Nonsenical Tour Photos

IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER UNTIL MY CAMERA DIED ON DAY 9

As much as I enjoy the benefits of The Yellow Submarine (Ward St, Hamilton) as a venue - which include pretty much just a foosball table, cheap sound and a bathroom so beaten and tagged that you feel guilt-free by adding to it - it's still in Hamilton and still therefore means you're not really going to get a crowd unless your name is False Start or... someone else noxious. Still, it's gas money and offered us a chance to knock off a tiny bit of the first drive. It also offered Jony the attractive merits of The Bakehouse Cafe (known for it's $1 Chicken Backs and cheap Pork Hocks). I caught him in a moment of shame as he crept off:

Look, it's a Wick!

Apart from Hayden, The Wicks were demure tour companions. They played sharp in Hamtown, then scurried off to stay in "the National Park". I have no idea what that means, but I envisioned them sleeping under pine trees in quickly-fashioned but expertly-tooled bivouacs.

Lo and behold, Senor Verde, Mister Green, The Lemon and Lime Machine, The Scooby Van, in a brief moment of repose in Taupo:

This van would serve us very well, and would also bear the brunt of many and insult and many a "what the fuck?" look. When I was dozing in the Van outside Arc Cafe just before our last tour gig in Dunedin a really Fred-Dagg-Goes-To-Hallensteins farmer type walking past and told his wife he'd be ashamed to be seen in a van like ours. "Why dear?" enquired his wife. He kept walking past and fixed an eye on my pale fevered face (I was really not very well) then replied, "people would say things." And then he said something really stupid to his wife I won't repeat.

After Hamilton we arrived in Wellington just in time for soundcheck with our favourite sound person in the country (I think because we all have crushes on her, and she's also a good soundie) Sally. I sent The Wicks to Satay Kingdom, then followed suit. I really cannot recommend the Kung Pow Pork more if I tried, it's awesome.



The Mighty Mighty was kool times. I won't even tell you.

Below is a stately Dave Arcus the morning after our Welly gig, with a sleepy Georgie Wildman behind. This is the livingroom where we stayed in Welly until our Holy Knit Batman gig (not pictured: the couch and floor space where we happily dwelt like limpets on a sea-worthy vessel). Dave doesn't pay rent here, though he practically lives here. Susan pays rent here, though she practically doesn't live here. 1000 big ups to Georgie and the Dufferin St Crew for putting up with us in their living room for several days without payment. Actually we paid them in non-stop chatter and babble and innane BS. Some provided this sparingly, some... non-stop.



Much of the tour Graham in particular survived on a diet of milkshakes. He doesn't generally have a great relationship with dairy, but for a Sweet Mother's Kitchen milkshake he was going to make an exception. Flavour: Peanut Butter.



Midnight Espresso. Flavour: Banana.



Then Frank and Jony joined in. Then the next day we went back to Sweet Mother's Kitchen. Twice.



I just bought sunglasses.



I like this photo because I think it makes Graham and Jony look like some minor Warp Records electronic act. You could not look at these two guys and NOT think "they're in a band". That's not a good thing.



On the interislander, coming into Picton. The captain on the interislander asked to not play on the ferry. We were supposed to play in front of the big screen TV and though the TV showed dirt biking for 3 solid hours, people looked pretty effing enraptured. I was happy to not play. I don't think it's because our reputation preceeded us...



Need a poster of an evil sexy devil goth girl in a bikini holding a large mithral spear on an arid apocalyptic plane in front of a spiralling vermillion sun? Go to Christchurch and visit the crystals shop on High St.



Frank's favourite phrase for the tour was (every time anyone knocked over ANYTHING):



You'd love his weiners too:



I must mention big thanks to Frase for putting us up at his flat in Christchurch. All four of us, spread through his lounge and kitchen. It was choice. Frank's trusty $10 WareWhare air matress - his airy mistress for most of the tour - mysteriously popped in the night. The day before we slinked around the botanical gardens, including the awesome glasshouse part with it's ZANY LEMONJELLY FLOWERS.



I crept up on the team.



Twice.



I like the above photo because all the facial expressions are completely different and all the facial expressions are completely wasted - and we still had 3 dates left to play! Including Queenstown where I developed a fever and an extreme loathing of all who dwell in the town centre of said borough. I have always thought it a cesspit, and I think it a cesspit still. Dunedin was much better; I like Dunedin and the venue was great, even if i did have stabbing pains, fever and a roiling kettle sensation in my stomach region. We drove 24 hours Dunedin to Auckland. Please note: there are no 24 hour gas stations between Dunedin and Oamaru. Please please note: if you are the people we saw at the Oamaru gas station, you are a bunch of Clowns.

I haven't mentioned Clowns until now.

No Clowns.

Maybe another time.