Where's the Party?

Asked Madonna in the collection of days that became universally acknowledged as 1986,when days were sunnier, the summers longer and global warming was something Mums did in the kitchen with a fried egg..

Whilst the Aged One was referring to glamourous nights out in Miami, Chicago and Puerto Rico, I on the other hand ventured to the bacchanalian hotspot that is Ponsonby. This licensed strip of wine bars, gastro pubs and high end fashion retail is Auckland’s answer to South Kensington, with perhaps slightly less dinosaurs and tube stations.

Off we swept, parking near to the venue, with the intent of swishing in and making an entrance, waving and greeting various acquaintances as one would long lost celebrities. The reality was somewhat different, as we squeezed and pushed our way in through the patrons to the bar. We joined some friends and tried shouting our “hulloos” over the music…

No Kylie, Madonna, or anything more vintage than August 2013, but a heavy fusion of drums and wails in Icelandic, or Welsh, or Gujarati…

The usual international party folk were there; stunning visions crafted from the pages of Vogue or Chanel, property investors from the Far East, the odd racing car driver (yes really), and even Mr and Mrs "Even More Normal Than We Were", from Late 80's Essex, if their hair was to be believed. We strained to hear each other over the pulsating beats as we circulated, but I soon learnt how to communicate using the international language of dog owners…

Really? What kind...2 Papillons?

How lovely/cute/brave etc    (delete and insert appropriate doggy adjective)

Papillons not withstanding, it was time to usher in the cake…….to welcome in our host’s 40^th year. Young Bastard.

Following the usual planned “surprise” speeches and gift opening (Oooohs and Arrhhhs), we soon returned to our collective bonhomie.

As our group was finally entertained the racing car driver, we tried not to gasp at his outlandish tales of daredevil shenanigans, with both petrol and diesel variants, whilst I decided to pretend I didn't drive, and certainly not a Peugeot 207 GTi with a GB sticker on it.

Finally we ebbed away into the distance, seduced by the time and the fresh air entering by the now clear doorway.....

It then dawned on me as we slowly walked back to the car, I had really enjoyed myself, good company, thumping music, wild atmosphere, even if we didn't have a racing car.

Not bad for a Tuesday lunchtime.