News -18/04/06

so summer slips into memories autumn finds her feet and carresses leaves from trees with Auckland rains i write as littlins on holidays coming down from easter chocolate o.d?s boogie, sleep or annoy the kitten depending on the phase. maroon 5 play on chelles computer where from today i send words to the cybersphere? a few days spent in home-ville Gisborne were mild, pleasant? waterblasting the folks house, sucking in humungous lung fulls of down home country air, chekin out the farm life that i left behind as a teenager choosing instead to follow my guitar strings to cities where people dwelt in their hundreds of thousands in search of a little more than the overwhelming obscurity that we now share in a strange state of bliss.. poppt in to see old buddy Dave Newlands and his little bubba George and wifey, Rach? ? then hedded out to see where he works for a wealthy Aymerican doin? up ?young nicks head? (rather historically significant nz site) into a native wilderness of pre-european perfection? 800,000 native trees and plants, one kick arse rodent and pest proof fence that neither elephant nor mouse could penetrate and in 100 years it?ll be a damn good indication of what nz looked like a few hundred years back, minus a few hundred species of bird and other extinct creatures?. leaving gizzy having seen cuzzie ?nessa married off to the Spencer family i drove, hang over firmly entrenched deep amounst my cerebral labrynth, north through the Waioeka gorge stopping only to pick up Nik the Swiss hitch-hiker dude heddin bak to Whakatane to collect his wheels?. destination Pauanui? a curious place where you pass bald ravaged landscapes, tree-less expanses of harvested pine forests, construction sites, a massive poo pond (sewerage plant) then multi million dollar mansions, mercedes lined streets and launch laden marinas.. quite a combination. the locals, all five of them through winter, are a content bunch who marvel at the fact that they can walk down the beach and collect pieces of ancient Kauri gum from amoungst the seaweed washin? up on the sand? such is life in the coromandel. an odd mix of the stupendously rich mal contents and local contended folk airing traits of closet or not so closeted hippidom. the gig with the Bryce-ster and a ridiculously happy Jono was a hoot even if the crowd was a tad on the small side. jono still on cloud nine after a tour with the Grail lads around the country side was in fine fettle indulging in a few vinos and spinning a classic yarn or two. many and true were the chuckles. the following morn saw the brothers bryce and dave hittin? the road, bryces van having blown up on the way to Coro?. dave heddin? for the shores of Waiheke on a wild goose chase as the gig having been unconfirmed was not a go but never the less contented was i to chill at Onetangi beach with ol? buddy Ian then sup a coupla ales on the house at Molly?s, sort a gig for meself and Mr. Sanders for next friday, shoot a few pool balls around the table, play a cupla of songs then jump bak on a ferry bound for Devonport where bricey left me wheels. so i text a friend of sorts about the night life of devonport on easter monday eve. ?yes sir, folk club, club nite at ?the bunker? replied she. so having heard about this famed institution over the course of many years i felt it imperative to stick around a chek the haps? the bunker is a place of character and characters. of the gathered i was one of three who were younger than fifty? walls lined with assorted tools, posters of travelling minstrels, and wot not. i could see the echoes of years of music, a yarn, a laugh, an ale or two? intermission spent suppin a macs gold chattin with Peter the Mathmetician/ northshore tramping club member/ chess fanatic/ clarinetiste all round serious kinda guy with a wit no doubt somewhere but most certainly drier that mine even? how is that possible? the view over auckland from outside the Bunker just sets the whole evening off! ladies played harps heavenly and sang with shakey sweet voices, to seats full of ears and various others strummed plucked and crooned? aye the folks love thier music real and un tampered with so at home i felt tho nigh on completely unknown to they mostly. played i a song or two to the appreciative and then mosy?d i on southward to a welcoming couch wary eyed and bedraggled, my 7th wind seeing i got there well and safe?. xx\