Irregular tour post #2

Yes. We’re in a spy movie right now. Hacking in to the mainframe of the South Island in attempt to extract the secrets to the perfect show.

It’s working.

We officially played one of our best gigs ever in Paekakariki on Thursday night. A ripper. We was so proud. For ourselves, our fellow bands, the village, the visitors. What a show. If you missed it, shame.

We played on the ferry to the South Island. After watching Brazil Vs Spain in the FIFA build up. We were supposed to play for 40 mins. We played for two hours. All together now. Picton. Hire car. Let’s roll.

Nelson. Friday night. Boathouse. With the tide moving beneath us, everything got lost, we lost our minds, camera, odds and ends, bits and pieces. We were all exhausted. Too many 5.30am starts had killed us. Walking wounded. Broken hearted. Still pulled off a good show though, with a rousing collective version of the Carter family’s ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken’ to finish. Pack-out was a blur and we drove 30 mins to Mapuia to sleep in a bach by the sea, where the tide caught up with us again, rushing the moorings, kicking the shoals. We lit a fire and drank an undiscounted bottle of Pinot. Some how we managed to read magazines until sleep came over us like a sea mist. Scarlet Johhansson is married. Shame. We had the best ever coffees next morning. And mediocre eggs benny. The coffee was so good though. So good we had two each. We hit the road leaving the Heartbreakers to clean the bach. Although we did do the dishes.

The drive to Greymouth was a beautiful. Winter lowlight. Tones of autumn caught in the headlights of winter. We spoke little on the road. Resting our voices. Biding our time. There was a long drop, a frozen stream and a fantail on a plaque about three maoris walking a long way.

Greymouth. Cafe called Franks. Mist rolling down the main street. Two flights of stairs with all our gear and some quality hospitality. We recommend this place. Nell, the owner, is a lovely lady. Dumplings. Curry. Fish of the day. Noisy crowd. A dining crowd, the worst kind. We tried everything to win them over, in the end The Eastern ramped up the volume and destroyed them with some soulful chaos. Blues and dues.

We drunk too much whiskey. Sore heads and full bellies. Woke late with a short drive to Franz Joseph ahead of us. We were those annoying noisy people who kept you up in the backpackers last night.

Sorry. We were just having a good time.

At some stage Billy passed out, Betty took off his boots.

We top and tailed til morning.

We’re coasting. Western styles. This slow song revue rolls well.

B + B