Once apon a time in a land far, far away.....
from all the trials, tribulations, worries and wars in the world, there was a place called Auckland,

The inhabitants of this land amongst drinking lots of beer and eating pies had another pastime, moving around the harbour on expensive machines made of wood/fiberlass/steel/concrete, with only wind and sails for power. This pastime the people had perfected to the ultimate degree so much so that people from other lands make pilgrimages to try and out class and out speed their machines.

There was a group of vaudevillian clowns making there way up from down South contracted to provide laughter and smiles amongst the sails and beer in a venture called Auckland Buskfest which once again I had the job of scheduling casting and to a certain degree directing as well as performing

Little did these clowns know there was another set of vaudevillians being formed sponsored by the Casino and Amex. This group had money and malice in their eyes intent on taking the glory, wallets and laughs from right in front of everyone's noses.

After feeding the cat ( I have adopted a 2 month old kitten called Sox who has fleas )
I walked into the meeting late to see Pam Glaser ( Founder of Crackerjack Promotions hired to oversee the event) and the cast....
Fraser Hooper.....Silent Clown
Gareth Master of Fire and Steel.....Juggler Sword Swallower
Shirlee Sunflower...Physical Comic
Hot Nuts and Popcorn...Funny Rabbits
Derek and Daisy...Acrobats
Shamus...Juggler, Glass walker, unicyclist
Ulla Taylor...Screever
Kim Potter...Juggler, Straight Jacket escapee..
Peter Meilnichk...Clown, Hitler impersonator and plate spinner

The Media officer is talking about how they spent $10,000 on publicity this year then went on to ask if we could help by distributing
the programmes (which had just been released) to the newspaper office, cafes, information kiosks etc....

As the cast looked on in questionable horror she went on

“We thought that your brightly coloured selves would create excitement in these areas.”..
I butted in and explained that we were performers, not leaflet distributors then introduced myself to her, I agreed to do some breakfast TV, newspaper interviews etc., she took my phone numbers..
(it never happened!)

We had 4 Pitches 3 situated along Queen St, the main street downtown.

One at the top in Aotea Sq. an expanse of concrete next to the Town Hall, another in Vulcan lane a small walking street halfway down the hill,
QE2 Sq. at the bottom has been a great pitch the last couple of years unfortunately this year it was taken over by a massive digger, jackhammers and sweaty men in yellow hats building a new underground transport precent .
Consequently we had been squashed into the entrance of the Downtown shopping centre between a Starbucks and another coffee shop wishing it was starbucks.

Across the other side of the fence on the waterfront was the final pitch, The Viaduct Harbour, where all the million dollar yachts and 10 dollar cappachino’s hang out. Looked to be the best, was a space we had to share with the Casino Buskers who included....

Richard Handley..Tutu’s and juggling
Chance...Escapologist
Matthew Flinders...Statue
The Sprockets... Double Decker Bus world travelling circus family
Kinetic Theatre...Statues.

Trundling down to QE Sq., Show firmly attached to my new $65 trolley
I witness Fraser, screaming “Over here Show!” and banging his drum to try and get attention amongst the jackhammers and pigeons,
Few people look on and stare over the tops of their frothy coffee’s as he puts on the MD and starts to groove to the music,,,then from between the two coffee joints comes a pot bellied security guard, who fronts up Fraser, with a letter of prosecution plumbly gripped in his pudding like hand and a onerous glare.

Fraser danced around him showing him the programme, pointing at his watch and gesturing to the space that surrounds them both, quite frankly acting like the spoilt child wanting the ice-cream. he deserved.

The guard leaves to vent his frustration with Cheryl. an organiser standing under the ‘Buskfest” flag located to tell people of our event
.
She started getting agitated and gets on the ‘phone,,,, That was my cue I decide to step in and find out the problem here,,,,,

” No busking here mate ”
“It says right here on this letter from my superiors”
exclaims the wanna be cop,

I grab the document for a closer look, read the sentence noticing his prosecution was my defence, reread it back to Captain ignoramus..

.’ There will be no busking in QE2 Sq. while the building works are going on.......with the exception of performers involved in the Auckland Buskfest’...

He donned his glasses, reread, went red and sauntered away.
Twat!

Fraser finished his show, the pigeons crapped and the jack hammers jacked.

Nothing too disastrous happened on this, the first day of 6,
oh apart from the fact that the schedule which had been carefully structured by yours truly had been messed with in the final print,
so performers could come wingeing to me saying that they cannot do the impossible (i.e. starting a show downtown 5mins before they finish one uptown.)

Wednesday...

Woke up to find cat shit in the front room and Planet Banana in my kitchen.

Then a phone call to advise me that the Friday, Late Night AO show (which had been moved from Aotea Sq. to the Viaduct Market Sq.) also had been moved to Saturday, one of 2 nights ( The other being Thurs) I had arranged for Hot Nuts, myself and Peter Meilnichk to play at The Classic, NZ’s only full time comedy club.

Sitting and sucking my morning coffee at the Viaduct, Chance comes up and starts questioning me about Tennis shoes stolen 4 years ago at this very site. After the inquisition he went on to tell me it wasn’t fair that we could work on his side of the track and he couldn’t work on ours, apparently our contract was a lot freer than his....
”Is this my problem?” I think to myself.

Watching Hot Nuts’ audience gave me a smile as they bared all (well nearly) while escaping from 60 metres of Glad Wrap amongst 36 mouse traps strewn across the concrete.

It’s all running late shows are being played and arguments are being made...Trying to teach the cat how to use the catflap while watching Eric cook gave me time to ponder on the future of the next few days...

Thursday...

My trolley discards a piece of itself as it gets pulled along in the sweaty midday sun. Casino performers were vulturing around at the Viaduct as audiences slowly dehydrate.
Peter and Shirlee have moved out of the Accommodation because of claustrophobia and I had a show to mc tonight.
“Bring, Bring” the ‘phone...
I pick it up to find out that Hot Nuts have had complaints and Eric is not allowed to bare his bum anymore apparently because of its Persil Canadian luminance.
The Classic had an audience of about 40 people (15 of which we knew)
The show rocked, Hot Nuts closing Peter Meilnichk doing the first half while I filled in the gaps.
We were on a door split, I didn’t even earn the cab fare home...

Friday...

Skate Naked arrive then go Surfing, the smell of cat shit permeates the air again and my trolley has a wobbly wheel.
Performers are getting battle weary, the bunny boys have dropped their ears, the TV and newspapers have no mention of us and the air was getting heated. Eric and Derek decided to do a freebie after Chance at the Viaduct, only to be confronted afterwards by Him and the Site organisers squealing ’No shows out of schedule”! That would count for all shows then” I think.
That night my house was filled with music, Kava and laughter as Skates, Bananas, Famous and Fijians strummed, plucked and sang....Knackered I slept.

Saturday

This was going to be one hell of a day. 3 Street Shows, a 3 hr mc job and a comedy show to headline.

The Viaduct was scorching. Did a show, made $8...
Hyenas whinged, vultures moaned and the people shuffled past,,,zombies looking for shade...

Aotea Sq. has a market on Fridays and Saturdays and was looking good. As I started so did an Asian rendition of Jesus Christ Superstar through fat amps and obese speakers. Despite this curve ball I pulled the edge, closed the show with a weighty hat.
Talking to people after I found out that as I pulled the crowd, Asia Jesus got so frustrated and pulled off his Golden G-string placed it on his head and screamed into the mic, fruit and Veg swinging gallantly to his last remaining followers.

On the other side of the fence Eric’s Bum is still causing controversy.

Enjoying an afternoon drink outside O’Hagens and looking at our stage for this evening Pam gets a call from the Viaduct Superior.
She starts to shake then regains control and with a long out ward sigh says “Yes, ok whatever you say”. She then goes on to explain that our show billed as AO has been restricted to G rating..

Just as we were dealing with that curve ball Eric approaches flanked either side by security guards and a official looking guy holding a clipboard. “Chance just hit me, punched me square on my nose, blood everywhere” he said...
”We’re going to escort him off site” says the official.
Apparently what happened was that Eric had confronted him about yesterdays squealing and Bang ! he got bashed, had a meeting with St John and decided not to press charges. I must admit his nose is looking a bit cauliflower.

Dragging my trolley off to my 5pm show I find (just by Chance) my spot has been taken.

That’s it. That's the crunch! I say to myself, as my trolley and I step into the circle and explain to the audience that they are watching a performer with an anger problem and to be very careful for their own safety.
Walking out of the other side I realise that I had to go back through to get to the stage, “Did you or did you not punch Eric Amber in the nose “ I asked 3 times, as the people looked on, he acted like a typical American and didn’t give me a straight answer.
Police talked to me straight after I talked to them Security intervened and the clipboard man had a Trespass notice in his hand. They surrounded Chance in discussion after this show and I went on to fulfil my contract.

As Pete, Eric, Derek and myself were having a quiet chat about The Classic tonight Fraser came towards us, head down looking up he dropped to his knees and pleaded
“Please, Please boys, can I be part of the show tonight?,,,
I...I...I..J...Just need it for my own self esteem”
We huddled and then agreed to make the clown happy
“No problem mate” we said in unison.

The evening show went well (even though content was restricted)..
Fraser opened with his tennis routine,
Gareth swallowed swords and balanced glasses,
Eric admitted to a crime he didn’t know he committed to Derek,
Peter spun plates,
Shirlee rubbed with half naked men,
Shamus walked on glass and juggled a chainsaw....
and I kept the audience hyped and delivered pitch lines at the end of each half for the mass hatting.

Getting to the comedy club and going on about 12.30 am was my final gig for the day. I realise once again that it doesn’t matter how tired and burnt out you are, you can always find that smile when the house lights go down.

Bigger house than Thurs, just as fun....got just as drunk after.
Ulla and I decided to save $30 on a cab and stay in the digs tonight.

I can see why Peter and Shirlee moved out , ,,

ACB (Auckland Central Backpackers) an old corporate high-rise situated half way up Queen St about 20 rooms a floor (most with no windows) all with a drab colour scheme sharing 2 Showers and toilets, air-conditioned to the max.

I wake up breathing in the odour of Israeli and German travellers from 2 floors below through the air-conditioning, mouth dry, bones tired, brain aching. I wait outside the shower, my turn, clean the multitude of hairs out of the plug ....and let the negative ions rain down ahhhhh I’m feeling alive(ish).

Sparks fly from my trolley as the wheel pings off and it scrapes down the hill “Let it fucking scrape!” my brain tells my body.

I stop to admire Ulla’s street drawing, she has screeved a large red Tanifa/Dragon sitting around his treasure amongst amazing gothic architecture.
She seems to be the only one who has avoided the shit of the last week. Quietly, calmly drawing large crowds and heavy hats.

27 pigeons, a family of four and two bearded vagrants watched me produce tennis balls at QE2 Sq.

I Scrape and sweat to my final show of this misadventure 1.30 @ The Viaduct.....The Vibe is bad...Shows have been cancelled, Casino players have muscled in, we’re being bullied out, Chance is still on the site,
Tennis Shoes are still missing.

I feel myself erupting

....I’m going to explode.....

No, am not going to ejaculate my magna.....
I get on the Ferry to Devonport ( where I live ).

Devonport Wine and Food Festival is on, 15,000 people drinking and dancing in the afternoon sun, meet up with Clark of Planet Banana knock out a couple of shows sandwiched between two very loud music stages....

Ears ringing, heart pulsating and with a jackhammer pounding in my head I let my pistol-whipped legs drag me (and my trolley) home.

“Why the long face? “

I quiz my flatmate as I reach in the fridge for a beer.

“Hit in the driveway Nick”

”Sox”

“The Cat is dead!!”
Nickolas 2003