer, and with that, grabbed the hanging pendant out of my hand.
Game over.
Ha, and a salad is? I felt like saying, but held my tongue, for fear it may one day be used in a bubbling broth.

So there we go, my one chance to ask one of life’s big questions and I ask if I’ll go to Mexico again. Whoop-dee-do. Oh well, it was probably for the best, after all, god only knows which way it would have swung had I asked if I’ll ever work again…
- - - - - -

My heartfelt congratulations to whoever it was who put the dinosaur on the White Island webcam. Keep up the good work.

Ring, ring, why don’t you give me a call?
Ring, ring, the happiest sound of them all
Ring, ring, I stare at the phone on the wall
- Abba

I watched The Ring last night, the yankee version. It scared the shit out of me, mainly because ...what the hell was Martin Henderson doing there?? Crikey, I had no idea. Whatever next? Gina from the coffee shop in The Passion? Nurse Tiffany in Kill Bill? Leonard in Lord of The Rings?? Oh, that’s right. But anyway, back to The Ring, what a great idea for a horror film. I’m renting a few ‘genre classics’ at the moment, and this had been on my ‘must watch’ list for some time, even though some dufus had already told me what happens at the end. Still, there were plenty of scares and I loved the bit on the ferry with the horse. It reminded me of another film I once saw involving a horse... But yeah, good film. I thought Naomi Watts was great and I thought the girl with the long black hair was kind of cute too. Mmm, come right over sweet cheeks, you can crawl though my TV set anytime.


A question I would like answered:

1) In the Air New Zealand ad currently bombarding us every second ad break, why does the woman not say yes to the marriage proposal in the Italian Restaurant?

But where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head
yes I do
yes I do
- Peter Sarstedt

If I had to rate my all time weirdest dreams, then the one where I was sticking sharpened pencils into Bill Cosby’s head would come first. Second, the one where a tabby cat sat on my chest reading excerpts from Catch 22. And in third? This one.

For some reason I was part of a space shuttle crew floating around high above the earth. I remember asking my fellow astronauts whether it really mattered which way we were pointing as there was no gravity. They looked at me like I didn’t deserve to be aboard. I didn't, but nor did they. For the record, me fellow astronauts were an old friend of my mine now living in India named Julian, and that guy who got fired from The Apprentice last night.

Anyhow it was pretty wicked up there, just hanging around in space, and I remember really enjoying this zero gravity thing but soon it was time to go home. Julian set the co-ordinates and went out the back for a sleep leaving me at the dashboard, hurtling through space at a million miles per second. Feeling anxious (what if we hit something) I tied myself into a bunk around the corner and held on for dear life. Suddenly there was a bright explosion. I unbuckled myself and ran back to the cockpit to discover …we’d broken through the earth’s atmosphere!! I yelled to Julian “We’ve broken through the earth’s atmosphere!”
Hold on, he said, I’m coming!
But it was too late. Suddenly we were plunging towards earth – but hold on I recognise this, yes, it’s Wellington! And sure enough we were flying low, but very very fast over the northern suburbs of Wellington. We sped past Crofton Downs, Johnsonville, Broadmeadows fire blazing behind us, but hold on I said, we’re not going to make it! And we crashed belly down at the bottom on Khandallah hill. But we weren’t out of danger yet. The shuttle had exploded into a ball of flame and had slid onto the railway track, where it was about to be hit by a trolley bus (?) I leapt out and waved my arms frantically (what, he didn’t notice the firey space shuttle in front of him??) but he stopped just in time and I ran back into the shuttle to pull out my friends, Julian and the guy who got fired from The Apprentice last night.

Firemen, policemen and tv crews swarmed the scene and I was asked how I had managed to navigate such a safe landing.
Well, I said, this is the route I used to walk to school.

I presume it was the next day, because I was sitting on a dam with Sarah looking at the newspapers, which screamed DISASTER but also included a story that at the same time as the shuttle crash had happened the incidence of domestic violence had risen sharply and hundreds of seals had washed up on the south coast. Looking at that I remember feeling quite chuffed, knocking Sarah on the arm and asking, Who else can say they’ve crashed a space shuttle and survived?

And then, because it was a dream, the next thing I knew I was with Lulu and Mr. Simpson at the races. I put a boxed trifecta bet on horses 1, 6 and 22. They came in 22, 1 and 9. Oh well, surviving a space disaster was probably enough luck for one day. Oops, I’d better go, Dr. Freud is waiting.

Go ahead and laugh all you want
I got my philosophy
And I trust it like the ground
That's why my philosophy
Keeps me walking when I'm falling down.
- Ben Folds Five

What with Bic Runga gigging her way around the houses of the lord, it was only a time before the publishing industry got in the act. And last night found me at St. Andrews on the Terrace listening to the closest thing the philosophical world has to a rock star, Alain de Botton.

I’ve read bits and pieces of his work but never a whole book and I was interested to see him in the flesh. Thankfully Monkey had booked tickets in advance as they were literally turning people away at the door. We took our seats amongst the purple hair brigade, and listened to a soporific introduction before Mr. de Botton took to the stage and began his lecture.

In it he introduced the ideas behind his book (and t.v. series) The Consolations of Philosophy and his new book, Status Anxiety. It was fascinating to hear him speak and not at all as highbrow as I had feared. For herein lies his skill; the ability to funnel complex thoughts and ideas from throughout history so they’re easily read, digested and enjoyed by people (like myself) who wouldn’t dream of navigating their way through the original works. Surprisingly he’s also quite a humourist, his deadpan delivery several times leaving the church echoing in laughter. And if I’ve one complaint, it’s only that event was over just a little too quickly, lasting little more than an hour.

His intelligence and warm humour shone through not only in his lecture but also in his answers to audience posed questions at the end. Some of these were truly befuddling, yet Alain de Botton answered them clearly, directly and without hesitation. It was an impressive performance, and I’d quite like him at my next dinner party. Though heaven knows what I’d cook.

All things considered it was one of the best book readings / lectures I have seen, a real privilege and I felt smarter just by being there. It didn’t help my streaming nose though, and I was left wondering, Alain, if you’ve a philosophical consolation for a head cold?

Memories of making jokes
Too much beer and talk-show hosts
One of them that's fading fast
Here's to waking up at night
Drunk and undresssed by the side of the road
-Uncle Tupelo

As I promised in one of last week’s dispatches, I’m going back to the booze, and this weekend I kept that promise well.

It began on Friday night with a dinner party for six. I did my bit by chopping onions, and mashing the odd potato but really Miss A did most of the work. For starters French onion soup with sherry, then for mains steak and beer casserole, and then Vicki and G made a chocolate mousse, with brandy. With all that booze in the food we hardly needed to drink at all, but we sure did. Lucky I didn’t have far to go and I slipped into bed shortly after one a.m. My second dinner party of the year, and that too a success, so thanks guests for all the help!

I spent most of Saturday fighting a cold and feeling a little green under the gills, Miss A came by and we moped around for most of the day drinking tea and making corrections to badly written cinema blurbs. Fun. Fun. Fun. But that’s all right, I was gearing up for that night’s festivities which was a 'Come As Your Favourite Country' party at G’s. I decided to take it literally and come as my favourite country star, so borrowed Miss A’s cowboy hat and went as Brendan Dugan. It was good to see though that almost everyone had made an effort and looking around the party we could have easily put together a mini UN, or at the very least appeared in a Michael Jackson video. It was a great party and the alcohol worked wonders, blasting through the gunk in my sinus like toilet duck against the germy jims. I can’t be sure exactly how much I had to drink, but when I pulled the speaker cords out and dropped my drink in the space of a few minutes I figured that this cowboy had had his fill and made my mind up to leave. This took longer than expected, but soon I was stumbling along the Terrace bleary-eyed and bullet proof, smiling to myself as I tried to recite Clint Eastwood’s famous line from Unforgiven

"I've killed women and children. I've killed everything that walks or crawls at one time or another. And I'm here to kill you, Little Bill, for what you done to Ned."

The price for such behaviour is of course a hangover, and lord was I gifted with a good one on Sunday. Seizing the opportunity to really do some damage, Mr Cold came in hard and fast leaving me bedridden for most of the day. But come evening time I was on top form to welcome Mum’s fella and her children to the house for drinks. We cozied up by the fire and got to know each other a wee bit. It was pleasant, a slightly strange situation for all involved but we got along okay. They all went out for dinner, but I had another date, so poured more firewater down my throat and headed out into the rain, down to Bodega to watch Grand Lodge and Jay Farrar. And who knows …maybe mystery girl as well.

It was great actually. Think what you like about country tinged rock, but on cold Sunday night’s there’s something quite nice and homely about it. I was tempted to wear my cowboy hat again, but feared I would look like a dufus, so left it at home. There were a few dufus’ there however, including the man who pushed in front of me, stood in front of me, then put in ear plugs. Sir, if the music is too loud, then feel free to move further back. Anyhow in order to see I had to then snuggle behind a woman whose hair smelled like yesterday’s socks, which sucked, but at least the music was good. Grand Drive were just as impressive as when I’d last seen them, and in their too short set, played some fine melodic rock, a Joy Division cover and a song called Iceberg which began as follows:
You’re as cold as an iceberg,
But I still want to fuck you
Even though, you fucked all my friends

Fantastic stuff, and an ideal taster for the main event. Jay Farrar played a great set, and as usual had hardly a word to say between songs. He did though ask ‘how we guys were doin’? to which one man, who may have had too many Big Macs, yelled ‘I’m lovin it’ which caused a wee smile on our man’s face. He also had a sly dig at Jack White’s “discovery” of Loretta Lynn. But hey, we weren’t really there for that, it’s the music, stupid. And it was pretty good, the majority of the show consisting of material from his last two albums, with a sprinkling of Son Volt numbers and one Uncle Tupelo song. Highlights included, Voodoo Candle, Straight Face and Tear Stained Eye, which I would gamble is as good a song as has ever been played at Bodega. He came back for two encores during which he played the song Windfall with it’s nice refrain of “May the wind take your troubles away” - a fine choice of song to play in Wellington. And with that tune still ringing in my ears I made my way out on to the street, catching a glimpse as I did so of a red raincoat hurrying home in the drizzle…

-
Three More Things:
1) If you go to the Flying Nun website and look up Fiona McDonald’s biography, there is a link at the bottom to her website. Click on that and you go to Fiona McDonald’s antique store on the Fulham Road, London.
Oops.

2) If you ever wanted to know which band covered which song, this is a great website.

3) Renee Headliner and Princess Tazzie of Denmark look remarkably alike.

I met a girl and she told me she loved me.
I said you love me
than love means you must like
what I like - my music is dynamite.
-Cliff Richard

Go cliff! Too right brother man, music is dynamite! And as you refer to in your classic ‘Wired For Sound’ there’s nothing better than pounding the pavements with a good tune pounding away at your ears. Today I had the pleasure of listening to The Cinematic Orchestra, who in my book are pretty marvellous. So good in fact that they live up to their name and simply by taking in the sights almost everything looked like it could have been part of a movie. Children playing in a school playground, an old lady crossing the road, the bank heist on Lambton Quay. Even I felt like Marlon Brando, sitting there covered in blood whispering “…the horror.”
I’m getting a little side tracked here, so back the Cinematic Orchestra. I won’t tell you all about them here, that’s what the internet is for, but I was lucky enough to see them play at the Chill Out festival last summer, and walking around gloomy old Wellington today I was transported back in time to a fantastic night in a field with a few thousand other fantastic people.

Not literally of course, that would involve time travel proper, and to do that, I’d need a TARDIS. Note the capitalisation. Why? Well it’s actually an acronym for Time And Relative Dimension(s) In Space. I discovered this at Tuesday’s night quiz where there was a devilishly difficult round on TV acronyms. The man from UNCLE* anyone? In other time travel related news, I was saddened to read that Anthony Ainely had died. He made a great evil timelord and though I don’t remember the plot at all, I remember him from the days when Doctor Who was the scariest thing on television. Scarier even than Mr Wilberforce or that dog star kid. And that soundtrack dum de dum, dum de dum oooh ooo wah ooo. Oh sorry, that’s the Trumpet ad. But you get the jist.

And sorry if I’ve been a bit quiet for the last few days, I’m sad to say, after all my previous mocking I think I’m falling in love with Headliner Renee.
Hey! That rhymes.

----------
*Unco-ordinated Lesbian Extremists

Have you have been an un-American?
Just you and your idol singing falsetto 'bout
Leather, leather everywhere, and
Not a myth left from the ghetto
-David Bowie

And the winner is …
Ben.
Ben won. Woo hoo. Clap clap clap. Our first New Zealand Idol. We can all sleep a little easier from now on. That is unless you live in a cabbage patch. Why? Well is it me, or does it look like a gang of hungry caterpillars have been let go on Ben's head? You be the judge. And New Zealand, it looks like you were.

The viewing figures will be out any day now, but a show like this was never going to fail. With two good-looking boys vying for the title there was only ever going to be one winner, and on the night it was …Telecom. Still midget Michael (runner-up) was gracious in defeat and happy for his pal to win. Ben for his part whimpered like a neutered puppy and thanked the good lord above before belting into the hit tune that you’ll be thoroughly sick of by this time tomorrow.

Funnily enough all the old losers we’d already voted off returned for the fun of the final. It was kind of cruel, almost saying ‘look isn’t this great, if you’d been better, this is what you could have had’. I was almost hoping Paul Ellis’ evil side would belatedly show up with the line “Remind us again Eddie why the nation thought you were so crap.” But as usual it was anodyne, fun for the whole family entertainment. That was until big Frankie Stevens began throwing Fiona McDonald around like a bin bag on rubbish day. She responded by gyrating like a wino then inelegantly thrusting into Frankie’s groin. Icky stuff, and not something for our future idols to witness.

But why’d they do that? For some awful reason Frankie ‘n Fiona thought it’d be great to remind the country that oh no, we’re not just judges we’re stars in our very own right! And hammed it up big time performing a duet (the insipid Somethin’ Stupid) and in so doing threw away whatever credibility they might have had as judges. Heaven forbid there’s another series, but if there is, who honestly would be able to keep a straight face when Frankie Stevens says, “he he, sorry mate, he he, you’ve got no stage presence” or Fiona telling some wannabe “you sung that whole song off key.”? Jeepers they were bad, the only good news being that if they’re booted off, there could be room for another judge next year. And as luck would have it, I may just know of someone who’d be rather good, that is if he’s not busy playing mini putt somewhere in the south pacific.

Anyhow I didn’t mean to write about NZ Idol today, I was going to tell you all about the walk I had along Paekakariki beach. It was nice, just me, the ocean, some seagulls and a pukeko. Now that’s entertainment.


- - - - - - - - -

Answers for my random lyric sonnet yesterday:

1) Miles Away - - Shihad
2) All I Needed Was You - - Southside Johnny & The Asbury Jukes
3) Down on Me - - Bob Geldof
4) Ole 55 - - Tom Waits
5) Leo - - Shihad

6) Why Can’t I be Good? - - Lou Reed
7) Injured Bird - - Michael Stipe and Vic Chesnutt
8) Hope I Don’t Fall in Love With You - - Tom Waits
9) More Life In a Tramps Vest - - Stereophonics
10) Burn - -Nine Inch Nails

11) Ricochet - -Faith No More
12) Faster - -Manic Street Preachers
13) A Girl Like You - -Edwyn Collins
14) Brothers Under the Bridges - - Bruce Springsteen

Congratulations to Mr. Steve Parr of Lower Hutt, New Zealand.

Photograph - I’m outa love
Photograph - I’m outa love
Photograph - you’re the only one
Photograph - I wanna touch
- Def Leppard

I read somewhere that if you get drunk more than three times a week, your mental capacity is as impaired as a long term alcoholic. Cheery news I know, and with that in mind, Chuck decided to eschew the boozing and explore his creative side this weekend. But what to do? I tried painting once, but deeply offended my subject. I sang once for my lovely, but she left me the next day. Interpretive dance? Well, I’m good, but not quite ready to go public.

So I went looking in the attic for inspiration, I would tell you what's up there, but that’s another storey. Anyhow while I was up there I noticed an old photo album, and opening it up I saw pictures of …nothing. That’s right Rolly, the photo album was empty! And as luck would have it, I had hundreds of photos from my European adventures. What better cathartic exercise than to finally close the chapter on the last four years by putting my photos in an album?

I pulled the photos out of their wallets and spread them all across the dining room table. Three piles were required. One for the album, one for the keepers, and one for those who best not ever see the light of day. While I was happily doing this, mum was at church. Why is that important? Well it’s not really. I’m just setting the scene for this:

Oh, she said coming through the door, you’re putting your photos in an album.
Yup.
Let’s have a look, she said, and at once began flicking through the pile of photographs that should never be seen. Chuck in Amsterdam. Chuck dancing on speakers. Chuck at a clothing optional bar in Key West, Florida.
Chuck…
Oh that, I said vainly trying to claw it out of her hand
It’s hard to tell who’s top halves match their…
Um yeah. Um, plenty more. Here, look at this photo, you can see the Eiffel Tower.

But worse was to come. Having read Ms Harvest Bird’s blog the other day I decided I’d give her lyrical poetry a go. The basic idea is you put your I-pod or mini disc on random play, take the first lyric from the first song, the second from the second, and so on and so on and so on. And while happily slapping photographs into my album I was making note of the lyrics on a pad. Predictably the results were nonsense, so I went to wash my hands before lunch. When I came back my dear mum was leaning over my notepad eating a sandwich.

Oh sorry, she said, I didn’t mean to read your poetry.
My what?
Your poem, here.

So for the second time in ten minutes I was left stammering trying to explain something awkward and nigh on inexplicable.
Yeah, it’s not actually poetry, it’s just this idea that if you take the first lyric from the first song, the second from the second…
Mmm hmm.

So now my mother thinks I’m either an appalling poet or a pervert. I’m not sure which is worse, but I fear that the truth lies somewhere in between. Who’d have thought creativity would leave me so red faced? At least one thing’s for sure, next weekend I’m going back to the bottle.
---------

Appendix

Un- titled.

Put your clock back for the winter
There’s nowhere left to hide or run to
That’s where she keeps the bottles of the essence of herself
As I pulled away slowly feeling so holy
I still see a lot of myself in you

Why can’t I be good?
Something clobbered me in the head
Well if you sit down with this old clown
Mac the knife swigs a can and sings the day away
Some thing inside of me has opened up its eyes

You come up empty again
I am stronger than Mensa, Miller and Mailer
And I’ve never known a girl like you before
Our walls were covered with pictures of cars we’d get

- - - - - - -

Think you recognise a lyric? If so you could be a winner! Simply jot down the artist and the song and you’ll go into a prize draw to win an all expenses paid holiday of a lifetime to sunny Norfolk Island with your hosts Chuck, and the King of Country from the King Country, Brendan Dugan!

Answers tomorrow.

Segregation, determination, demonstration, integration,
Aggravation, humiliation, obligation to our nation
(just a)ball of confusion
-The Temptations

I’ve lent my hand to protest in my time, but half heartedly so, believing more often than not that people marching in large numbers won’t change the world. But with a little reflection, the thousands of protestors who marched down Lambton Quay yesterday may at the very least, have changed a few minds.

We live quite close to town and I was at home reading the paper and listening to Chip Taylor when I thought to myself, hold on, that sounds like a conch shell being played in the background of track eight. I’ve never heard that before, so looked in the liner notes for the conch shell player. None was listed, and then it struck me. It’s the hikoi!

I turned off Chip, grabbed my camera and raced down the hill. And what a sight it was. I turned down Woodward St and on to Lamton Quay where the road was absolutely crammed full of protestors and on lookers crowded the pavement three deep. I was barely alive when at the time of the first land march and cannot remember much about the Springbok Tour in 1981, but it was such a remarkable sight to look down the city streets and see not trolley buses and courier vans but a sea of colour, noise and people.

The hikoi started at Te Papa in the morning and wound its way to parliament by noon, the marchers organised into iwi groups. I know this because a Maori warden spoke to a rather bemused American tourist in front of me. Wow. She said. And I agree. I’ve never seen anything like it myself. The police estimate the march had fifteen thousand people, if not more. Which is quite remarkable considering Wellington had welcomed the hikoi with rain and a wind so strong that many flag wavers had difficulty holding on.

I went to the head of the march and took a few photos looking back down the street. Titiwhai Harawira lead the hikoi chauferred like lady muck in a Ford Falcon complete with Tino Rangatiratanga flags rippling on the bonnet. Following her a kapa haka group, then iwi after iwi, Maori, Pakeha, Pacific Islander, New Zealander spread literally as far as the eye could see.

Aside from the sheer numbers of protesters, I was struck by the sense of purpose. I had been vaguely following the hikoi on television news as it made it’s way down the north island, and from what I could tell (and perhaps the way it was reported) it was a rag tag group featuring all the usual suspects trading off the inherited mana of the original land march. But not so in Wellington. From nearly every person who walked past the passion was obvious, combine that with the flag waving, chanting, singing and haka and it was difficult not to be moved.

I didn’t follow the protest to parliament steps but went back home to find out more on the seabed and foreshore legislation. If you’re interested, I think this is a very good site. I’m sure it will later be muddied by politicking, but yesterday was as clear a picture of pride and determination than I have ever seen.

'cause i got a bucket full of tears and a hard luck story
there's a bad moon rising behind
and i swore it to your daddy that i loved you,
but i changed my mind.
-Whiskeytown

Oh how the mighty have fallen, and this time I’m not referring to Dugan.

I’ve just returned home ashen faced, tail firmly between my legs from a most disastrous quiz round. We started off badly and just got worse from there. I won’t bother repeating the roll call of questions we got wrong, suffice to say our team name (Slippery Oyster) wasn’t the only reason people were laughing. It is though very easy to get on one’s high horse and say “Well, it’s all a bit of fun” and deride the smarty-pants suits who take it all so seriously, but deep down it hurts, it hurts more than that god-awful NZ Idol record. On repeat.

Still there’s a beautiful full moon out tonight. So beautiful in fact that I tried to film it but my camera just couldn’t focus. Some nights the luck's with all the other guys. But having said that, tomorrow is another day and whaddaya know? It’s quite a special day because quicker than expected, faster than a speeding mullet even, the hikoi is coming to town. Being a man of leisure I may even take the time to see what this "forebed and seashore"* walkabout’s all about. You never know, I may actually learn something useful, after all it's only six nights 'til quiz night.

*overheard at cafe

Hooray, hooray, it’s a holi-holiday
What a world of fun for everyone, holi-holiday
- Boney M

Stone the Crows!
Just when you thought Brendan Dugan had plucked his last string and headed for the Hamilton hills, check this out. Ay carumba, it looks like New Zealand’s very own voice of country music has found himself a nice little earner. Where? Why Norfolk Island of course!

That's right for only $1399 a person, (share triple!), you can fly to the Norfolk Island Country Festival ...and just look what's in store!

Holiday package prices include:
*Return airfare from Auckland to Norfolk Island
*Airfare taxes (excluding Norfolk Island departure tax)
*7 nights twin share accommodation staying at HibiscusCrown/Regal Motels
*Bonus ‘Brendan Dugan’ souvenir pack
*Miniature golf game with Brendan (prize for best score)
*Afternoon tea and ‘A Walk in the Wild’ (a unique rainforest walk)with Brendan
*Half day Orientation tour of the island
*Progressive dinner to island homes with Brendan
*Return airport transfers on Norfolk Island
*7 days car hire (petrol and car insurance extra)

Bleeding Nora! A game of mini putt with Brendan? I'd gladly pay double. A bonus ‘Brendan Dugan’ souvenir pack? Triple it! And a walk in the wild with Brendan, well who can put a price on that? There may even be moonlight serendades of 'Misery and Gin'. Heaven only knows, but right now, stop all the clocks and throw the dog a juicy bone, I urgently need $1397 to find out.

Donations to the usual address, ticker below.

Yes the answer lies within
so why not take a look now
kick out the devils sin
pickup, pickup a good book now
- Cat Stevens

May I throw my own two penny worth in with all those who have said what a great book The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time is. I’ve just finished it (in almost one sitting) and can’t remember enjoying a book as much in a very long time. It’s fantastically crafted, captivating, humanistic and a is great book for a grey Sunday afternoon. And thanks to the one who got away for buying it for me, madam your tastes in literature and gentlemen are impeccable. Hats off. This book’s a keeper. (See new Keepers section below.)
I also had the privilege of being at Indigo last night to watch a great new band named Grand Lodge. Foot stompingly good tunes were played with real energy plus there was the added bonus of watching a charismatic frontsman who looked like he was having the time of his life. I hope they go far, they’ve certainly got my vote, but then again I’m a sucker for any band with a horn section. Even better news is they’re opening for Jay Farrar in a couple of week’s time. I’ll be there, mystery girl might be there, so why don’t you come too? In the meantime, read that book, I promise you won't regret it.