Back in the Summer of '69

This has got to be the most welcome anyone has ever felt. At the beginning of this trip there was a lot of fear and trepidation, but I can easily see now that I was completely bonkers to have ever had a doubt. This is a great city with a lot of great kids, and I can't imagine anything more perfect for me right now than to be here. Ok that was enough emotional lame stuff, time for the dirty details.

A little recap of the last 2 days yes?
Friday night we peaced over to a little bar by the name of Mighty Mighty, and it was a Mighty Nighty (see what I did there?). I was feeling great post-monster-nap and totally raring to go and get a taste of fine Welly nightlife. We danced like maniacs to everything from Michael to the Jiggaman, and some other hits thrown in. I probably imagined it, but they might have been playing Streisand at one point. Nah probably not. The DJs unfortunately denied my (pushy) requests for Gucci (Who they've never heard of. To which I replied "YOUTUBE THAT SHIIIIIIIIIIEEEET DOOD!" Again, a real charmer) and Miley Cyrus (this is a little more understandable). Beer here almost exclusively comes in massive bottles (750ml) and is quite quite good, even the supposedly slummy ones! We were out pretty late by Vancouver standards, but here everything tends to stay open way longer and also there's great greasy gobs of goodies. We hit a kebab place on the way back to the house, and I ate as if I had never eaten before, and all to a soothing backdrop of a giant screen playing Terminator 2. Awesome.

The next morning after a very much needed sleep in session, we popped off for a little trip to a store at the dump to pick up a couple chairs for the BBQ (in my honor OMG) and whatever else we fancied. I don't know what it is about this country, but even their garbage is pretty? Is that possible? Ok, I'm exaggerating, but the location of the dump was way way out into the hills and they were all covered in this broom like plant. Just gorgeous yellow flowers canvassing the entire sides of these erm...not quite mountains. We managed to find a couple chairs, and after debating whether I was going to buy Wing Commander 3 or Star Trek TNG the computer game (neither actually, I realized I don't have a CD drive) we headed back to the house to prepare it for the BBQ.

Fucking. Classic.

If I posted a picture sans bathtubs/chain fence you'd probably just think it was a postcard.

Minor technical problems arose, as the gas canister didn't fit the grill, but after some worrying, panicking and screaming we managed to procure a brazier. This was somewhat of an ordeal but eventually there was a blazing bonfire (perhaps a little too close to the house, but nonetheless) Half my clothes still smell like campfire and my white jeans are covered in soot, but it warmed our hearts and singed our eyebrows. I had a short stint as Smokey the Bear, worrying that we were about to torch an entire island. But everyone assured me that Wellington is far far too damp a place to have any mishaps. I don't really want to be held responsible for burning down half of Welly in my first week here. Maybe a month from now I'll change my mind but for now I like it too much. 

The party itself was a literal whirlwind, not owing to the supposed "Storm the Size of Australia" that the radio kept harping about. But just because these kids really, really, really know how to party. I don't know how many people I must have met, probably remember 25% of their names, but without a doubt enjoyed meeting every single person. Midway through the night I was officially welcomed into New Zealand, and Mothla did the Hakka (it's as intimidating in person as it is in all those videos of the All Blacks) and I had to respond with a song of my own nationality. Somehow Bryan Adams was the only thing to come to mind (and I BUTCHERED it!), although now that I've had time to think about it I would have been much better off choosing "Complicated" by our own lovely Avril. This was rectified when we had a massive singalong in the living room, yelling our lungs out and feeling every word of it. Not sure if I can put up the majority of the pictures of the night, but the following should at least give a scope of how balls-to-the-walls we were. The house was absolutely devastated the next morning, but with some forethought and teamwork that I thought was completely opposite to the nature of roommates (at least my previous ones) we had it looking great by noon the next day (we however, might have been a little worse off).

Before.

After.

Things also destroyed that night: my white jeans, my throat (a combination of campfire smoke and yelling at the top of my lungs) and finally any doubt of the fact that I'm in the best damn city with the best damn roommates possible.

This is the end, my only friend.

By this point I've managed to settle in more, I've got my bed set up. A phone and a bank account, next up is an an IRD number so I can start working and with that some sort of job. As soon as I shake this little hiccup of a cold, I'm gonna show these kids how to really do it.

The Talented Mr. Fisher