There’s no business like show business

Ok so I mentioned a while back that last weekend a couple of old friends were getting married, and so there was to be a reunion of old friends at Waiheke Island. In the week it’s taken me to getting around to posting something about this I probably should have taken legal advice, but what the hell – here goes…

The boys

The pic above shows (left to right) me, my brother Dave, and Dave T in our office at university circa mid-1999. Dave T was the groom last weekend. Yes, he still dyes his hair, but now it’s for entirely different reasons – but I digress.

It really was a beautiful wedding. Gina looked spectacular, the venue was great and had a view to die for, all the usual suspects were in attendance, and the celebrant had sense enough to keep proceedings down to about 10 minutes – all the makings of a great night. And it was. There was dining, there was dancing, there was drinking, and there was more drinking. Enter the villain…

Rich is one of our oldest friends and possibly the coolest guy on the planet. It was Rich’s idea, once the wedding venue had chucked us out at 1am (admittedly after providing several ‘roadies’ to tide us over), for the lads (me, Dave and Rich) to head down to the beach for a little swim. No togs? No towel? No problem! This in itself was all perfectly innocent and would have been fine had it not been for the coincidence that, since I am about to leave the country, I needed to dispose of my stash of illegal fireworks and so had brought them to Waiheke with me.

Now, the safety Nazis decided in 1990 that we were much too childish to be trusted with such DANGEROUS things as skyrockets, so these were banned the following year. Why the gave us 12 months’ notice of the ban I’ll never know, ‘cos like many others I took this as a call to stock up (you just never know when a few hundred Moon Travellers will come in handy). And stock up I did. I must have had thousands of them to start with, but various 21st parties, beach missions, New Years bashes and christenings (will save that one for another post) had accounted for most of them. By the time we hit Waiheke I was down to my last dozen or so rockets, plus a couple of dozen roman candles. Can you see where this is going?

Imagine if you will, one of the world’s most beautiful beaches. Add to this the sound of 3 strapping young men singing “There’s no business like show business” at the top of their lungs (Irving Berlin and Ethel Merman both surely turning in their graves). Now picture said fine young gentlemen stark bollocking naked, running around with roman candles clenched firmly between buttocks, shooting multi-coloured sparks and ‘flaming balls’ (ooh err!) all over the place. Yup, they breed ’em classy in Titahi Bay.

Rich is engaged right now, so I’ll save the remainder of that story for his wedding. If I’m invited.

  1. Disclaimer: This didn’t actually happen. I was nowhere near the beach at the time. Not that there was a beach! I was at home in bed at the time. Reading the bible. Why did I write this? Stop reading!
  2. Yes, I know it sounds a bit gay, but it wasn’t. Not that it matters, ‘cos like I said – it didn’t really happen, and I wasn’t really there.
  3. Yes Mum, my $30,000 student loan was worth every penny.
  4. Thanks and apologies to Chris Lynam, the comedic genius whose ‘banger up the bum’ act finally surpassed the ‘Aristocrats‘ joke as the single greatest affont to good taste that a performer can get away with on stage.

Stay tuned for an update on the winemaking.

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