Do you ever feel like your Ray Liotta in Goodfellas when he’s having that day from hell? Speeding, really speeding, across town to make dodgy gun deals, paranoid about cop choppers, racing home to make an enormous pot of pasta ‘cause everyone’s coming over, and having a terrible feeling it’s all going to turn to custard? That’s me. Except it’s been over a week now. It ends with me as a nutter on the street wearing a baby car seat as a raincoat. Actually, no, it went on from there. It ends lost in Upper Hutt.

And it all started so well…

Sun 31 August

TE PAPA – I get a cheque for 5 grand for my story in The Six Pack Three. I do a little mihimihi, and thank my lovely wife Deb and baby son Tahi for all their support. I owe everything to them. Judith Tizard remembers I write plays, which is nice. I wear the Kia Kaha shirt Mum gave me.

In the Green Room beforehand, fellow 6 Packer, Ian McKenzie admits he wrote his story in a weekend, egged on by his wife. It’s the first story he’s ever written, and great. The rest of us are in awe. We don’t need the competition. We wonder how we can end his career before it really starts. Ian asks about Green Room etiquette. I tell him to take as much free stuff as he can get his hands on. I hope this may lead to him being arrested for stealing something, but he is gentleman and will only take the one peanut slab he really feels like.

We hit the streets. Signing books in shops downtown. Someone brings me a cappuccino. I feel like a rockstar. We autograph our books for punters. In Unity Books we swap stories about the most famous people we’ve met. Aroha has big Billy Bush’s autograph. He was the colossus prop who held up NZ Maori and All Black scrums in the 70s. Kate turned away Ian Rankin from a gig in Edinburgh ‘cause she didn’t recognise the Scots mega-novel millionaire. And, in another life as a physio, Sue Wooton almost turned away singer Glen Campbell when he turned up in Dunedin with back problems. She was also sorely tempted to break her code of ethics and pop a blackhead on his back. I buy Sue’s poetry book Magnetic South, it’s brilliant, popping way more than blackheads.

Meanwhile, a pre-recorded interview of Kate and I with Lynn Freeman is being broadcast on Radio NZ National’s excellent The Arts on Sunday show. A friend in Canada hears it. I love the internet.

Mon 1 Sept

First day of Spring. I visit the Death Star aka Avalon. No, that’s a bit harsh. Some good TV production is coming out of there after some bleak years, including the consistently entertaining Good Morning. Steve Gray and I used to hang out in the Shakespeare Tavern in Auckland so it’s kind of cool that we’re now on TV discussing the state of NZ literature. I wear a suit and tie to show that not all writers slouch around all day in sweatpants and T-shirts (which is exactly what I do). My mother is watching and later says I looked ‘overdressed’. This is a major triumph. For years I’ve been dressed by St Vincent de Paul, and Mum would ask – So who died in that?

Fly to AK – thank you Lion Foundation and NZ Book Month. We pass a very snowy Ruapehu. I’m glad for the ski operators, but feel bad for my brother Ross, a high country farmer in the Manawatu. It’s been a shocking year or so – drought – storms – the latest so strong it blew a fence off the posts and knocked over 300 trees. The last thing he needs is snow in the lambing season. As the Smiths’ song says, I’m still ‘a jumped up country boy who never knew his place…’

Afternoon in the Ponsonby pool hall with my old actor mate John Leigh. He’s just made the Metro worst dressed list alongside Jonah Lomu. John’s always one to accentuate the positive, so he’s rapt to be on the same anything as big Jonah.

6pm Hopetoun Alpha – the official AK launch. It’s a fab venue. I’ve seen some cool gigs here, including my mate Nigel Braddock playing Philip Glass – the composer I love writing to, he’s just so driven. Check out Nigel’s innovative record label MONKEY RECORDS, who put out the best in new NZ music. During the evening we find out NZ Book Month has been inspired by the success of NZ Music Month. I wear my black shirt with silver collar studs. Je suis un rockstar.

I schmooze with novelist Paul Shannon, who sold me first ever laptop, so primitive it sounded like a lawnmower when it started up. Paul tells me that women find his latest novel Totem Hole disturbing. It’s a title full of mystery, I must read it. Also have a nice chat with writer and agent Michael Gifkins regarding my play about Mark Twain touring NZ in 1895. Michael doesn’t make excuses to get another drink. He’s either a very patient listener or this is a good sign.

Later, SPQR – the stalwart of the AK bar and restaurant scene. SPQR stands for Senatus Populusque Romanus – The Senate and Roman People – a signature of the Roman government. You can see it tattooed on Russell Crowe’s arm in Gladiator. It’s a bit pretentious, but that’s what’s great about it, the rest of Ponsonby Rd can look terribly… provincial. Anyway, have a good goss with old mates Donald and Cameron about the AK scene, crazy Exs, raising babies and how rejection makes you stronger. We chat about Barack Obama’s chances of winning the really important election this year with the American waitress, and feel very cosmopolitan. But don’t tip. We get the ‘cheap bastards’ look.

It’s too early to head back to the lovely Duxton Hotel – thank you Duxton – so I wander downtown to check out the casino. Just for the art in the foyer. The Shane Cotton piece always fascinates me. I can’t decide if putting a whacking great staircase up it is a travesty or really makes the piece, ie: you can walk up and down it, and crane over for different views of his masterpiece. I think the latter. I love its humour, with modern basketball and old waka motifs. Elsewhere, the carved waka and glass Maui-Captures-The-Sun-In-A-Net are pretty cool. But the latter is kind of grotesquely ironic, what with so many gamblers caught in another net, pumping the ATMs for one more bet.

Next stop is a return to the Shakespeare Tavern – my old regular. The Urlich family recently sold up but the art I created for them still hangs in the foyer. It’s a Shakespearean ode I wrote in honour of the pub’s centenary. It’s nice to have a piece of me still hanging around a pub door in Auckland. I miss the old town. So flawed – the transport system is poked – the downtown heartless – but flaws are what also give us character, and there’s always the Civic Theatre, Euro-cool jumble of High St and wonky buildings of Vulcan Lane.

Anyway, my big go-crazy moment of the night is a Wendy’s burger in Aotea Square. The comedian Bill Bailey played the Aotea this night at $80 a head. I recall seeing him at the Watershed Theatre on a flatmate’s comp many years ago. Auckland still feels the loss of this theatre. Let’s hope Q Theatre finally fills the gap. Check them out at http://www.qtheatreco.nz

Tues 2

Up early, nice downhill stroll to Britomart – fab futuristic station for Dickensian tracks. Head to West AK. Wave to the old House of Love site in Kingsland. This was our legendary flat that was a beachhead for a lot of Wellingtonians. (NOTE TO SELF: Must write up FLATS THAT ARE LEGENDS television series proposal). Arrive in Henderson to be greeted by Westie writers – Maurice Gee, Maurice Shadbolt and Dick Scott on a billboard. It’s not just Outrageous Fortune out here after all.

I catch up with my sister Trish and nephew Mitchell, who has Uncledaviditis and taken the morning off school to see me. He’s done a cool sketch of a winged horse for me. I hope my boy grows up to be as sweet and cool a kid as Mitch. It’s a flying visit, I don’t get to see my beloved nieces, and soon I’m heading back to airport loaded up with grapefruit. The relies can always be trusted for gifts of fruit & veges.

Wed 3

Paraparaumu – renew my drivers’ license. Yes, I still want to be an organ donor. If I can’t use the bits any more then someone else might as well. I’m also a blood donor. I used to hate injections. I got a lot of adrenaline ones for asthma as a kid. But having seen a few relies need blood now, I feel it’s the least you can do, and you never know when you might need some yourself. You could save a life, go on – GIVE BLOOD! GIVE LIFE! Also, I’ve had some great yarns at blood donating clinics. It’s something about everyone feeling good about helping their fellow human beings. The blood flows and so do the stories.

6–8pm Final session for THE STUDIO – a workshop I run for emerging playwrights at Playmarket in Wellington. Some amazing stuff has been produced by the gang this year and we end with a celebratory drink at The Pit, the cosy bar attached to BATS – the coolest theatre in Welly, NZ, the World, Universe, etc. I wear a Costume Cave bowtie so photographer Victoria Birkinshaw can take a shot of how suave the young writers are next to crusty old me. Big thanks to the staff of The Pit for being so accommodating. Bryony for the Happy Mondays remix that was a real mood enhancer, and congrats to Hannah who was just voted third best barmaid in Welly by the Capital Times. Though Bryony reckons there was some bribery involved. I should hope so. Check out Victoria’s hotshots at http://victoriabirkinshaw.com/

Thurs 4

Nothing happened. Nothing that I can talk about. Tahi and I played in the park. A kid took his ball. It was okay. He took another kid’s ball last week.

Fri 5

Online, I read Neil Cross’s script for the BBC MI5 drama Spooks. It’s slick, action-packed and I can’t wait to see the actual show. I’m interviewing this Booker listed novelist and jet-setting scriptwriter next Thurs 18 Sept at the Film Archive 7pm. Do come. Meanwhile, my team Manawatu lose to my other team Wellington in the rugby. But at least my distant relie Hosea Gear scores a try. Go the Bros.

Sat 6

I finish reading playwright Greg Mc Gee’s memoirs – Tall Tales (Some True) as I’m reviewing it online for Scoop Review of Books. It’s a rollicking good read. Highly recommended. I know Greg, have worked with him, but don’t want it to be too syncophanty. Then again, if you love something, then you should say so.
Meanwhile, Southland almost take the ranfurly shield off Auckland. When Manawatu had the shield back in the 70s it was sometimes kept at a friend of mine’s house. He reckoned if he chopped it up with a tomahawk he could become the most famous boy in NZ. He never did and went on to better things. But my fave shield story is that a very famous All Black first-five supposedly was so enamoured of the log of wood that he and his girlfriend made amorous upon it.

Sun 7

Father’s Day. Sleep in. Pancakes. Bliss. Thanks Deb. Play with Tahi. Read Russell the Sheep, or whatever it’s called, for the millionth time, but it’s good, all good. Later, we stroller down to poet Michael O’Leary’s book launch at his shop – Kakariki Books. The cover of Paneta St (HeadworX) has him imitating Bob Dylan from the Desire album, and it’s a good comparison. Michael’s a poet who can move effortless from the political to the personal, lyrical to comic, full of mirth and musicality. I’m just making my way through his essential Toku Tinihanga at the mo, and this new book looks to establish his reputation even further. The bonus of the book launch being there are sausage rolls that are savoury and have just the right sort of pastry. His alter ego can be found at http://www.earlofseacliff.co.nz and he was involved in the recent, very successful White Album Readings series in Wellington.

Mon 8

Take the volvo into Kilbirnie Autocare ‘cause the steering is graunching a bit and engine missing slightly. Should be fixed by lunch time. Nope. Instead I get the dreaded phonecall. Kevin wants to explain exactly what’s wrong. He uses mechanical words and I’m strictly just a change-the-wiper fluid guy. The upshot is that the power steering gizmo has to go to Auckland, while the distributor parts will have to be sourced in Aussie. Ballpark repairs $1500 +. My 6 Pack cheque is shrinking rapidly.

The car isn’t going anywhere for a week or so. I have to catch a taxi back to Kilbirnie to pull the car seat out then taxi to Island Bay to get a prescription to ensure the Muse in my polyps (nasal) stays retarded – it’s a long story… It’s okay, ‘cause Ninos the taxi driver has the best story I’ve heard in a long time. He was born in Iraq. In the early 80s, with the Iran-Iraq war raging, he walked for 12 days through the mountains to a refugee camp in Iran. He spent 6 months there, then 6 months in Syria before getting refugee immigrant status in Canada.

I just spent 6 years in Canada. I am Canadian. We talk Canada – politics – how PM Harper sucks up to the Yanks, and how Canuck troops in Afghanistan will always have problems as the locals think they’re Americans. After Canada, Ninos lived in Florida, he loves Florida – good weather – cheap – friendly. Then he came to NZ and assures me he likes it here too. Even though someone tried to kill him in his taxi. Well, not kill, but put their hands around his throat. He doesn’t tell me how this scene ended. I take his card and say I may want to write his story one day. He’d love to tell it. As I leave he assures me he’s a Christian. I feel bad that he feels that he has to tell me this. We wave goodbye. I have forgotten about my car problems.

I catch the bus back to Willis St, then puff up the hill to Victoria University just in time to catch Larry Parr, one of the head honchos of Maori TV, speak at Te Herenga Waka marae. Once inside I realise I have had my T-shirt on back to front all day. It is a David Copperfield one with his eyes on one side and Dreams & Nightmares on the other.

According to Larry, Maori TV is doing well, but could do better. Hunting Aotearoa and Hyundai Code with Tawera Nikau are the top shows. Shane Cameron’s boxing fight spiked well, and nation building stuff like full coverage of Anzac Day has really helped the station profile. The main aim is to promote and normalise te reo. He wants to encourage tikanga flexibility with filming, and get Iwi access to air time so they can broadcast their own stories.

On a personal note, Larry always felt his Maoritanga was a cloak of security for him, but in the past wasn’t so keen to wave his cloak around when others encouraged him to do so. Now he’s ended up one of the great cloakwavers for Maori TV. As a Hone-come-lately myself, I feel uncomfortable waving any sort of hieke. My tongue and jaw consistently resist my extremely limited reo. But I just keep reminding myself that this is exactly the same discomfort that the original Maori felt when they tried to learn English.
 
I cancel my blood donation as I can’t afford another taxi to Newtown. And, besides, I got a better offer – from Huia Publishers to the launch of 100 Years of Maori Rugby League by John Coffey and Bernie Wood. I arrive late to Te Puni Kokiri. There’s a lot of men who bear the mantle, and scars, of many years in rugby league. Of all the things I missed in Canada, league was one of the biggest. It’s working class roots versus the elite club and school systems that fostered rugby make it a fascinating social phenomena. Oh, and I like the big hits. And free kai at the dos after. So I’m hoeing into some sushi and squid rings when Robyn Bargh of Huia introduces me to Moana Jackson, who is one of our top lawyers and a leading light in Maoridom for many years.

Now I’m desperately aware of how thin my cloak is. But Moana is the gentlest guy you could ever meet. Telling stories about his Pakeha grandfather getting kicked out of rugby as he’d played a few games of league under the assumed name TJ De’ath. And how his grandfather spent five years trying to track down his Nan, after they’d met when she was a school girl and he was on a rugby tour downunder. I file another awesome story away. No matter how much the car is going to cost me, story gold just seems to keep falling into my pockets.

When I leave it’s pouring with rain. I don’t mind, I have a baby car seat for a raincoat and wear it on my head. Which is how I walk to the railway station, and then from Paekakariki station to home. I smile at everyone I pass, and they think – Is he a nutter or just an unlucky Dad with a car problem?

Tues 9

We have a 6 Pack reading in Upper Hutt tonight, that I was going to drive to, but now I haven’t got a car. But five minutes after panicking about that, Marisa writes me an email asking if anyone wants a ride. Good karma is floating around. And it’s a lot more fun driving out to the Hutt with Marisa’s friends, and having a good old goss about NZ diplomats we both know – such a small world. But maybe I’m just a bit too interested in the gossip ‘cause I know we’re supposed to get to Silverstream school, but the map says we should go to Pinehaven, so I tell Shane – our very understanding driver – to just keep driving, and driving. Until we hit the last gas station before the Rimutakas, which is when I tell everyone we’re lost. And run to ask for directions. Which the guy behind the till hasn’t got time to do as they’re so complicated. But a kindly local takes me aside to point me back in the right direction. Thank you nice Upper Hutt stranger.

We make it to the Pinehaven library with 5 minutes to spare but not before I have a seriously Ray Liotta moment, and swear out loud ‘cause the street we’re on isn’t supposed to be called what it is. But the others calm me down, and, on the upside, there’s enough adrenaline pumping now to do a really good reading. And the Pinehaven librarians have really turned it on – wine, cheese, marshmallows, comfy sofas, and an appreciative audience.

Someone asks how autobiographical our pieces are. The North St Battery Charge, that starts my story, is a documentary – it really happened. But my hero, Gary Manawatu, being the leader was my invention. Similarly, I once saw the wonderful misspelling - The Colinisation of New Zealand – and imagined an NZ overrun by Colins. Then realised that in the 60s and 70’s that was the case as the giants of sport and art were Colin Meads and Colin McCahon. So, in my story, Gary paints them facing off, both chanting ‘Black! Black! Black!’ – our one and only fashion statement.

And having written all this while my son sleeps this afternoon I can’t help thinking that my own life at times is a nuts as Gary’s, and his voice is very close to mine at times.
Then again, no one wants to have just one voice, a monodrone. So our real challenge as writers is to inhabit others as authentically as our own. And how cool to be in the 6 Pack with so many other unique voices. But now it’s time to make a cuppa and think about falafels for dinner.

Next week’s thrilling instalment will include another commando raid to Auckland, when I attend a Maori Writers’ Workshop in Manurewa. I’m travelling up with esteemed poet Apirana Taylor. He lives next door. Seriously, next door. We swap rosemary for tangelos. Such a small world. That’s what’s I love about it. The connections.

PS: I know I said I’d do an Olympics thing this week, but this Blog is setting world records already, and there’s still the paralympians to cheer on. Awesome to see four time NZ paralympian Sholto Taylor carry the flag in Bejing. He was a member of the gold medal winning NZ wheelchair rugby team at Athens. One of my all time fave docos, sports flicks and films in general is Murderball, an Oscar nominee about wheelchair rugby, the triumph of the human spirit, and big hits in wheelchairs! Go the Wheelblacks! And those other guys in Brissie this weekend better pull finger in the Bledisloe, too. Not to mention the Warriors. Who could stay alive in the NRL, if no one has a Ray Liotta moment and spits at the ref! But that would be okay, too, as it will make a great story...