Hot Pink Bits

2011-11-08T22:39:00.003+13:00

The Frame: Japan marks 6 months since earthquake, tsunami

Incredible before and after pics of Japan.

2011-11-06T15:16:00.001+13:00

This is awesomely amazingly weird.

2011-10-18T18:13:00.002+13:00

As yet another themed improv show approaches my thoughts once more return to the charming world of Jane Austen. We have performed Austen Found: The Undiscovered Musicals of Jane Austen numerous times in the past 3 years in climes as varied as Adelaide, Wellington and Whakatane. And on Friday we shall be daintily treading the boards again but this time in a far more hostile environment.

This time there will be Zombies.

As they said on True Blood last night “Zombies are the new Vampires” and it’s true as they seem to have slimed up everywhere. Whether is be in Zomburlesque last week in Wellington, to taking over America in the Walking Dead to enmeshed in the pages of Pride and Prejudice by Seth Grahame-Smith.

If you weren’t aware the latter is a booked penned by Mr Smith which is 85% Jane Austen’s original P&P words and 15% Zombies. This idea of his has spawned a book option and the movie is in the pre-production stages with actresses from Emma Stone to Scarlett Johansson to Natalie Portman supposedly vying to wear Elizabeth Bennett’s bonnet complete with hidden samurai sword.

Many Janeites (as Ms Austen’s rabid fanbase are called) are up in arms at this prospect BUT we thought it was freakin hilarious and decided to adapt it to the stage dahhhhlink.

And our rehearsal yesterday was hilarious but it did get me thinking.

As a Regency woman of good breeding your life was totally fucking boring. You couldn’t say things like totally fucking boring, you had to align yourself to a man in order to survive due to entailment laws based on patriarchy, you were expected to cross-stitch and accomplish yourself with other accomplishments like learning French (which is curious as they were constantly at war with them), you have to play the pianoforte even if you had no musical aptitude, you had to learn musical aptitude, blah blah blah blah blah.

You could at least show a little cleavage unlike the Victorians to come BUT if you flashed an ankle you were the world’s biggest slut, to be overly educated was frowned upon as you might show up how dumb the boys were, Balls were the only thing to really look forward to, you had to marry people you didn’t like because class meant everything and the most galling to me, you had to have a chaperone.

I mean what the fuck. A chaperone!!! As a single girl I wanted a male chaperone quite a lot, especially after a few sauvignon blancs, I would have liked to be chaperoned quite hard, but to not be able to go out alone as the independent girl I am, well that would have earned a few “totally fucking boring”s at my beleaguered Pappa as I flashed my ankles and wore Capri pants to boot.

I like to think I would have been a trail blazer for women’s rights if I had been alive 200 years ago, and yes this was ONLY 200 years ago, but who knows what stifling constraints would have suffocated me. BUT I fancy the addition of Zombies to a Regency Lady’s life complete with Oriental Training, stiletto daggers and decapitation training would have meant things were a little less boring for a while.

And I know it will be very non-boring onstage.

Austen Found: Zombie Time. 9pm, Q Loft, October 21^st. Book at www.qtheatre.co.nz

2011-10-13T15:46:00.000+13:00

A little something from 2003.

2011-10-11T09:05:00.000+13:00

Occupy Sesame St

Brought to you by the Letters, W T and F.

2011-10-10T14:17:00.010+13:00

Today I discovered a magical place. A place of luxurious lace stockings, slippery Saturdays, peek a boo panties and pink-sugary candy cotton bods.

No I didn’t disappear into the Playboy Mansion high on LSD and food colouring, I discovered the Twitter feed of one little Ms Courtney Stodden.

For those in the don’t know, Stodden makes up half of a newly wedded couple in domestic bliss. The other half is Doug Hutchison. An actor who has been around a while and has starred in Lost, The X Files, The Green Mile, 24, China Beach, Diagnosis Murder... blah blah blah.

Interestingly whilst he was playing Eugene Victor Tooms in the X-Files in 1994 his now wife was doing something else entirely. She was being born. Yup Doug is 51 years old and Courtney just turned 17.

Personally I too like a younger partner. My boyfriend is younger than me and it makes for virile times. SO he's only two years younger but hey so what. Two years, thirty-five years what's the difference?

Uh the difference is that if my boyfriend proposes he doesn't have to get a letter signed from his Mummy to say he can get married (Which they happily provided, WTF). If my boyfriend wants a legal drink he doesn't have to wait 4 years. And more importantly my boyfriend is mature enough not to tweet the pure and utter dribbling rainbows of concentrated crap that this chick tweets. OK so he doesn't always hang up the bathmat BUT his Facebook feed is intelligent and doesn't use the words "joyously join me in sweet conjunction." Thankfully, or I would be joyously taking my ass in the opposite direction faster than you can say negative IQ.

It is so tempting to blame the girl for being a total bimbo when the ADULT in this equation is the man..... but it's just so easy when she writes shit like this:

"Lubricating my limber legs with a creamy lotion that electrifies my luminescent captivation, lustrously. It's Slippery Saturday! XOs! ;-)"

That's SO what I do on Saturdays too. That and look up words that start with L.

"Saturated within a superb Sunday as Gods love beams brightly! "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear ... " 1 John 4:18"

Yup I see her vulva bulging through her bikini pics and I immediately think of John 4:18 too.

"Having a mysterious Monday morning by motioning myself to magnetic sensual melodies as I prepare for a brand new beautiful day! Mmmeow! ;-)"

Arrghhh she's alliterating to the point of justified homicide and ummmm is "motioning myself" code for taking a crap?

And just one more before you go to bed...

"As the day concludes... I salaciously caress the key that seductively unlocks nothing else... but the powerful pleasure... of the night. ;-)"

Adverbs must shake and tremble when Courtney starts to write, they get a bigger workout than her abs. And I presume she means she's masturbating here? What would John 4:18 make of that!

I tell you what though, boy is it catching. I can feel her starting to take over as I am tremulously typing my titillating truisms and tenderly tweaking this treatise on the towering tidal wave of totally turgid trash this tramp turns out.

BUT as I say she is 17, she has some growing up to do if cocaine and Charlie Sheen don't get her first. The dude is the deplorably despicable dickwad who indulges his delusions in her peek a boo panties and is a dinosaur doofus who deserves derision most definitely.

OK there I have said my piece, I am off to wash my mind out so those tweets don't settle and make me any more stupider and my Alliteration Levels can return to normal.

2011-10-10T09:23:00.000+13:00

Canadian Politician Criticized For Showing Too Much Cleavage

This from the Jezebel Blog. Best I not go into Politics then, My cleavage is likely to swallow Prince Edward Island all together.

2011-09-21T17:48:00.005+12:00

Imagine, if you will, that my mother was walking down the street when suddenly a group of yelling, pissed idiots with their faces painted called her a f**king wanker then spat on her.

You would be outraged for her would you not?

And yet that is exactly the type of behaviour displayed by numerous NZ'ers last weekend towards our neighbours and closest allies, all in the name tossing about a bit of pig-skin.

No I don’t mean a circumcision, I mean rugby.

My mother you see is Australian. That’s right she harks from Northern Queensland where strolling barefoot is an adventure sport, crocodiles are for riding and the phrase “Awww struth mate, me thong is up me arse” is not code for a wedgie, but something all together more exciting.

As such I have visited the world’s largest island numerous times, initially to see family and latterly to perform at various festivals. And guess what? They’re not a pack of flaming dick-head c**ts. OK so sure, there are some, I may even be related to some, but all I need to say is Michael Laws to prove we have our own special needs citizens.

Even more proof is the pack of dickhead c***s who spat on Australian fans and told them to “all f*** off back to Australia” who were reported in the NZ Herald. I mean really. I am so sick of all this bollocks. I had it growing up constantly with my Aunts and Uncles giving my Dad shit and him dishing it back three times as hard. Bloody Kiwis this, Bloody Aussies that. It was enough to make me run away to Auckland BUT I would never have done that because Auckland was a TERRIBLE place to live according to all other Cantabrians.

So instead I went to London to listen to the Scottish and Irish whinge about the English, and as tedious as that is too it made a bit more sense. So tell me, when did Australia slaughter a whole lot of NZ’ers and try to break their national spirit. When did Australia steal the Stone of Bolger and crown King Kevie on top of it to add vegemite to injury? When did the ambiguity of a cream meringue dessert’s origin cause mortal enmity? When did American’s mistaking Crowded House as Australian mean World War Three. (And let’s be honest 2 out of 3 band-members being Australian means they almost are, even if the NZ element wrote most of it.) And when was the bowling of one underarm ball an open indication of the imminent slaughter of all your first born?

Uhhh I’ll tell you when, never.

Instead we see a country who OK, may sometimes be condescending towards it’s smaller neighbour but they do have 5.36 times the population we do. After all Fiji is 4.79 times smaller than us and we have been known to judge Captain Bananarama. BUT more to the point they send help in earthquakes, they send mining equipment and expertise when asked, they send delicious pineapples and they sent my Mum.

So seriously leave the poor green and golds alone and stopping acting like dick-heads New Zealand. Let's rise above like a giant Pavlova, whilst playing Better Be Home Soon and tossing about a ball however we choose.

SO there.

PS However if someone does knee Richie McCaw in the head, well then maybe boo a little. Not that I care about sport anyways.

PPS The intra-parochial bullshit is dumb too, Auckland after all, is rather nice. More on that later I expect.

2011-09-21T07:51:00.000+12:00

Nigella says what we have always thought she was thinking....

2011-09-10T13:27:00.000+12:00

The funniest thing I have seen today. Check your music tracks people, check them well.

2011-09-02T15:10:00.001+12:00

The Lovely NZ Suffragette, Kate Shepherd.

2011-09-02T14:01:00.003+12:00

I was recently told when recording a voice over for a TV ad for a financial company, that it was lucky to have gotten this job. To be honest I always feel lucky when someone pays me to read words into a microphone. Voice Over work is brilliant. I stand in a small padded room whilst ad execs listen to my dulcet tines through their black clothes and tell me to smile more, be more friendly or, in the case of chocolate commercials, imagine you're lady parts are being pleasured quite emphatically.

Sorry where was I?

Oh yes, voice overs so I already knew I was lucky to be at this voice recording but when I was told why, I was less impressed.

You see when this enlightened marketing executive had told her Australian counterparts they were using a woman to sell their products those Fair Dinkum Dunderdoofers (scientific name) had exclaimed in an aghast fashion; "Oh but you can't use a female voice-over, people don't trust women."

Let's repeat that for fun; "People don't trust women."

Gee, the last time I looked 50% of "people" were women. Unless they were adopting that Canadian stance from pre-1928 that deemed women were not people and actually had to be changed by law. (Oh and while we're on the subject women in Quebec only got the vote in 1940, Switzerland in 1971 and Lichenstein in freaking 1984!)

SO in essence this man (and yes it was a man) was saying that we all distrust half of the world. Gee and just when I think we have come a long way along comes someone to make me go all Emily Pankhurst again. I guess that's why they didn't want us to vote all those years ago, in case we couldn't be trusted not to all vote for the McGillicutty Serious Party, or even worse ACT.

I wonder if this guy ever ran to his mummy when he scraped her knee? Or maybe he screamed when she approached, assuming her concerned expression was mocking laughter and the savlon she was waving was arsenic death paste. I wonder if he lets his girlfriend have her own eftpos card in case she causes another global recession. (Though that is highly unlikely, the last time I looked most of the "people" who fucked up the economy were men. It is also unlikely he has a girlfriend too I expect.)

Thankfully the Kiwi Marketing exec was more influenced by NZ's history of suffRAGE and went with me. Women here got the vote in 1893 in NZ and so I can do financial voicevers.

Though it's hardly all equality roses and no-sexist sunshine here. In the latest "Most trusted Poll" of NZers, there were only 4 women in the top 20. Still in the bottom ten there was only one woman too, depressingly suggesting that many people just don't bother to think about half the population at all.

Well hopefully when they turn on the tele and hear me, they'll appreciate a nice lady voice even if just for 30 seconds, and we can start to chip away at all those gender bullshit stereotypes.

So there.

2011-08-30T14:45:00.003+12:00

SO on Friday night I hosted Carousel Burlesque in our fair Capital City and I thought some people might be curious to know what goes on backstage.

For those in the "don't know" Burlesque is an ancient art form where luscious ladies generally disrobe in a variety of permutations until their jugs are jubbling about unhindered. It usually involves some sort of saucy 50's style soundtrack with flirty looks and peeling of stockings. There is also often the flinging of breasts about afterwards, sometimes rather excitingly in opposite directions.

But the Burlesque genre is a many and varied beast-ess with hundreds of women taking off their clothes in their own special way and Friday night was no exception.

I was invited to host the show by Ms Venus Starr, Burly-Q Meistress and producer of the sell-out event. She was not performing this month however due to carelessly allowing her partner to impregnate her. (Though looking at her you would never think she gave birth 12 weeks ago, hell I look more pregnant than she does.) BUT there were other nudie rudies to titillate the crowds with their... well tits.

The backstage Burlesque world is one infected by sparkles, hairspray, false eyelashes, sequins, garters, suspenders, wax and um, tampons.... Now let me clear up something right now. I am not a Burlesque performer. I love all of those things I mentioned right up to wax BUT that is where I draw a line in the erm... gland. I waxed my legs once and it hurt so much I vowed to never do it again. Also the chicken skin spots that reared up were about as sexy as measles so the very thought of waxing my dewey portal to happiness is one I will not entertain. And as such there will be no stripping for me, well unless the act involves a forest of Daddy Long Leg Spiders.

I also walked in on one fair maiden (WARNING WARNING LADY LEAKS AHEAD) tucking in her tampon string so as not to get a wet-spot on her G-String gusset. (Isn't gusset a wonderful word.) That's right it wasn't her portal renovation period, she was just keeping things nice and dry. I did think to remind her that there was a toilet cubicle right next to her lunging form but hey, I can cross seeing that off my bucket list now.

But once lips were plumped, hair was curled, nipples were stickered, glitter was smeared, heels were slipped into and strings were tucked, we were off like knickers at Hugh Hefner's.

We had an act who pierced herself with needles attached to birthday candles (I believe she also does children's parties), we also had an aerialist on a hoola hoop, a balloon popping act , a fan dance and the crazy and hysterical Magenta Diamond who basically fondled a man into an erection onstage. And through it all I kept performing limericks, songs and poems and saying fuck a lot, coz I am clever like that.

The audience was rearing to go, a comedy gift of an audience who laughed at everything I said. There was even a Ginger Grizzly Adams in the audience leading the rock n Roll charge and the hysteria mounted to palpable levels. There must be something about tits that drives people crazy. I obliged by wearing mine very high and sticking them in men's faces.

Thankfully for their faces however mine remained in my corset. I just know that if I were to get mine out I would take an eye out in the front row with my attempts at twirling. It wouldn't so much be saucy swirling as mammary bashing with another one coming right after. One good thing though, it could be a very useful renewable energy source. Get me winding up onstage and I might just be able to power Levin with the wind energy generated.

HHmm I might just ring Jeremy Wells and talk to him about it.

GO and see the next Carousel Burlesque in September I dare you. There will only be one dry seat in the house.

Arty B&W Shot of Pashing

2011-08-30T00:48:00.001+12:00

Hosting Carousel Burlesque in Wellington

2011-08-30T00:41:00.001+12:00

Excitable Punter Gets Excited During "I'm So Excited".

A lucky man in the audience feels the full force of mother nature.

Svetlana Sings the Blues

Rohypnol Girl sung in a Duvet.

2011-08-29T23:32:00.004+12:00

Wow so apparently a female columnist at The Guardian, of all papers, thinks that women should support Michelle Bachmann purely because she is a woman and we need more female representation.

Never mind the fact that she thinks women should all do what their husbands tell them to do, even studying tax law despite hating it because her husband told her to, as "she had to be faithful to what God was calling her to do through her husband".

Incidentally I wonder what else he tells her God has said to do; "Oh honey I know you don't feel like pleasing little Ronnie Reagan tonight but God told me to tell you to get busy or yet another Arab Country might go all Islamy".

I wonder what would happen if she was elected to the highest office in the USA and suddenly it was crunch time. Her finger poised over the button (giving her husband's little Georgie Back-Bush a break), trying to decide whether it's time to blow Canada up once and for all. When suddenly she skips off to boot up a Skype conversation with Mr Michelle to ask him what he thinks from his Jacuzzi that he told her to buy for him.

He would answer with "Well Stephen Harper seems pretty gay to me, and Pro-Canadian which is clearly Anti-American, let's cure him baby" then go back to rubbing baby oil into his caddy's pecs.

To suggest we should support a woman who thinks that public education is creating a child holocaust and that slavery meant a better nuclear family for black children is right up there with suggesting Gary Glitter as the next president of the PTA because their diversity is lacking a Glam Rocker.

So Angela Cummine (Cummine seriously.... as in hey Michelle the Lord won't like it if I'm not Cummine), you can take your pseudo-feminist stance and shove it where your tampon doesn't shine. Though no actually that's a very nice place, a warm inviting fun place saved especially for a nice partner who asks to go there. So instead you can throw it in a sewer where it belongs.

It is insulting to my feminist sensibilities to abdicate reason in the face of statistics. Yes I would like more female representation obviously, but I'm not going to vote in Myra Hindley as Minister for Children just because the ladies loos are underused.

I will instead tell my niece as often as possible that she is very clever and can do whatever she wants, despite what any man tells her to do.

(Excepting maybe her Daddy til she's about 18.)

No he isn't a closet case at all, as Steve Gray has pointed out!

2011-08-22T17:41:00.002+12:00

Here is an old poem I just stumbled across that I rather like...

Don't Get Caught Out in the Rain

In the year 2000 I was going to be 26

Incredibly old

Probably married

……..no babies though

Gross

I was going to celebrate

In grand style

With a huge number of friends

On an island resort

My husband and I would dance to Copacabana

We’d be drinking Pina Colada’s

Our lives and arms intertwined

As we drank from coconut shells

Little umbrellas fending off

The non-existent rain

As it didn’t fall

From the non-existent clouds

I was successful

In the year 2003 I remember

The angry black clouds of the Millennium

I remember sparks peeping through

The thick firework proof blanket

I remember holding my friends vomiting head

In a Grafton Bridge gutter

I remember dancing on Mission Bay

Bowing to my Tongan Queen as he was typically fabulous darling

I remember quaffing Lindauer

With my non-existent husband

As non-existent little umbrellas

Were demolished in the storm

But…..I am successful

I don’t want my 1984 dreams

They would make my 2003 dreams non-existent

I‘d be married to Simon Le Bon

My 2003 reality would be non-existent

I would be non-existent

And who wants that

2011-08-19T10:53:00.000+12:00

Instant Kiwis is the website to see all the details!

2011-08-19T10:14:00.003+12:00

In Christchurch, from about the age of 16 onwards it was a very regular occurrence in my life to attend Scared Scriptless at the Court Theatre at 11pm on a friday night.

Therefore as we are kicking off late night improv at Q Theatre in Auckland in about two months, I am rather excited about it.

Instant Kiwis, it shall be called, see what we did there. Comedy with Power Balls! I usually hate ascribing a male anatomical characteristic to describe comedy BUT I also like a good pun. What's a liberated girl to do but swallow her principles and scream "balls". It also plays into our Jane Austen and Zombie show... so I wasn't talking testicles at all.

Really.

It is also quite exciting as you see this year I was to play Scared Scriptless in ChCh for the very first time. I was booked in to play last year but situations got on top of me...ooo er and I had to ... pull out. SO I was delighted to book my flight to Christchurch for April 9th, a flight that I booked on February 20th.

Awesome.

So then the ground moved for everyone and the Arts Centre which houses the Court Theatre is terminal it seems. SO no Scared Scriptless for me BUT instead Instant Kiwis for me and you. If you are in ChCh you can still see SS, just not in the Theatre where I got inspired to be an actor, but all over town. And if you're in Auckland we are in the brand spanking new Q Theatre.

It is exciting and a privilege to be an Improv company in residence at a brand new theatre, hopefully we won't leave too many skidmarks.

MCing A Year at the Pah, Poetry Performance

2011-08-17T10:59:00.001+12:00

A great gig this Sunday at The Pah homestead in Hillsborough. A totally beautiful house with great artworks. You should go and see them.

All Blacks campaign: no sex for fans - Rugby World Cup - NZ Herald News

2011-08-17T10:47:00.000+12:00

All Blacks campaign: no sex for fans - Rugby World Cup - NZ Herald News

OK so as someone who lives within walking distance of Eden Park I am already annoyed with the street parking situation so there's no way I am going to let Telecom ahem ... screw with my sheet parking situation too. I say the slogan should not be "Abstain for the Game" but rather "Fuck for the Cup" or perhaps more luridly "Stain for the Game". It may be ahem.. tongue in cheek but I will use my tongue for pashing rather than poking out my skin. I mean FFS I actually have a boyfriend, which was a rarity for sometime as previous posts will show, so rather than use him simply to build fires and compliment my cooking, every now and then, maybe once a week or so if we're energetic, I may well use him for sex too. When I say use, I won't emotionally stamp on him and kick him out afters, he pays half the rent, I will instead make some nice shepherd's pie, open a bottle of red and pash by the fire.

SO I have a shiny new computer and downloaded a shiny new add on for sharing on Blogger. So I may well post more than once a menstrual cycle from now on. Who am I kidding, it's been more like once in a gestational cycle, but I shall attempt to spit out blogs more often than a Mormon wife with no contraception squirts out kids.

Maybe one soon on how goddam maternal I am.

2011-07-20T11:59:00.004+12:00

As shaving cream pies are being tossed into Gollum's face whilst he is being defended by Lucy Liu (thanks Twitter) I am contemplating my own battles ahead.

Mine are a lot more savoury than various newspaper hacks hacking into dead girl's answerphones however and guaranteed to generate many more belly laughs. (Though to be fair that shaving cram pie had me laughing quite substantially, all that was missing was Mr Humphries squealing "You're not free" to Rebekah Brooks.)

But I digress.

My upcoming battle is with that age old performer's anxiety of, "Jesus I hope some people come to my shows!" You see I am about to embark on yet another tour of New Zealand with two separate shows Hot Pink Bits, and Hot Pink Teeth 'n' Tits and the nervous anticipation of whether or not anyone will turn up is consuming my mind like Oprah on fried biscuits.

Comediennes are some of the most insecure people you will ever meet. We derive our sense of self-worth by people laughing at us. Most people would take that as an insult and hit the Kronic, but for us it is our highest aspiration in life.

It is therefore nerve-wracking everytime we put ourselves out there hoping to not be rejected. And of course the ultimate rejection is when no one comes. I could call it character building, if I was David Cameron's spin doctor, but it's something I can do without.

There's nothing like flyering the streets of Edinburgh for 4 hours to have absolutely no one turn up to your final 11pm show in a Portaloo. As far as character building goes that makes my character the size of that tall weird building in Malaysia, but it's something I've hopefully moved past.

BUT sadly not the anxiety. For all my shows coming up I already have more booked than none, so that's a start. BUT that age old question of "Will I go to jail from debt" is never far from your mind. I love performing, not being a P freak's bitch, so fingers, toes and labias crossed.

My partner, of the previous windy pops post, can be quite bewildered by it all. He probably often muses to himself that I am mental with therapy needs, and he may well be correct. But when it comes down to it I'd rather be a mental optimist than a sane person doing something I hate.

So if you're in Blenheim, Kaikoura, Waimate or Christchurch please do come along and watch my insecurities die like Navy Seals watched Bin Laden.... but with less guns, novelty beards and shouting "Allah Akbah!" if you don't mind.

Hot Pink Bits

Blenheim Civic Theatre, July 22nd, 7.30pm
Bookings: www.ticketdirect.co.nz, 03 520 8560

Kaikoura, Memorial Hall, July 23rd, 8pm
Bookings: www.eventfinder.co.nz or in person at Paper Plus, 41 West End.

Waimate Regent Theatre, Shearman Street, 27th July, 7.30 pm Bookings: Parkers, Queen Street, Waimate, ph 03 689 8772

Hot Pink Teeth 'n' Tits

CHRISTCHURCH
Paparoa School Hall, 8pm, July 29 - 30 and August 5 - 6, Paparoa School Hall, Bookings: www.eventfinder.co.nz, for more ticketing information email: pennyhotpink@gmail.com

2011-07-15T16:58:00.006+12:00

Us Catching a gentle breeze .....

Man oh Man have I been one slack bloggy tart. I can't believe it's been two years practically since I pressed tips to keyboard to spew out some rambling dissertation on not much.

Well never fear my imaginary reader, I am back! For how long who bloody knows BUT whilst I can still remember my password I should probably say something.

SO I have decided for my resurrection that I'll defibrillate this blog with some good old fashioned bodily functions.

"Ewww" you say, "must you?", well I'm afraid so.

You see I used to be totally uptight and prudey about emissions and evacuations and all manner of leakages, but then something happened to change all that. I found true love.

Possibly not what you were expecting. It certainly isn't what I was expecting.

I used to deny point blank that any foul odour wafting in my general airspace had anything to do with the lasagna I had just eaten. The phrase "pull my finger" was one I held in high disdain and should any, ahem, pressing function be required, I would always deoderise the room in question with "Pacific Ocean Breeze" to the point of asphyxiation.

I would always maintain that I was a bizarre human anomaly who simply didn't do "that". The fact that if this were the case I would be writhing in agony in hospital was beside the point. Nice girls simply don't ....

It is somewhat odd then that I was perfectly happy to get onstage and discuss all manner of sexual probings, amputee fetishes and dwarf porn. To me fistings, rubberised catheters and vomit sex were all perfectly acceptable dinner table conversation, but poos and wees were most definitely not.

Now why have I started thinking about this I am sure you are wondering. Well today I attended two Film Festivals Films. One was at the Civic, a place that roughly 4 years ago was a scene of great mortification. You see I was using a disabled toilet when a man wrenched open the not quite locked door whilst I was in the midst of the delicate operation known as ... um ...wiping. (Ugh I even hate the word wiping.) Maybe it serves me right for wanting a bit more space in my cubicle and going disabled when I am clearly not, but suffice to say I learnt my lesson, now I always double check the locks.

But anyway that got me to thinking about my boyfriend.

I know, SO romantic.

You see when we first met it was all sunshine and roses, laughter and champagne, sweet nothings and.... holding in the wind. It's amazing what control certain muscles can have when everlasting happiness is at stake. I was also thrilled the bathroom in my then flat was at the other end of the house, two hours of holding back Mother Nature's non-stop life locomotive can result in quite the release I am sure you'll appreciate.

And he was just the same. We were both medicial miracles. For one whole year you could drink the air around us and Disney characters flew about our heads in a fragrant dance.

Or something.

Then it happened, true relaxing marvellous love reigned supreme and it wasn't just our souls that relaxed around each other. Our sphincters did too.

And funnily enough the world did not open up and drag me into its sulfurous depths of hell, I didn't die of a heart attack (though he nearly did) and no small children went blind. What happened instead was pure unadulterated joyous hilarity.

I had no idea how much comedy potential I was denying myself of up until now. The sheer joy of expelling what he calls "Trumps"(Yorkshire weirdness) when he least expects it, especially when I'm sitting on him, has me near pissing myself as well.

This is probably nothing new to long term relationship types out there, but to a girl who was a single prudey pants for most of her adult life, a little regression into the alimentary canal is a marvellous thing. I'm being liberated goddammit.

So I say go forth and eat cabbage people, cram in the Cannellini beans and polish off the prunes. Let the sweet smell of relationship success waft supreme and always hold the covers over their head as long as possible.

For my next post I shall be discussing the merits of a Capital gains Tax as it pertains to various share portfolios with a growth quotient of 20% or greater. Or more on farting... we will see.

Penny Ashton Musing on the Perfect NZ Man

2011-01-28T11:08:00.000+13:00

2010-03-18T17:22:00.002+13:00

NEW COLUMN ON SKYTV.CO.NZ/PENNYONDEMAND

Uncle Oscar

9 March 2010

In the 1930’s when Margaret Herrick commented that a certain gold statuette looked like her uncle Oscar, she probably didn’t anticipate that 80 years later frock designers, coke dealers and limo companies would deliriously anticipate the night her uncle gets fingered by Hollywood’s elite.

But so it goes.

The 82nd Academy Awards have just finished and I thought it was choice. Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin were hilarious hosts and there was enough glitz, drama and trainwreckage to amuse me soundly.

Last year the Oscars were toned back in deference to the Credit Crunch. An Australian hosted for god’s sake. The kicks were lower, the jokes fewer and I think I saw the set on eBay.

But this year, like the CEO of your average merchant bank, they thought screw them all and went all out. There were feathers, a myriad of revolving sets and interpretative crumping in cardigans…..seriously.

Worst performance goes to the loud mouthed beatch who interrupted her co-collaborator for best documentary short and shrilled; “isn’t that just like a man to not let the woman speak….” Basically she Kanye’d his ass and was a dick.

Best speech to Sandra Bullock, she was moving, funny and mentioned tonguing Meryl Streep. I did feel I needed some insulin after seeing The Blind Side as it was so saccharine but she rocked, shiny dress and all. Jeff Bridges was a close second, I cried. But I’m a pussy.

And then the sisterhood triumphed with The Hurt Locker. People have been making a lot about Katherine Bigelow and James Cameron being pitted against each other but who cares that they were married for 3 years. She gives good film, I mean she directed Point Break. Yes a woman won for the first time but let’s focus on her arts, not her arse.

Now for her next film she’s cast Kate Winslet as an ugly autistic Vietnam vet with a sick dog. I reckon it’s a shoe in.

2010-03-18T17:22:00.001+13:00

NEW COLUMN ON SKYTV.CO.NZPENNYONDEMAND

The Bear Necessitites

2 March 2010

I hate camping. If god had meant us to camp he would have given us detachable colostomy bags. Pooing out of doors is nothing I have ever done, and proudly so.

Sure if I had one of those palace tents with verandas, porticos and a room for my shoes then I’d gladly raise my three fingered Girl Guide salute, but I’ve only ever had pup tents and it has always always rained.

The worst time being a music festival in Scotland when it not only rained, it pelted down like a Scotsman urinating after a stag do in Glasgow.

The field turned into a mud bath and I was forced to wear rubbish bags on my shoes but they were still ruined. Worse still they were Jimmy Choos.

OK, so maybe they weren’t, but that’s not the point.

Which is why I would rather watch Man vs Wild than participate. For a start my name is "Penny" and that will never do. "Bear" is the star of that show, so I would need to change mine to "Panther", "Gazelle" or "Three Toed Sloth".

Also, we may have been born in the same year but Bear was a special agent with British Forces and I wasn’t even Tawny Owl in the Brownies. If someone yells at me to "drop and give me twenty" I yell at them to "f" off. Discipline is required in battling nature’s elements, and the only thing I’m a disciple to is ensuring my nail polish matches my earrings.

I wouldn’t mind being dropped on a desert island, mind you. Just as long as a toilet, a cabana boy named Julio and an endless supply of pina coladas was dropped too. If they can organise a sound guy and a cameraman for Bear surely they could do a latino lover and some Bacardi for me?

I’ll send them an email and see.

Man vs Wild with Bear Grylls premieres Wednesdays beginning March 3 at 8.30pm on Discovery Channel.

2010-03-18T17:20:00.002+13:00

NEW COLUMN ON SKYTV.CO.NZ/PENNYONDEMAND

The Best Things in Life are Free

Fact File
New Series
S - Sexual content may offend
Comedy
C - Content may offend

24 February 2010

As an actor, I have an agent. Actually I have four. One for voice work, one for TV, one for corporate work and the webmaster at nzdating.co.nz.*

ANYWAY, I like to imagine my agents as constantly concocting ways to propel me towards the superstardom for which I know I’m destined. I am sure my picture is in their wallet, I am the wallpaper on their shiny Mac’s and their cellphone ringtones are undoubtedly my voice singing “FAME! I’m gonna live …” and so forth.

What I don’t imagine them doing is recounting for their boss’ pleasure what sexual endeavours their weekend entailed and whether or not they managed to score some “no-strings nobbing”.

But my agents don’t work for CMA in London as seen in UKTV’s latest comedy Free Agents. The boss, aka Anthony Head, has a mouth that makes Gordon Ramsay look like Brooke Fraser. He licks glass office walls, pelvic-thrusts the air and goads his staff into confessing “I’m as sexually sophisticated as a 15-year-old born-again Christian.” This is a slight departure from Head’s role as Giles in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, though there are quite a few mentions of wood … just no stakes.

I’d like to quote more dialogue here, but if I did “Outraged of Huntly” would have me shut down faster than you can say “That’s a moustache on a lady”. Suffice to say the opening episode has 3 “c” words and 55 “f” words. Choice.

And if anyone can answer the question posed; “What do women want if they don’t want anal?” feel free to email the BBC.

*Only kidding about that last one. I have Internet-dated, but I didn’t like the experience. Sure you might get a pash and some free drinks, but I was never sure if I fancied the guy or if he was just the least retarded person** that emailed me.

** Apologies to anyone offended by the use of the word “person”.

Free Agents screens Friday 9.00pm on UKTV.

2010-03-18T17:20:00.001+13:00

NEW COLUMN ON SKYTV.CO.NZ/PENNYONDEMAND

Our Precious

17 February 2010

I’ll bet there are a few people in NZ currently who wished they had a feisty lady detective on their case.

Alison Mau could set Precious Ramotswe of The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency on Woman’s Day. The editor will be returning from her Zumba class clutching three lattes and out will jump Precious, snapping pics and asking if those lattes are for an illicit lady friend of undetermined sexuality.

Paul Holmes wouldn’t need an electronic bracelet for Millie. Precious could just follow her in her old battered van, confiscating coldrex and delivering rousing speeches on feminine strength.

Phill Goff could hire her to find out where all the labour party approval points have disappeared to and I will hire her to find out what people voted John Key as NZ’s sexiest politician. I wish to buy them glasses as a gesture of good will.

I’d also like to hire her to find all the judges of Miss Waikuku Beach 1984, my non-inclusion into the semi-finals is a grievous ancient wrong which demands to be righted.

Still I think we would all have a job prising Precious away from her beloved Botswana. Just like Alexander McCall Smith, the originator of the incredibly successful series of novels that this new Vibe series is based on, Ms Ramotswe loves her country far too much to leave it for trivial NZ problems.

And hooray for that because the colourful escapades of Precious’ (Hip-Hop Diva Jill Scott’s) sleuthing is an absolute delight to watch compared with another Colmar Brunton Opinion Poll on which MP has the best butt.

The pilot, featured tonight, was directed and co-written by the late Anthony Minghella (The English Patient), co-written by Richard Curtis (Love Actually, Blackadder) and produced by the Weinsteins. There’s more pedigree in that line-up than in Prince William’s bald patch so I suggest you tune in to see Botswana and NZ’s newest Precious. That Ring one is soooooo 2003.

The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency screens Tuesday 9.30pm on Vibe.

2010-03-18T17:19:00.001+13:00

NEW SKY COLUMN TO BE FOUND AT SKYTV.CO.NZ/PENNYONDEMAND

16 March 2010

Imagine….it’s late at night. You flop on the couch after a few bevvies. You hit play on the recorded episode of Grey’s Anatomy to see if Meredith might break up with Derek perhaps and then possibly, I don’t know, whine about it. Instead up comes an insemination special on Country Calendar.

AARGGHH your family member fecked it up AGAIN and you’re tempted to insert the remote with an elbow length rubber glove.

Which is why I found the addition of MY SKY to my life wondrous.

The lads in my flat were the instigators. Apparently there are some sports channels or something. They watch this thing called Football and apparently it’s quite big worldwide. I’m not convinced, but they enjoy watching people born everywhere but England fall over and pretend to cry.

I watch other delights. I’m not ashamed to say that my first series link (“…what just one button records the WHOLE series!”) was The Antiques Roadshow Highlights show. Britons saying things like “Oh goodness gracious how nice” when told their dog bowl is worth ten thousand pounds. Awesome.

I have also discovered the Nazi Channel…oh sorry The History Channel. I find myself scrolling through the Guide thinking "Hitler’s Dyslexic Dog" that sounds fascinating, I have to watch that. Not to mention "25 Most Sexiest Celebrity Dogs" on E! TV.

I have also banked loads of movies and I love the Classic Channels for their eclecticism. I’ll see your Godfather and raise you a Pretty in Pink. I just watched ET for the first time in 30 years and ok, you can practically see the wires on the flying bikes BUT I still cried, and Drew Barrymore on the cusp of her drug addiction steals the show.

So if you haven’t got MY SKY yet your life has no meaning. You too could sit for hours ignoring all of your responsibilities and enthralled to see if the Myth that watching too much TV kills you, is busted. Go on, you know you want it. Suggestions for the R button are The Hangover, QI with Stephen Fry AND Antiques Roadshow…always.

2009-10-07T12:25:00.000+13:00

SO I am sitting in yet another bach for hire. This time in Himatangi Beach in the Manawatu district between a semi-successful Whanganui season and a no doubt blindingly successful Palmerston North one. 20/20 foresight perhaps.

Though to be fair in Whanganui I sold enough tickets to sell out one show, it was just a shame I was doing two.

I was also warned by a friend that the people of Whanganui were weirdos. I cannot vouch for all Wanganui-ans, but I met the usual mix of weird, no so weird and of course the homosexual, who always makes me laugh and supplies the wine. Some of the elderly audience members did seem to baulk slightly at the thought of Long Jean Silver 70’s porn star “Stumping” people in their rectums with her withered deformed leg…..but that doesn’t necessarily make them weird.

I didn’t see Michael Silly Laws on my journeys BUT I did manage to get a photo of the patch I had made specially for Whanganui into the paper. I also called my show Ot Pink Bits as I figured they had enough h’s for now.

Despite my friend’s warning the town actually had a special place in my heart after a fun performance there 5 years ago. The mayor of the time, Chas Poynter, came running up to me after my show, ginger toupee flapping like a native tussock, and declared me an honorary citizen of the town. This apparently entitled me to free mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on the streets of Whananui and he only hoped that he could he my salivating saviour if required.

Thankfully neither my heart nor lungs gave out at the thought and I survived unmolested.

Chas was a sweetheart however, compared to the Paso Doble-ing twat munch that is Laws, it’s just a shame he’s the one that’s dead.

Anyways I was about to set off for Himatangi on Sunday when I got my first ever flat tyre. I had to remove all my bloody props etc.. from the boot to discover if I had the spare I suspected I did. I found it, and a few dead insects to boot in a pool of water. (Oh did I mention it was pissing it down like an old man was building a really big boat.) Thankfully my AA membership is up to date and I didn’t break a nail swapping them over.

I was however therefore forced to drive only at 80km all the way to the beach, which was an exercise in excessive tail-gating. Look, fuckers, I know I’m going slowly but I do have a reason and a mac truck bearing down within an inch of my behind is enough to provoke me to stab him in the throat with a banjo. It would be a much more valid excuse than “Oh he put a hand on my thigh” anyways. SO FUCK OFF.

OK better now.

So I got to Himatangi via the friendly 4 Square, thankful I wasn’t going north coz that road was closed due to snow. I then unscrewed a cheeky Pinot from Otago, cooked up some tuna pasta followed by a spongy pud and settled into 7 episodes of Mad Men by a roaring fire.

Which was awesome.

I am relatively new to this watching an entire TV series at once concept. I realise it isn’t a new one but as a late convert can I say it’s rather choice. Though I did have some weird dreams about pitching campaigns and imagining I was the incredibly saucy Joan. Well I do have the hair and breasts and ass for it after all.

Though the following line made me realise I may be a bit late: “It’s like once they hit 30 a light goes out in them.”

So on that note, I went to bed.

2009-08-16T01:56:00.002+12:00

In breaking news I have been nominated for a Myspace Choice Award! Vote for me at www.myspace.com/kiwihub. The fact that I am up against Dai Henwood, Flight of the Conchords AND Rhys Darby means nothing...It's obviously between Josh and Cori.

2009-08-16T01:51:00.004+12:00

A few comments recently, however nicely intended, have pissed me right off....

The Arrogant Poem

You tell me I look good….

For 35

And I tell you to go fuck yourself

I mean of course it’s nice to be told that I look good

But you say 35 like it’s amazing that I’m Alive

That any minute now a blood vessel in my brain will burst

Rigor mortis posing me in my hearse in my last act of knitting booties

Beloved lawn bowls timetable clutched to my chest

Which now rests at my knees

Sent there with the velocity

Of age

A tattoo of my favourite zimmer frame adorning my skin which resembles a leather suitcase from 1927

Oestrogen levels at minimum

Osteoporosis, necrosis, Alzhemiers, Parkinson’s closing in

Metabolism plumbing the depths and plumbing well let’s just say… inept

A road map of varicose veins solidifying in my remains

At 35

And we wonder why women disappear from our TV screens once they’ve been smacked about by 4 decades of misogyny

Alpha Male can bang on til he’s blue in the face and little blue pills are mandatory for banging the intern for his trophy case.

Bruce Forsythe is 81 and hosting BBC TV, born in 1928, when JFK was elected he was 23, When Charles and Di got married he was 53 and when his co-star was born, he was 43

People say Mick Jagger is still sexy and Keith Richards looks like an SUV did burnouts on his face

But it still graces the cover of rolling stone, no photoshopping required just an a glowing tribute to a man who has inspired a thousand riffs

And I’m not taking away from this

I just wonder where Wendy Petrie will be when she’s 80

Why Judy Bailey was removed at 53 despite massive popularity

Why there are not really any female presenters on C4 currently

Why radio shows never boast 2 females and one male generally

And why Jason Gunn is the host of every fucking thing

I saw a 94 year old woman in a documentary recently

That means she is 59 years older than me

And I’m looking good despite my age?

Newsflash …..women do not disappear at age 50

I’ve got a hell of a lot of living left in me

So thank you for saying I look nice, but ditch the coda

Lose the addendum, the footnote and start over

You may think you’re complimenting me but you’re not

Because I know I look good….but I look good fullstop.

2008-12-27T01:00:00.003+13:00

Well, Well, Well.

Some dozy little Cantabrian bastard tried to steal my feckin bike today.

Well I suppose they do say that Christchurch is the most English of New Zealand cities, and the English did filth off with vast swathes of land, commonly known as countries, despite the former owners being somewhat inconvenienced. So I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

However I was.

BUT you can all relax in case you think I am now riding Shanks' Pony. (In fact I haven't ridden a thing in a very loooooooong time, there may even be cobwebs.) The thief was unsuccessful in nicking the bike, though he did manage to slice my first lock in two.

PS In case you were pondering the origin of the term Shanks' Pony, as I was just this second then click HERE!

BUT in a bid to outsmart the dimwit I had also attached a canny decoy lock to the bike, which obviously foiled him. However if he (again it had to be a he) had applied some pressure to it, it would have given way to his advances like a rufied girl on Prom Night. Either that or some artist type, as it was at the ARTS CENTRE for fuck's sake, scurried by with an easel and beret and put him off his game, causing him to scarper off like a rufie dealer in police lights.

SO luckily I was able to cycle home and regale my father with my tales of clever thwarting of brigands and fuckfaces and I live to cycle again. So much for the spirit of goodwill to all men.

BUT I shall not be jaded by these events. I still love Xmas and all those whose fairy lights shine upon us. I will instead amend that section of the Xmas Constitution and declare goodwill to all men and women, except thieving bicycle cockknobs.

Ho Ho Ho.

PS The Bicycle Thief sounds like a good name for a movie I reckon.

2008-12-10T17:39:00.004+13:00

SOOOOOO THE time is fast approaching. That's right people you better batten down the hatches because tis the season for the Annual-ish Ashton residence Karaoke Karnage!!! (tm)

Yep it's the season (I just created a facebook event, which makes if official) for THE Karaoke Party of the century at my parent's house this Xmas.

I fly down to Christchurch next week, so what else to do but trash my olds' house for the festive season.

But wait, you ask, a Karaoke Party at your parents house.... how, you ponder.

Well my Dad isn't any ordinary Dad. Oh no, not only was he Super Condom Vending Machine Man until he retired, but he's also Super Owns His Own Karaoke Machine Man!

Watch him slaughter Amore in a single bound, see how he rends I Got You Babe limb from limb, listen as he assaults Blue Suede Shoes with a deadly weapon.

Actually he's not bad at all, it's just funnier if he is. He's really quite good and I know harbours a deep down belief that he is Dean Martin.

He has squillions of songs programmed into his TWO different units. He has a glossy folder with them all listed and has even highlighted the good ones. Well, what he thinks are good ones anyways.

I beg to differ.

According to Old Dad Eyes highlights include Danny Boy, Irish Rover, Jailhouse Rock and the grand-daddy of them all, New York New York. He's even been known to highkick, when his gout allows.

When the younguns come home however we seek out such gems as Smells Like Teen Spirit, Sweet Child O Mine, Killing in the Name Of, and other songs with fuck in them. There is much marauding all over the living room and pogo-ing of the likes you just can't do to Mull of Kintyre. In short, it's choice.

Though Dad and I have been known to bust out the odd duet as well, usually Cabaret or Tonight I Celebrate My Love For You. And yes, that last one is a bit weird but don't call CYFS just yet as we look away on the line "And I make love to you....tonight" which makes it totally legit. Well that's what we tell ourselves anyways.

So if you're going to be in ChCh for Xmas get in touch and get ready to Jingle Your Balls at Chez Nous.

It'll be wucked.

2008-11-23T14:48:00.002+13:00

On reading the below post you shall realise that my upcoming performance of Austen Found: The Undiscovered Musicals of Jane Austen, has seemingly permeated my lexicon with some fortitude.

Oh My.

2008-11-23T00:43:00.005+13:00

Well I am outraged, appalled, aghast and generally quite jolly pissed off with humanity.

Today an injustice was perpetrated against my law-abiding self (OK except for the time I nicked the postcards from the Vatican bookshop, but hell God has enough cash.) and I am totally slutted off.

The day began very pleasantly.

I had a costume fitting for our upcoming Wellington show; "Austen Found: The Undiscovered Musicals of Jane Austen" where I wrangled the G-Cups into an empire line dress, and was pleasantly surprised to not look as pregnant as you would imagine.

I then hit Les Mills for a Body Attack. Now in case this alarms you, relax. That wasn't the injustice in the form of a random Lesbian relation of Heather Mills laying into me with a meat cleaver, but rather me going hard out at my local gym.

Then I got home and indulged in a new porridge creation whilst reading the paper. I have splashed out on some mixed spice, some cinnamon and some caramel essence and can very much recommend the results.

Martha Stewart eat your heart out. (Or maybe your cellmate anyway as a forced exchange for super tampons.)

Then Esta arrived to watch me assemble a salad to take with us to the Grey Lynn Festival. We then dawdled down to Grey Lynn Park via a mate's place AND more importantly the bottle store for some well deserved bruskis. (I am always an advocate for exercising to create space for more calories of the non-nutritional liquid variety.)

Once a spot was selected amidst the THOUSANDS of very funkily dressed, expertly coiffed, organically fed masses of Grey Lynn, my blanky was unleashed.

SIDEBAR: My blanky has been with me since before the dawn of time. To the ignorant the dawn of time is 1974 because as I am the centre of my universe obviously nothing existed before me. It is decorated with lions and elephants and bears, oh my, and is a fetching shade of orange, black and brown.

Once ensconced on the Blanky there was much merriment in drinking, eating salad and generally talking shit about some of the drunken bimbos around us. We waited in vain for the bands and became disappointed to realise there was actually going to be no real entertainment of any nature. Apparently this was to deter drinking, but if the volume of the bimbos was anything to go by they could have put Kevin Costner onstage explaining Waterworld and the girls would have still been doing tequila slammers everytime he said "post-apocalyptic".

To escape the tittering tits I decided it was time to go for a wander about the craft and food stalls and see if I could find some stereo saturated fats to clog up my arteries. I got up and went to put on my trusty Havaianas. Havaianas that took me months to find in the right colour and size. Havaianas that I spent a stupid amount of money buying for a pair of bloody jandals. Havaianas that have travelled the world with me. Havaianas that I love.

And they were fucking gone.

Some butt munch had stolen my bloody JANDALS!!! From underneath my nose. Some twat burger of indeterminate parentage put their festering pustulous dickwad feet into my jandals and waddled off to no doubt soil themselves in a corner crying softly and rocking backwards and forwards like the socio-psychopathic jandal fetishist fuckface they no doubt are.

Angry, me, no, where do you get that idea?

Is funny actually I am REALLY angry about it, which on dissection is a little weird. I mean it's not like I was forced into a group orgy with Brad Shipton, my 2 million barrels of oil weren't hijacked and I didn't just land the cleaning contract at Guantanamo Bay. I just had some shoes nicked.

I haven't felt that attached to some rubber since, well, um, never mind.

I have decided the reason for my misplaced mountains of vitriol is that as a Kiwi my jandals are sacrosanct. To steal them is to turn your back on the All Blacks as they Haka, it is to tell Kate Sheppard to "Shut up and cook me some eggs bitch", it is to punch a Hobbit in the face and it is to draw the Goodnight Kiwi and that cat doing it with a Kangaroo.

In short it is wrong.

So shame on you Jandal Thief of Grey Lynn. Shame on you. I just hope that walking in my shoes will change you. As you follow my footsteps so too will you follow my path. The fact that this path leads to excessive consumption of Sauvignon Blanc and inappropriate face-raping of dodgy boys shall be your punishment.

So there.

(Oh and if you're wondering how I got my delicate tootsies home I just nicked a pair of jandals I saw lying about.)

PS Tune into Dirty Girl with Penny Ashton Spoken word radio extravaganza on December 9th on Fleet FM as I stand in for Dirty Wordz with Shane Hollands! My very own radio show for the very first time! Very excited.

2008-11-13T20:10:00.007+13:00

Austen Found

I am bored bored bored with politics, (though the Maori Party's alliance with National is somewhat flabbergasting) and so hereby announce this post a politics free zone.

So what shall we speak of instead....

I have it!

Jane Austen.

Why of course you cry, that makes perfect sense you murmur, wtf is she on about, you twitter.

You see 2 weeks hence from this point is the New Zealand Improv Festival at Bats Theatre in Wellington, and I have gathered about me a most handsome group of performers to mince the boards.

We are bringing Austen Found: The Undiscovered Musicals of Jane Austen to the Wellington massive and a jolly good show it should be too.

In our rehearsals it has become very evident that for a girl who hasn't read any Austen since 1987, I am very versant with her works due to my enduring love of bodice rippers and chick flicks involving teacups. I have seen nearly all cinematic adaptations of her novels and the movie Becoming Jane, and I have read a book called Mr Darcy's Daughters which poses as a sequel to Pride and Prejudice. (I have avoided the 1940's adaptation of the movie as their costumes are so not period its positively menopausal.)

Therefore I seem particularly able to mainline Elizabeth Bennett and indeed the Facebook Application "Which Jane Austen Heroine are You?" proclaimed me thus.

Now if there are even any men left reading this posting let me assure you, you will like it too. We merrily, rip the piss of bodice rippers so you will have something to laugh about, and of course 6 breasts to oggle at too. The Regency Period was decidedly more racy than the following Victorian Period, though any beach sex a la Dubai is highly unlikely.

Here's a poem I wrote a number of years ago which serves as inspiration...

Durex and Durability

With much ruminating

On the possibility of a suitable mating

I have decided to abandon all internet dating

And all maternal advice

Instead leaving the remainder of my life

To be written by Jane Austen

Then I can abandon all thoughts of what’s in

Store for my nuptial match

And place all faith in the fact that

Although I’m penniless with a meddlesome mother

And all the family fortunes have gone to my half-brother

I’m charming and actually quite bright for a girl,

Skin radiant like a lustrous pearl

Though compared to my sister I’m somewhat plain

I can discuss Ovid, Shakespeare, Madame Bovary

I can cross-stitch and play the pianoforte

And I’ll be one and twenty years again

I’ll not hold a man’s hand unless we are engaged

Je parle un petit peu de Francais

I’ll speak my mind and wear an Empire Line dress

Which will look fine as I’ll have much smaller breasts

And then I’ll spy you at a Regiment Dance

All strapping and breeches, an aspiring Lance

Corporal, who at first sight I am certain is AWFUL,

Stuffy and rigid with a sword in your sphincter

I’d die rather than rely on you to end my spinster-hood

So to clear my head I take a brisk walk in the woods

Where in a manner entirely feminine

I fall and twist my ankle much to my chagrin

Which is a word I’ll use quite often

And just when the F word comes to my lips

Which as we all know is fiddledee fiddlesticks

You’ll swoop me up onto your trusty steed named Triton

On which I’ll perch side-saddle so as not to rupture my hymen

And I’ll suddenly realise you are the one

And that you’re a distant cousin of Richard Branson

With a staggering two squillion a year trust fund

And a gorgeous brother for my sister, two for the price of one

SO we’ll have a combined wedding garlanded in flowers

Dance Cotillions, Reels and the Macarena for hours

And then start on our new no doubt blissful life

You as my husband and me as your wife

A beautiful English Country Scene

But with one marked difference…..

Better oral hygiene

AND here are the details for the show:

Auckland based Improv troupe ConArtists are delighted to announce the world premiere of Austen Found: The Undiscovered Musicals of Jane Austen for the New Zealand International Improv Festival. They are equally delighted to be invited to this inaugural festival at Bats Theatre and thinks it’s a simply super idea.

Come November 28 the cream of Auckland’s Improv talent will be swooning, romping, weeping and cross-stitching their way through Regency Shenanigans in an entirely unscripted and never before seen, or again seen, hour of Austen excitement. Suitors, meddlesome mothers, breeches, lower classes and surprisingly well educated girls will all paint a vivid picture in song, accompanied of course by the charming pianoforte.

Daintily treading the Bats boards will be veteran performer Lori Dungey, one of the founding players of Theatresports in New Zealand. Lori has performed all over the World and has represented both New Zealand and Canada in international tournaments including the World Cup of Theatresports in Germany in 2006 and was victorious in the Improvaganza Masters of the Universe Tournament in Edmonton in 2003. She has also just returned from yet another stint at OneRing.Net in Germany where she represents for the Hobbits.

Greg Cooper has been improvising from the tender age of 13 and was a member of the Court Jesters in Christchurch before moving to Auckland and Conartists. He is a veteran of hundreds of improv and dramatic performances and has also represented New Zealand overseas most memorably as a member of the World Cup winning team in Los Angeles in 1994. He can also be seen in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe representing for the Fauns.

Penny Ashton also began improvising at 13 when Greg’s team regularly beat hers. She is a comedienne and actor and has performed both Improv and her solo comedy shows in Australia, the UK, USA, Canada, Singapore and Germany. She too represented NZ at the World Cup in 2006 and at the Improvaganza in 2003. She can also be seen in three Shortland St episodes in 2000 representing for the Gynaecologists.

Stayci Taylor is a graduate of the John Bolton Theatre School in Melbourne and has trained with Phillipe Gaulier in London and Paris. She has travelled extensively throughout NZ and the world with improv and also with her comedy troupe The Rhonda Movement. She was a founding member of an all female group in Vancouver called Those Chicks Who Do Improv and is a senior writer for Maori Programming in NZ, recently receiving a complaint that her writing is too saucy, of which she is proud. She represents for the Lesbian Marathoners.

Austen Found – The Undiscovered Musicals of Jane Austen

Bats Theatre, November 28^th, 7pm

Bookings: book@bats.co.nz

2008-11-09T17:36:00.003+13:00

Short Sighted Change

Hurrruummmph.

Hurrummpph harruummpph harruummpphh

Poos and wees.

Hurumph.

I have a bone to pick with Mr Barack Obama. With his banging on and on about change some people in NZ took it all a little seriously and "changed" our government too. As my friend said on her status update "Change is the new "c" word".

I can understand wanting change when your president is a war mongering liar who reads children's books upside down and says things like: ""Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we". BUT when your leader is a top chick who just happens to have a deep voice and bad teeth everyone wants to "Kill that bitch."

I simply do not understand the level of hatred hurled in Helen Clark's direction. You would think she was going around the country digging up people's grannies and defiling them with crucifixes the way some people bang on about her. She was always lovely kind and sweet, oh OK so maybe not BUT whenever she wasn't I'm sure it was just coz of her period. Yes well.

BUT whatever the reason for the vitriol we are stuck with National again, along with their mincing chihuahua, the paso doble patrician, Rodney Hide, and their unfeasibly quiffed Jesus Fish Flip-Flop Artist, Peter Dunne. AARRRGGGHHH. Pack of twits the lot of them.

I think I might move to Ohio, now that's a place known for its progressive leftist governance.

Nah I'll stay in Auckland Central, a national electorate for the FIRST TIME EVER (thanks Electorate Vote Green) and be a horn in their side.

I even got a little teary when Helen Clark resigned! OK who am I kidding I out and out cried. Man I even surprised myself with that one, maybe she is a lesbian after-all and I fancy her. EEEwwwwwwww OK OK, now even as much as I love Helen Clark that's a mental image I'm grappling with. Let's just say I think she did a top job. I bet her hubby is rapt. He can get on with his clandestine homo escapades unencumbered and will never have to answer the question; "Do you like sex" from the Right Wing News Elite, oh sorry I meant The NZ Herald.

In fact I reckon there were a few sighs of relief. Judith Tizard mentioned her garden needed doing, Derek Fox has a Maori Media empire to rule over and Winston Peters needs to fuck off and die.

Sorry...did I write that out loud. Ooops.

Still his somewhat drunken speech mentioning the wonders of "democwashy" was priceless and when he pretended to forget Simon Bridges' name there was much hilarity at my Potluck Dinner. The new National MP for Tauranga is only 31, he was still pooing his pants and growing teeth when Winston fought his way into parliament in 1978, and he STILL trounced Winnie by 10 000 votes. Oh he knew his name alright.

ANYWAYS the die has been cast, the people have spoken and unfortunately lots of them were dickheads. BUT people often are. Some of you reading might even think I am a dickhead, but then you're a dickhead so who cares.

I look forward to this brave new wonderful world of fulfilled promises, higher wages, increased literacy, less crime and more Tangos. Hey maybe Rodney can be the Foreign Minister and solve peace in Israel....

Dancing with the Hezbollah's.

We will see.

2008-11-06T09:54:00.002+13:00

Proposition Hate

Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, fuck.

I am starting to think I need to stop reading the news of the world online as it's getting my intestines in a twist. Just when we think we can rejoice in hope and optimism with Obama's inspirational win in the USA, along comes the passing of Proposition 8 to fuck me right off again.

So yet again gay marriage in California is banned, by a slim majority of 52% to 48%. The total cost of campaigning is now estimated at something like $70 Million US and it won't stop there. Opponents of the Proposition have immediately filed a law suit to contest this hollow victory so the financial hemorrhaging will continue to gush like Oprah Winfrey interviewing Tom Cruise. The wording of Prop 8 specifically stated that if passed it would "remove the rights" of gays to marry, and as it is anti-constitutional to deny American citizens rights, this is grounds for a law suit.

And in fact I don't doubt that if denied the pro-8's would have probably filed suit too, and so the only people to win in this contest currently are likely to be lawyers, printers, T-Shirt makers and button pressers.

And so hooray, America's goats can rest easy and the term marriage remains defined as man and woman because as we all know the foundation of the family is rooted in one man and one woman bringing up their own kids.

What total poppycock.

Anyone clinging to the nuclear family as the status quo in the western world are as deluded as Sarah Palin expecting love in a condom factory.

Babies come from all over the bloody place, even delivered on your doorstep in Austria. Marriage means diddlysquat to many in the world when it comes to procreation so stop clinging to semantics.

Also the meanings of words change. Gay no longer means happy, a faggot is no longer a group of sticks and that word that rhymes with wigger now means friend or brother to those who can use it. Semantics evolves, get over it.

OK I'm even bored with it all now.

The end.

2008-10-29T13:13:00.006+13:00

An Indecent Proposal

I'd like to make a Proposition.

Well actually I'd like to unmake one. Proposition 8 to be exact.

Now for those of you unaware in California right now is a debate raging over gay marriage. It was legalised by the Supreme Court in May 2008 after a long history of nuptials and annulments which included the Governator twice Terminating a chance to make it legal. (Though once the Supreme Court's decision came through Arnie suddenly decided to invite America's gays to come and be married there to boost the economy. Ahhhh capitalism.)

BUT the god-botherers and proponents of that old chestnut; "It's not natural" have gotten their chastity belts in a twist and have rallied to have a Proposition added to the Election Ballot that as these marriages are not between a man and a woman they are unconstitutional.

It is called Proposition 8. Eight presumably being chosen as 6 x 6 x 6 = 216, which divided by 27 = 8. I know! So obvious....or was that tenuous...anyways I digress.

So cue Hue and Cry with both sides ratcheting up their campaigning leading up to the election. On one side, or shall we say camp, we have the Gaynesses attempting to sway Joe Average Californian that Adam and Steve are just as natural as their botox injections, soy lattes and eco-hybrid SUV's and therefore vote NO. And in the blue corner are those arguing that gay marriage will lead to Nanna being defiled by the Devil's pitchfork and Little Johnny fellating a goat. (Guess which side I'm on!)

Funny how it's considered not natural for men to have sex not for procreation but many think it's perfectly fine to waste their perfectly good seed into a latex sheath or ejaculate into a pink devoid of eggs. Also funny that many of these same people think Lesbian sex is perfectly natural, though prefer it if their breasts are not, and that the lesbians concerned are called Pandora Peaks and Little Oral Annie.

Given that its America of course we also have the celebrities wading into the ...um breech. Ellen DeGeneres and Portia De Rossi were recently wed, so was George Tekai (aka Captain Sulu on the Enterprise) to his long time partner and Brad Pitt (though not obviously not gay, sorry lads) donated $100 000 to the campaign.

They have their work cut out for them however as churches rally to raise funds in one of the costliest campaigns in America after the Billion Dollar US election race itself. The Mormons are taking a break from cycling and getting especially stuck in donating up to 70% of the cashflow and mobilising from Utah by emailing Californians and holding prayer meetings to influence voters.

People have even been quoting as saying this is more important that the General Election itself and that incredibly:

"If gay marriage is allowed to stand, some evangelicals suggest, it would force churches to marry gays, force schools to teach gay marriage, settling off a snowball effect and opening the door to pedophilia and bestiality. "A person could say, 'I love my dog, why should we not be married?'" said Anna Good, a member of the Skyline Westlean Church."

Holy Fuck.

Yeah that's right, as I said, fellating goats.

Of course Sarah Palin, (or as I prefer to call her Satan..... though actually no, I don't believe Satan exists and as much as I don't want her too she obviously does so I will amend that to Alaskan Goose Killing Drill Slut) is all in favour of Prop 8. However the fact she is also in favour of Abstinence Only Sex Education and has a pregnant 17 year old daughter proves how much her opinions are rooted in reality so who gives a fuck what she thinks.

All of this is amusing too in light of the fact that California has previously been very progressive with Marital shenanigans:

In 1948, the California Supreme Court became the first state court in the country to strike down a law prohibiting interracial marriage. It was the only state supreme court to do so before the United States Supreme Court invalidated all such laws in 1967. The California Supreme Court held that "marriage is ... something more than a civil contract subject to regulation by the state; it is a fundamental right of free men ... Legislation infringing such rights must be based upon more than prejudice and must be free from oppressive discrimination to comply with the constitutional requirements of due process and equal protection of the laws" (Perez v. Sharp, 32 Cal.2d 711, 714-715 (1948)). The California Supreme Court explained that "the right to marry is the right to join in marriage with the person of one's choice" (Id., at p. 715).^[7]

BUT in 1977 they added that whole pesky man AND woman things and are now they are looking to set that in concrete. SO I would like to throw my 2 cents into this debate and say let's all hold hands and form a prayer circle and send negative thoughts to all those Californians who are so switched into the spiritual realm, making them vote NO when it counts.

Then the world's goats can look forward to some seriously good times ahead.

PS I am also a Civil Union Celebrant by the way, this is all an elaborate advertisement for my coupling services so if any of you wanna get hitched in wonderful Civil Union friendly NZ, get in contact!

PPS And now when I think maybe NZ isn't that progressive.... I mean it's funny actually that homophobic California may get Gay Marriage when NZ didn't seem to be able to stomach that either and had to go the Civil Union option. Just a thought.

2008-10-20T16:55:00.006+13:00

Rohypnol Girl

If the amount of posts on this blog this year was equivalent to the number of fence posts in a High Country Sheep Farm, then I'd be to farming what Madonna is to Marriage.

But then again if I was to set about being a farmer I'd lose about as much money to the man as she is about to to the Guy so all is even perhaps.

BUT I have decided to leap back on the blogging bicycle and hope that I don't fall off and scrape my knee and have to go crying to mummy. I have fallen off two bicycles this year so this again is probably a shit analogy but let's call all this metaphoric twittering me casting off my training wheels.

Both those bikes were situated in Canada, so I will blame the fact I was upside down in the Northern Hemisphere and on the wrong side of the road for my falls from grace. In the first instance I was in Montreal showing how easy it was to jump up on a curb and in the second I was in Saskatoon attempting to cycle with a swathe of Busty Rhymes with MC Hot Pink Posters under my arm.

Yes, I'm a dick.

I have been back in New Zealand for a whole 3 weeks now after my four month tour of Canada, (where I also visited Canada's famed "Town that Rhymes with Fun", Regina....hehehehe) and predictably I am bored. I guess I am incapable of relaxing. STILL as I'm sure everyone outside of NZ is well aware we are in full election mode, like some other country, and so there is quite a lot of political rhetoric to wade through to attempt to find the truth.

Either way I'll still vote for Labour. I personally am quite fond of Prime Minister Helen Clark and no I don't give a shit what clothes she wears, how she does her hair, how her teeth are somewhat askew, that she is childless (Oh how oh how can she be a real woman....) or that she has a deep voice. I think all of this is ACTUALLY entirely irrelevant in being the leader of Aotearoa. Can she govern. Fuck yes. End of sexist story.

I also don't think; "It's time for a change" is any reason to vote for anything. If that were the case then it would be time for the All Blacks to start winning games or TVNZ to start funding NZ Comedy with any regularity. And is that about to happen, I doubt it.

But anyway.

I am home and have decided to stay in NZ for the bulk of next year touring Godzone. This may be good timing in the face of the NZ dollars tumble and the Global Credit Crunch, I just hope people feel the need for a laugh from time to time. Apparently during that great time of a Vaudeville boom in the 30's there was some depression thingy going on, so fingers crossed a good dick joke will keep the populace amused when cheese costs the same as a Breast Augmentation.

I will miss some of North America's peculiarities however.

For example despite their propensity for being very loud and the fact the movie The Aristocrats hails from there, North Americans tend to be somewhat prudish. Take swearing for example. If you were to use the word cunt or retard (a personal favourite) onstage in Canada OR America it's like you have defiled Chelsea Clinton onstage with a miniature Statue of Liberty. There is a collective tightening of sphincter in the room and an audible silence. As you can imagine I therefore enjoyed using it with reckless regularity.

Their dating habits are also curiously entertaining.

I was in LA at the end of my trip (having just offended a whole bunch of teenagers with the C word) and attempting to get into a Nightclub. My friend's friend name was NOT on the door as promised and so we waited for 40 minutes before being allowed in. (Eddie Murphy even got in before us! I mean really, hadn't the bouncer seen Dr Doolittle AND he was wearing sunglasses at night, twat.)

When we eventually got in I was accosted by a man who was so drunk he could hardly focus on my tits. He grabbed my arm, pushed it and me up against a pillar and proceeded to read me a pick-up line.....from his cellphone! What romance in today's digital age. He was probably an out of work actor sick of learning all those lines that never got him anywhere.

I saw another wildly romantic man in Canada's famed West Edmonton Mall who was wearing a T-Shirt that said: "I may not be Mr Right....BUT I'll FUCK you till he comes along." Wow, I want me one of him. I wonder too how often that works out for him as well. Woman throwing themselves at him saying: "Alright I'm desperate, let's fuck."

Yes well.

BUT the man who takes the cake, muffin and pikelet was the one I encountered in beautiful Vancouver. A man I met while I was .... asleep. Yes having imbibed a little too much Fanta I decided my friend's couch was the perfect place to pass out after a bowl of All Bran at 3am.

So I did.

The next thing you know I am being awoken ........... by someone kissing me. Nothing like been woken up by the gentle lapping of a strangers tongue in your mouth to make you feel sexy. I blinked up at this person WHO I HAD NEVER MET IN MY LIFE and asked him what he was doing. He replied; "Can I kiss you again?" to which I said, as any self-respecting girl would, "Ok". SO he did, and then it began to dawn on me that this was a little, um how to say it.... um WRONG.

He pulled back and said those words every girl dreams of; "Uh sorry I'm just really really horny." To which I replied "Ewwwwwwww" and ran off and got into bed with my mate for a night of platonic hugging.

CAN YOU FREAKIN BELIEVE THAT!?!?!

I guess he had trawled the bars and supermarkets all night and found no drink he could spike so came home and was beside himself with joy as there was a girl on his couch, and he didn't even need to waste a Rufie. I mean if I'm asleep I can't scream right and If "No means no" then I guess "No no, means yes!". I just wish I'd bitten off his tongue, which actually would have helped with my munchies too.

ANYWAYS I am back in NZ and will soon be trawling bars and supermarkets myself looking for a NZ man who doesn't pack a wad of Rohypnol next to his condom from 1995 in his wallet. Till then I have Winston Peters to keep me sexually satisfied and highly amused.

Oh dear, I think I just made myself ever so slightly sick in my mouth.

Toodles.

The only person who kisses me when I'm awake. Victoria Fringe Festival Dressing Room!

2008-05-24T18:34:00.002+12:00

I am thinking maybe I should change the name of this to slobspot.com, so has been my absolute lack of blogging. I have a reasonably good excuse, what with 2 months of 6 nights a week performing in Australia and now again preparing for my Canadian World Domination Tour Version 2.0.

But really I'm just shit.

So why start up again? Why defibrillate the dead carcass like Abby Lockhart, why stir the limpid pink dribblings back to vivid hot life, why inject adrenalin straight into the stone cold heart?

Well why not really.

Where else to get I get to use such stupid over-exaggerated language and blather on about things unaware if anyone is even reading. Where else do I get to assert my opinions like someone gives a toss and where else do I get to constantly say VOTE LABOUR in an election year.

Here.

VOTE LABOUR.

So there.

Uhhhh OK so now I guess I have to say something.

MMMmmmm.

Ummmmmm.

I already said VOTE LABOUR huh?

OK so yeah I'll be back when I think of something, in the meantime.... a poem:

There once was a woman so drunk

All others she met where soon sunk

As the alcohol vapours

Her skin emanated

Where like drinking straight gin from a sump.

That's a tribute to my last few weekends, final night of the Comedy Festival followed by the Final Night of the Auckland Writer's and Reader's Festival culminated in a sore Liver for me.

I don't think I did anything untoward, but one night I did wake up half naked in my bed .... upside down. I was thankfully alone and not with a fully naked midget...... (Don't pretend it hasn't happened to you.)

Bis spater.

2008-02-17T08:18:00.002+13:00

Due to unscheduled engineering works we at Air NZ would like to inform you that we are fucking up your day indefinitely. We know that you got up at 4.45am for a 7.50 am flight but we are taking sadistic pleasure in informing you that it won't leave now til 10am.

This is particularly enjoyable for us as we are aware that you will then land in Melbourne 10 minutes before your scheduled flight to Adelaide and there's no shit show in hell you'll make that. We suggest you ring Virgin Blue and spend 10 minutes on the phone at a cost of $36 NZ as the man didn't think to inform you that there was an 0800 number from NZ, we hope he'll then try and make you pay an additional $100 to change your flight even though when you ring back and talk to a woman you'll discover you don't have to and needn't have talked to him for 10 minutes at all.

Oh and have a nice day.

I fucking hate people.

HOT PINK BITS RIDES AGAIN!

ADELAIDE FRINGE FESTIVAL – Pastry Bakery – The Old Balfours Pie Factory,  Elizabeth St
Feb 22nd – March 16th (No Mondays) 10.30pm  $22 / $18 ($10 Previews Feb 22nd and 23rd and $15 Sunday Nights)
Bookings at Fringe Tix: www.adelaidefringe.com.au or 08 8418 8666

MELBOURNE COMEDY FESTIVAL – Comedy @ Trades – The Quilt Room – Corner Lygon and Victoria St
March 19th – April 13th $22 / $18 (No Mondays) 9.15pm ($10 Previews March 19th and 20th)
Bookings:   https://www.comedyattrades.com.au/ or (03 9659 3569 Noon - 6pm Tuesday – Sunday)

2008-01-07T00:07:00.000+13:00

Well that earlier Dec 2nd wee post is somewhat embarrassing when one is confronted with the reality of ones drinking. For a start one starts speaking like a twat using 'one' all the time as if 'one' was someone else.

So I'll dispense of that now, here's some poetry:

For the holiday season next year
I think I'll just save time
Fill a drip and IV with Festive Cheer
And shoot it up mainline

And another malaise of this season goes like this:

It’s official there is no god
If there was a benevolent one
One who watched over us and secured our peace of mind
One who protected us from the daily dealings with the devil
Then at no time would any woman
Ever have to go
Swimsuit shopping

Yes well, I do need a new swimsuit and believe I found one online. When you are blessed, as I am, with Kate Mosses missing bits from her breasts, finding a swimsuit that doesn't make you look like you're polishing your knees with your mammaries is difficult. All the charming, dainty fabulous costumes are wildly unsuitable unless you simply don't care that your areola pokes out the side.

Therefore Bravissimo.co.uk is an hourglass' 20/20 sight perfect shop. And I highly recommend it.

Christmas and NY's were lovely thanks for asking. Christmas was spent with a great family up the Sky Tower, gorging on a buffet and ripping the heads off prawns which is something I have discovered I don't like at all. I don't like having to prepare my own food in a restaurant, I mean the next thing they'll be asking me to fillet some steak and slaughter a Hummus. Honestly.

NY was spent luxuriating in frankly gorgeous weather on the Coromandel at Whitianga and various beaches surrounding. Matarangi was truly stunning, and not only for being the beach that killed Nicky Watson's dog. Poor wee Cricket, but his demise got more media coverage than Benazir A Buto's so enough of him.

NY's itself was spent pogo-ing at Mickeys The Irish Bar at the School Disco. Yep it was all 70's and 80's so we shook our groovethings, were dancing queens (literally) found our Sweet Dreams and Thrilled the locals. I think the younguns were a bit scared of the crazed townies fuelled by Turbo Shandies which are Becks and a Smirnoff Ice in a pint glass. Sounds hideous, tastes just like lemonade and makes you dance like crazy bitches. Sweet.

Back to the real world now of preparing for the Adelaide Fringe and the Melbourne Comedy Festival. Buuuuut I just might make it to the Coromandel one more time before I go.

Here's paradise............

Matarangi

2007-12-19T00:46:00.000+13:00

A slightly Angry Reaction to a News Story

Lashings of Bullshit

Today in breaking news a man in Saudi Arabia has been sentenced to 200 lashes
For daring to be seen with a woman who was not his wife
And so was set upon by a marauding group of she extremists with a knife
And forced to perform indecencies, as the woman had become frenzied at the sight of his uncovered knees
It was stated in court that he was asking for all he got, that women can’t be expected to be uninfected by their primal urges, that their deity made them that way and their carnal surges are a result of man’s original sin, because when Adam bit the apple, he got a taste for skin, and his whole existence became consumed by tempting.
When the man appealed, that he was the victim in this case, the judge in her wisdom decided that this disgraceful behaviour shall be made respectable, by the removal of the man’s penis and testicles.
That the “operation” shall be conducted by an elderly man with a rusty tin can, that at its completion there will be a small opening where urine can escape, and that if he ever managed to be married and find a mate, his wife and master shall rip it open at her discretion and he shall take it and be thankful because of his transgressions
When Amnesty International appealed for sanctions to be utilised
To try to stop brutality against men in everyday life
The superpowerful women were in fits, entered free trade agreements and awarded Saudi the Olympics
They then winked at their boy secretaries
Told them to wear tighter trousers to show of their knees
Ordered their husbands a nice bunch of daisies
Then headed down to Sexy Love you Longtime Ladies
For lapdances with solo dads trying to feed his babies
Coz their Mum buggered off to sew her wild oats
Left him stranded and pregnant, battered and broke
And convinced he’s worth nothing just a stupid dumb bloke
Then the superpowerful went back to work the next day
And illegalised Abortion, sodomy and foreplay
And homos and dildos and buttplugs and bi’s
Because their deity told them to despise
Difference
But they congratulated themselves that they were superior to the Arabs since
They never sentenced people to lashes
Just slaughtered thousands in black gold-digging clashes
SO the boys were pinched on their tight little butts, and men were raped because they dared to suggest it wasn’t good enough
That women abdicated control of their bodies
Because they were powerless in the face of hot male totty
And men everywhere suffered and their bodies were sold
And at the Olympics America won 58 golds.

2007-12-07T00:46:00.001+13:00

GO and see Complexions Dance Show at the Aotea Centre til Saturday, or whatever town it comes to near you.

It's like totally choice.

And has really hot guys in not much.

And amazing girls in not much either.

Oh and yeah social commentary conveyed through an evocative mix of dance, music and multi-culturalism that tingles the follicles and moulds the mind.

But yeah, hot guys in not much.

Wicked.

2007-12-02T00:19:00.000+13:00

Some minor poetic musings to pass the time, OK so it's a saturday night, so what!

You are like a pinata

Your insides are in doubt

But I think if I bash you hard enough

Some good stuff might come out.

Thank you, thank you.

On watching poetry at the Edinburgh Festival

I find it's the short ones I often like best of all.

And then ...

There once in the City of Sails

Was a lack of all adequate males

So to ease the drought

The women went out

And boosted all battery sales

Mary Mary Quite Contrary How Does Your Garden Grow?

She replies:

As the name suggests, fuck off.

OK that's enough I think.

Tonight's poetic musings have been brought to you by the numbers 6 and 9 and the letters r.e.d. w.i.n.e.

Choice bro,

2007-11-27T22:17:00.000+13:00

OH and one more thing, I was watching two episodes back to back of Californication on sunday, which is apt as everyone in it is generally on their back, or doggie, or being fellated or considering vaginal rejuvenation surgery, and I got really annoyed.

Yes yes yes it's all very funny, but why oh why do they have to try so hard. I laughed when David Duchovney's (admittedly still incredibly hot) character asked someone if he wanted to be cock punched, oh ho ho, punched....in the cock....hehehehe, but was perplexed when another man was asked if he wanted to be dick punched in the same episode. Uhhh you already used that joke.

Also AS PER USUAL all the women in the show are naked and jiggling their pert titties, or writhing around on top of Duchovney, whereas he always remained covered up. Admittedly when he covered his man gristle with a priceless painting that he'd just puked on I gave them points for original loin cloth, but nonetheless it's always the chicks with the skin out.

So far so normal, but what really got to me was when Dave's character mused with despair on why all of Hollywood's women are hell bent on trying to destroy themselves with botox and plastic surgery as if he was some sort of wise benevolent feminist sage. HHHmmmm I wonder why, maybe so they can get a part on his skinflick show coz there aint no blubber bound pig dogs bouncing on his cock before it gets punched that's for sure.

Wow, anger Penelope.

Sorry Mum. Better now.

ANYWAYS, and then when the woman who got fired got her job back by playing the porn princess with the Jewish ugly dude from Sex in the City I got sooooo angry I just about turned it off!

BUUUUT I didn't, I mean Duchovney is just so damned hot! What.... I'm objectifying him now you say? Well I never said I was consistent and it's my matriarchal right to objectify a specimen who has subjugated us as a collective voice since time immemorial.

Or something like that anyways, oooh gotta go, time for episode four, I wonder if he'll Knob Numchuka someone?

2007-11-26T23:49:00.000+13:00

Oh my word what you must think of me! Lackadaisical to say the very least but I promise I have a good excuse.

Well good-ish.

Yes you see I have been convincing myself it would be wrong and wasteful for me to pick up this piece of pretty silver bullshit called a MacBook Pro and biff it out the window to be smashed to smithereens under a passing Range Rover's oversized tyres so that all it's irritating smugness won't amount to a hill of pixels in this crazy PC world.

What, me, having issues switching codes?

Never.

Ahem, yes.

I freely admit that after roughly ten years of getting under the covers with Bill and the rest of the PC Gang I am pretty down with their way of doing things. I can twiddle with smtp's, establish flat wireless networks, install patches to rectify glitches and find just the porn I'm looking for pretty adroitly on my XP laptop. I was reasonably happy with the state of the relationship, sure Bill could lift some weights and do something about his style of glasses, and to be sure sometimes I was worried about what I was catching off the general viral public, but for the most part it all worked for me.

But then I succumbed to the hype that is APPLE, personified by the slightly geeky funny guy on those condescending ads.

My sister teaches IT in schools and goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on .... about how "amazing" macs are, how "intuitive" macs are, how "sexy" macs are (it's a laptop for fuck's sake) so I figured there must be something in that so I took the plunge.

Yes well.

I'm sure it may be all of those things but all I am currently is well f****d off with this muthaf***ing piece of s**t. Apparently as a PC user who knows quite a lot I will get even more annoyed than most converts as I have to "unlearn" so much and "learn" some more. It's a steep curve to be sure to find out fonts don't work that you've become attached to, half of your music are .wma files that won't work, DVD playing can be problematic and as for importing contacts from Outlook, well, you'd have a better chance of getting Victoria Beckham to swallow.......food that is.

Yes I know there are solutions to all this that I am currently downloading, converting or stabbing, but it still annoys me.

I had a session today with another Mac Zealot and he showed me some very cool stuff absolutely, and I am looking forward to getting down to graphics and Garageband and stuff but tonight I'm throwing my toys out the cot and saying "It's not FAAAAAIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR".

BUT I guess unlike John Howard I still have a seat in my house to try and sort it all out from and unlike Victoria Beckham I have a bum to sit on and so here I am now at 12.30am navigating through the mire that is MAC waiting to see the light.

Well I can see lots of lights under the keyboard, they're pretty, and I can always take a picture of me kissing myself on the photo booth, and I can chat on skype using the inbuilt microphone under the speakers, and I can marvel at the intuitive nature of this sexy machine whilst I navigate it to www.bangamidget.com - Nice.

2007-11-15T00:02:00.000+13:00

A Little Celebration of all Things Nearly Summer.....

Jet Planes

I love London, the West End, Leicester Square
Covent Garden, luke warm beer
Prostitutes’ postcard’s in telephone boxes
“It’s my blaaaardy right to tewwwworise foxes”
Culture oozing from foot-worn stones
Westminster Abbey packed with famous bones
Page Three buxom bimbo bints
The Thames twinkling with effluent
Strobe lights pumping drum n bass
Diamond geezers, rain for days
The Sun Screams “Prince Willy’s Orgy with Aunty Anne”
The Guardian “Vegan Gay Whales Saved Again!”
The Tate, the National the V&A
Trafalgar, Regent’s, Kew, St James
New Look, Top Shop, Dorothy Perkins
Lloyd Webber, Les Mis, a bloody great gherkin
BBC, Top of the Pops, ITV
Posh n Becks, kinky Sex with Tory MP
Millennia Domes of culture ……just waiting there
But you know what, right now, I just don’t care
Coz it’s the first warm nearly summer’s day
And London’s half a world away
From my grassy knoll on Point Chev Beach
Clean(ish) salt water drying off my feet
Sucking on the season’s first Pineapple Fruju
As toddlers in Gumboots toddle in the nude
Ozone's hole plugged by Pohutakawa
Wishing I’d worn my jandals, as I gaze out on the harbour
Munching on milk bottles and jet planes
Smiling in the light breeze, coz it’s nearly summer again.

2007-10-31T12:07:00.000+13:00

More Snaps to Come When Blogger Stops Skitzing - PS the way photos go up on here drives me MENTAL!

Hurricane Kevin Enjoys a Magharita

Daddy in Cancun

Backpacking Glamour, Mine was the Top Bunk

Isla Mujeres Clings to Its Palm Trees After Two Hurricanes

Tulum Ruins and the Carribean

Hahahahahaha

2007-10-22T04:14:00.000+13:00

Well well well all good tours must come to an end, and as I sit in my cousin's guest room on a beautiful LA morning (are there any other) I can't believe four months has flown by so fast.

In 14 hours or so I fly back to the Land of the Long White Cloud and I can't wait to clap eyes on my tired Mitsubishi Galant, my gorgeous red bedroom and all my fabulous friends. I've loved being away but packing and unpacking 34 times in 120 days can take a toll on a girl's nail polish.

In that time I've visited 17 cities from Saskatoon to Cancun, taken ten flights (must buy some carbon credits), performed my show 36 times and drunk more beer than Homer Simpson at a work function.

I've already waxed hysterical on my performance tour, but as I was far too busy sucking back pina coladas and eating chocolate chicken in Mexico, you my three dear readers have remained in the dark about my travels like a mariachi with a too big sombrero, so let's start at the very principo.

I landed in Mexico City a month ago and then promptly failed to meet my Youth Hostels shuttle as I was standing at the wrong bank. In my defence TWO separate people told me I was in the right place so I choose to believe they were retarded and not me.

Mexico City is very cool, it has 20 million people and 40 million statues of Jesus for sale on the street. (Sidebar, in Mexico Jesus is in a lot more agony than other ones I've seen. His crucifixes are dripping in blood and gashes unlike our nicely sanitised ones which makes death by being nailed to a stake as irksome as a wee thorn in the side.)

It also has fine museums, nice parks, thankfully non-rabid stray dogs and men who rip you off when you go punting on the river. Luckily they also have women who float along in weeny boats next to you selling you Coronas on the river so my annoyance was nicely dulled. All in all I had a lovely time there and was bought beer by a group of International Earthquake Specialists who I managed not to ask; "Did the earth move for you," remarkable restraint I think.

From there I bussed off to Oaxaca, a gorgeous Colonial town where I partied hardy at a great Youth Hostel and where I met my travelling husband John. We were to see each other on again off again for three weeks thereby outlasting many Hollywood Marriages.

My next stop was Zipolite but not before a harrowing five hour bus ride on winding roads and overtaking on blind corners with a general cunt of a driver. I believe he has a bet on how many people he can make throw up on an average ride and I fear I was a statistic.

SIDEBAR - In Mexico you do not put the toilet paper down the toilet, oh no, instead you place it in a small bin next to the toilet. As such I anticipated that many toilets would make Quentin Tarantino's language seem clean. BUT I was generally pleasantly surprised at the state of hygiene in MOST situations. However when I tottered out of this bus looking for the Banos in a small cafe on top of a mountain my luck ran out. It was the bathroom equivalent of a teenagers bedroom, disgusting, smelly and with a thick layer of pubes. There was no way I was going to throw up in that toilet as the splash back would have been such a mixture of dysentery, herpes and cystitis that i would have been quarantined from NZ. So I did what any good Kiwi girl would do and barfed in the bushes. All fucking class me mate.

ANYWAY Zipolite was very relaxed EXCEPT the water was trying to kill me, the current in the water was pulling me so hard I should have sold admission for men to take a dip. What I did instead was some judicious swimming and hallelujah I was finally chilling on a beach. This was helped by the fact that a Chicken sandwich and a beer cost a mere $2.50 US. Choice.

Next stop was San Cristobal de las Casas, another gorgeous Colonial town where I go to know the afore-mentioned Nicaraguan Percussionist, and let's just say "He Banged". I also found some lovely jewellery there, ate a Greek meal in a Thai Restaurant, watched a didgeridoo and climbed two sets of stairs because they were there. Edmund Hilary would be proud, there was no other reason to climb them as the view from the top was shit. I also visited a Mayan Medicine Museum here and must remember to suggest using Black Spider Fangs to help my next boyfriend if he has swollen testicles. MMMMmmm.

After San Cristobal I ventured off to the fabulous Palenque ruins and the happeningist hippy place to stay - El Panchan, which is a groovy little cluster of places to stay just outside of town. I laid my hat in an establishment called The Jungle Palace and I loved it. I had a hut with only thick mesh for walls and a little stream tinkling behind it. It was a truly relaxing place to stay with cheap massages, cheap beers and cheap boys. (OK there weren't any of the latter but I was hoping.) It also had Howler Monkeys outside my window at 5am, THOUGH they should actually be called "Wake you up in a panic with their strangled screaming followed by weird guttural grunts" monkeys, and I'm glad I'd been warned about them first because if I'd just heard that out of the blue I may well have lost my refried beans in my pants. BUT apart from mental wildlife and spiders the size of my face living in the pooey paper basket by the toilet, I had a great time. Oh and yeah the ruins were fab too.

From there it was off to Tulum, the most beautiful Beach in Mexico that I saw ANNNND the most expensive. A diet Coke for $2.50 US??? Like fuck, I lasted here two days then headed to Isla Mujeres.

Isla was a special place for two friends of mine as they met there and are now married. I therefore slapped on my best Husband Luring outfit and camped out in the common room 24/7. Ahhhahahahah as if I'm that desperate to be married..........yes well, I did instead drink COPIOUS amounts of beer and cocktails there, and danced til 3 and 4am etc... for five nights and loved it. I made some lovely friends and then had to tear myself away to go and pick up my Dad.

Yes that's right Dad.

You see my mother was away finding herself in South America so my Dad decided, hey, why don't I go and bother my daughter on her Mexican Shag Fest. Luckily the Shag Fest was having as much success as Britney Spears in the Mother of the Year Competition so it wasn't too much of an imposition.

We then hung out for a week travelling to Merida, (fantastic outdoor weekend partying), Chichen Itza (Huge ruins where it pissed down with rain and Dad knocked a pile of T-Shirts into the Mud in a shop then ran away), Valladolid (another cute colonial town with underground caves where you swim in Bat crap as they twitter overhead), Playa Del Carmen (Nasty touristy place with a nice beach) and Cancun (where he had to continually say that I was NOT his second wife!).

I had a nice time bonding with Pops and needless to say my standard of accommodation improved drastically. "WHAT, bathroom in my room you say....air-conditioning you say...over $25US you say....I can flush my pooey paper you say....No WE ARE NOT married I say...." etc.. etc...

And so it wound to an end with our final night being a haze of Karaoke, margaritas and sunstroke, a very fitting end to a four month legendary tour I say.

So that's that, I'm coming home and may I say, I can't bloody wait!

Good on ya mates.

Final Sidebar - In Mexico you are constantly harrassed to buy stuff. "Buy my prayer bracelet...buy my beaded necklace...buy my snorkelling trip...buy my pooey paper basket..." etc etc. A lot of people, my father included, got immensely pissed off and frustrated with this BUT I just kept saying "No Gracias". You see I figured that these people earn so much less than me and I'm a bloody poet, so I don't mind them trying to make a peso off me, because they wouldn't be here if the foreigners weren't. We create the industry that so many tourists seem to hate simply by being there, so if you want to luxuriate on a beach and have lunch for $2.50, suck it up I say.

2007-10-07T15:11:00.000+13:00

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

The All Blacks lose again.

Bugger.

I on the other hand am now in the Carribean.

Hooray for me.

2007-10-03T07:29:00.000+13:00

Well I´m a moron.

I am killing time currently in a ciber (sic) cafe in San Cristobel de las Casas as I missed my bus because I had left my passport and Traveller´s Cheques in my hostel´s safe.

Yes, moron.

At least I remembered before getting on the five hour bus ride to the jungle of Pelanque, but yeah dickhead.

I´m having a lovely time in Mexico, though since I have drunk cerveza nearly every single day since July, I am looking forward to hitting the gym when I return.

This is probably the first time I have travelled in a country where not many people at all speak english and it has made for entertaining charades. I have realised I know NADA Spanish and so have pulled faces, held up numerous fingers, asked Donde Esta xyz only to stare blankly when the babbling answer comes back to me with directions, haggled using a dictionary to get numbers and laughed rather a lot. All bueno fun.

I have been in VERY hot to very cold weather, eaten spicy and not so spicy food, drunk mojitos, pina coladas and corona, looked at Mayan Medicine museums, fought the waters of Zipolite that are trying to kill you constantly with its rip tides, chatted to travellers from all over the world and pashed a Nicuraguan Percussionist.

Life is good.

My Dad is arriving in a week. He decided he´d like to come to mexico and here he is determined to take over the Karoke Bars of the Yucutan Peninsula. It might scare off some more percussionists of Latino descent BUT I have a sneaking suspicion he won´t want to sleep in a dorm and might just pay the difference!

Fingers crossed!

2007-09-21T17:47:00.000+12:00

Ahhhh what you people reading this blog search for never ceases to amaze me. Welcome those who were looking for "pink beaver pics", "new zealand slang for tits" and "lindsie ward huge butt". I hope this tickles your fancy even if it doesn't necessarily tickle your pickle.

Moving on.

Well fuck me if it isn't all over rover.

2.5 months of Canadian Touring has flown by faster than a Paris Hilton Jail Sentence. I can hardly believe I've done five fringes, navigated across 5 provinces and performed my show 36 times BUT I have photographic evidence to prove it so it must be true.

I really did have an awesome time all the way across and it was capped off brilliantly with a rollicking final night bash in the Vancouver Fringe Club complete with gnashing of teeth and frothing dance moves.

I am one cool dude.

From Vancouver I jetted back to LA and then for one night I hit the spot where middle America comes to waddle, yeah baby yeah I mean VVVEEEGGGGAAASSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What a totally bizarre, totally cool, totally stupid, totally awesome place it is.

I went with my mate Richard who got us a deal at the Imperial Palace. A somewhat low rent hotel with bad 80's furniture and a rash of Dealer-tainers. What's that you ask.....well read on Macduff.

A dealer-tainer is someone who does celebrity singing impersonations BUT obviously isn't quite good enough to make a living doing that full time so deals as well. The result is a croupier who dresses like Gwen Stefani and jumps up to belt out a number between crap shoots. Awesome.

It was here that on my first ever go on a table I turned $40 into $180 in under an hour playing Texas Hold-em Poker. I mentioned I'm a cool dude didn't I?? There is something wonderful about winning money in Vegas because all of a sudden it's play money. You didn't have it before so it becomes ear marked for frivolous purchases like $15US cocktails, Venetian Gondola Rides and a Chippendale rented by the hour. Awesome.

I had a go on some slots too because how could I resist when it's called "Pennyland"! BUT I really didn't do much gambling but rather soaked in the crazy atmosphere.

One thing I will say is that some of those hotels are quite frankly fucking beautiful. I expected it to be more tacky (and hell go to the Luxor and you'll find tacky) BUT the Venetian, The Bellagio, The Forum Shopping Centre and the Paris are just stunning stunning edifices to consumption, themed carpeting and neon BUT in a tasteful way. That may sound ridiculous but I was open-mouthed on numerous occasions and not just with the Chippendale. I especially loved Paris, as it's my favourite city and seeing it in miniature was too too cool, but the mini San Marco Piazza in the Venetian was wondrous too. They also are masters of themed lighting making it always look like dusk in Europe any hour of the day. Tres Awesomeant.

One thing the place lacked though, despite the tricky lighting, was seriously good looking people to go with the hotels.

I realise I'm no Julia Roberts poncing about the Bellagio in my Cowgirl Boots BUT come on people. It was as if Ohio had let their seniors (and their dogs) out for the week with strict instructions to wear a lot of polyester, sweat a lot and smoke in my face.

(YES you can still smoke INSIDE in Las Vegas. You can buy a cocktail at a bar and wander down the street with it AND you can smoke even in your hotel room. We were in a smoking room because our non-smoking room had a view of the rock band til 5am.)

I went in search of some totty to flirt with whilst my mate hit the hay, but eventually gave up sifting through the toupee's like rodents and the teeth like....rodents, so sat at a bar and paid for some drinks. (As opposed to getting those free ones from the girls wearing nothing when you're gambling.) I was soon chatting away to two lovely English lads in town for a 30th birthday and sat there doing that til 6am discussing politics, English pubs and how pissed we all were. Aweshhhhum.

I then passed out myself in my Marlborough Light room before a walk of the other end of the strip the next day. It was here we discovered M&M World. A merchandise store for M&M's that was four stories high, had the smell of chocolate pumped through, had figurines of M&M's for $1200 US and a 3D movie adventure called "I left my M in Vegas".

I think that sums the place up really.

Awesome.

Tomorrow I land in Mexico City, stay tuned for Mojito fuelled treatises on how beans affect my Gringo Stomach Lining.

Not quite so awesome.

2007-09-14T07:10:00.000+12:00

In Christchurch in three hours my sister Suzie and Dad will be attending the funeral of Graham Condon who was an amazing Cantabrian.

Graham was the father of one of my sister's closest friends, and he was killed in a road accident on Saturday. He was an incredibly inspirational man who was in a wheelchair from childhood and became a Paralympian World Record Holder and passionate city councillor. He was an awesome father and friend who didn't seem to mind at all that I drank some of their wine when I was pissed at Suzie's hen's night, which was at their house.

I wish I could buy him a drink now and recite a poem, which he often wanted me to do.

SO I'm off to the Vancouver Beach aptly called Wreck Beach, to send love and probably a few tears across the Pacific for Kathy, Andrea and Craig.

Arohanui Graham. xo

2007-09-11T05:25:00.000+12:00

DO NOT repeat DO NOT buy cowgirl boots from The Leather Shop in West Ed Mall. After three weeks they have fallen apart! Fuckers.

2007-09-03T11:55:00.000+12:00

Why oh Why Canada do you have such huge gaps in

your toilet doors!

Here's to suffragettes and new bras!

Gimme Food Bitch!

The Ferrari Oestarossa

Lake Louise

The View from atop The Cable Car Port, Jasper.

I climbed a mountain!

The Big Rock Brewery Stage. Or as I prefer to call it the little shitty crappy stage.

NZ's Kim Potter excites an audience member.

Fire Wankers

The Fringe Site

The Death Car with Greasy Man

The Free for All Promo Spot.

Thrilled to be here!

2007-09-03T11:31:00.000+12:00

Settle in kids, it’s an epic to rival Harry Potter…….

Wow Saskatoon seems like a million miles away from Edmonton Airport Gate 56 and in some ways it is.

I have only one fringe left on my epic Canadian World Domination Tour and I cannot believe how quickly it has flown by.

The Edmonton Fringe was the best one yet for me. I virtually sold out my entire run, got some lovely reviews and consolidated some great friendships along the way. I stayed with a lovely family who distracted me far too often from work with home-made red wine, (which surprisingly did not taste like beaver pee) and went to the infamous West Ed Mall.

For those in the don’t know, WEM is the biggest shopping centre in the world. It has a water park, an amusement park, an ice-skating rink, a sea lion enclosure (the dolphins kept dying) and oh yeah….shops.

As the Edmonton “summer” was more reminiscent of Scott’s expedition, I decided that rather then eat some dogs I should buy some winter woollies.

What a shame.

I also rode the Mind Bender Roller Coaster or as I prefer to call it the Neck Cracker, or as the weird man behind us said - the Death Car.

As my mate Nile and I were settling in waiting for the coaster to chug off into a stomach churning whirly-gig, this slightly greasy, frankly creepy dude behind us told us the story of how the very car we were sitting in once flew off to tracks in mid corkscrew and turned it’s inhabitants into Prime Canadian Mince Meat.

Wicked.

We survived but only just and were both in need of some serious neck readjustment afterwards.

After Edmonton’s madness was all over I had a week off before the Vancouver Fringe so I decided to cheat death once more, by hiring a car and driving on the wrong side of the road through the Canadian Rockies. Just call me Evil Penevil……..or something like that.

I decided to tootle through Alberta as opposed to driving to Vancouver, as to afford a one way hire in Canada is to sell all non-vital organs. SO I made it to Jasper, Banff and Calgary in one piece with only heading off on the wrong side of the road once. I did better than when I hired a bike in Belgium when I was 23 and made it a fair few hundred metres on the left wondering why everyone was looking at me funny. I was lucky I didn’t end up a Belgian Biscuit. (see what I did there….yes well.)

The Rockies really are very stunning, but at first I found it hard to get too excited as really it’s just the South Island but everyone says… “eh” a little more. A few of us hired a house in Jasper and I was perfectly happy to curl up inside with Cable TV, pasta, wine AND wireless internet. BUT you will be pleased to know I did manage to get owt and abowt in the wilderness and even climbed a mountain.

On my way to Banff I made a stop in Lake Louise which is truly stunning though horrendously touristy, scrambled about on a glacier and then settled into a night at the YWCA. Oh the glamour. Banff would be picturesque too if didn’t look like Baghdad. They’re digging up the main street and redoing the sewers apparently, either that or looking for Weapons of Mass Destruction I couldn’t be sure. Canada does have a lot of oil.

HHHmmmmm.

From Banff I made a stop in Canmore which is a cute little town where I decided I wanted to head off on a non-touristy path. And boy did I find one. After following what seemed like a trail, even though I was suddenly envisaging Grizzly Bears at every turn (just what sort of animal crap is THAT!), I ended up stranded when the trail disappeared in a field of nettles and gorse. There was nothing for it so I thrashed through in my new Cowgirl Boots from WEM towards what looked like civilisation.

Yes well. Just as I thought I had made it I encountered a river that I had to forge. OK so maybe a creek, but it was slimy and no doubt filled with Kiwi eating beavers….(um er so to speak.) I managed to get across with only slipping once and dunking my butt.

Did I mention the glamour.

From there I kept on to Calgary where I had arranged to stay with some members of the fabulous Obscene But Not Heard comedy troupe. Downtown Calgary was pretty cool, and even sports a statue to some suffragettes who got a law changed here in Canada that had determined that women were not people and therefore couldn’t run for parliament. Ahhhhh men.

After a night on the tiles I ended up staying somewhere other than expected due to someone getting lucky and me having no desire to knock on his door and say; “Oh sorry if you could just stop pleasuring the lady and let me in I promise to be quiet and you just get back to it….” SO thanks Nicole!

So then it was back to Edmonton to grab the bulk of my stuff, drop off the Ferrari Oestarossa and head here to the airport.

SO Vancouver here I come, I have a couple of poetry gigs lined up and yet another season of flashing my bits, oh and in exciting breaking travel news after V-City I’m going to VEGAS baby. AND I don’t mean Ashburton neither, wooooohooooooooo.

Fingers crossed for some Glamour!

2007-08-14T15:59:00.000+12:00

So here are some fabulously silly pics for the post below. Yes I am arse about face. (Which is to say I'm "back the front" as opposed to butt ugly.)

Paul Thorne dressed as Me. HHHHmmmm.

About to be kissed where I wasn't expecting to be in order to turn into a Queen like the man on his knees.....where he usually is I'm sure.
Rob Gee has two beers in one hand and tits in another, Life doesn't get any better..... well maybe if the tits weren't beanbags.
Paul Thorne has changed back into himself rather then being me.

Paul and I suckle my Tits together, quite a feat.

Rob comes onto Kristian in a typically English Way.
Canada's Next Top Models

Yes there was alcohol involved in Spoof Night.

Alison kicks Spandex Butt!
Rob Plays Alex Eddington from The Fugue Code to an A.

My Jenny Award for Best Bumper and Peeler from Winnipeg.

Jenny, my love.

OOhhh some poster whore has been here in Winnipeg Beer Garden. And here on a lampost.

Some old churchy thing.

A Furry suited up and waiting for some Police Loving.

Johnny P in Market Square Winnipeg

2007-08-12T11:34:00.000+12:00

As the fabulous German Band Die Roten Punkte would say....... "Danke Saskatoooooooon!"

Today I head to Edmonton to continue this Fringe Odyssey, or should I say Penelopiad, and as I drive out of town stuffed into someone else's car I will smile fondly back at the little Fringe that could.

With only 55 shows here it's certainly the smallest Fringe on tour but I have had a brilliant time here and I even sold two CD's. It helped that I finally remembered to tell an audience I had some with me, that is usually the key to selling them.

We've all gotten to know each other here that little bit better. Drinking beer and dancing til 4am to Madonna and Basement Jaxx will do that really. But we've also thought about each other's shows in whole new ways.

Last two nights have been spoof night when we each drew the name out of a hat of another show and then presented a three minute spoof of that show. I was spoofed by the lovely Paul Thorne who is an English stand-up. (.Photos below) He seemed to think I was talking about the number 6 as opposed to SEX. He may have been mocking my accent (not to mention my tits) but I choose to believe he wouldn't be so mean.

It was a freakin hilarious evening if a little nerve wracking. I had no idea if my spoof of The Frog and Toad are Not Friends and Never Will Be and This is Why would be at all funny. Turns out if you turn a kid's show in a gay amphibian love story with a donkey rutting scene thrown in, people like it!

Who'd have thought.

Anyways I have to pack up, photos will be posted soon!

2007-08-06T13:52:00.000+12:00

So imagine this scene, you've amassed a very decent crowd with seven hours of flyering on the streets of Saskatoon.

You're waiting backstage eager to knock their socks off.

Your intro music comes (even if the tech is a moron who keeps fucking it up even with repeated instruction.)

You waltz on ready to charm the pants of the Tooners when.......no lights. Nothing, nada, zip, ix-nay on the ights-nay, kaput.

Said technician starts making frantic manoeuvres at the back of the stage as he tries to fix the problem but.............nothing.

Then like a beacon to a lost sailor on a shipwrecked plank the FOH lady shines a torch at me from the back of the room. Then eager beavers (we are in Canada) in the audience join in and all of a sudden I'm bathed slightly in torchlight so what the hell, I start my show.

I do five minutes of material like this before the tech gets the board back up and running. I thank him for that but not for the ensuing mistakes in the show making me look silly.

However it'll be a night I remember for quite some time!

OH and here's another fab review :)

Hot Pink Bits
Venue 7 – The Conservatory
Hilarious! Hilarious! Hilarious! Some audience members were laughing so hard that they were in tears. A solid show from Kiwi performer Penny Ashton, aka “Mistress Hot Bits”. She takes us along, through the “ins and outs” of the global sex trade in a funny, well-rounded way. From porn to prostitution, from S&M to furries, she talks about it all.

While not glossing over the obvious negative impacts of the sex trade, she still manages to present it all in an upbeat beat fashion, deliver laugh after laugh. The show is very smart and full of interesting facts and statistics about the sex trade. Did you know that it was only one year after the first film was released that the first porno film was released? … Well, you would know this and much more if you saw this show. Lots of games, songs, audience participation, and free stuff. A true gem, this show may certainly be the best comedy at the Fringe this year.

- Cindy Murdoch UMFM

2007-08-05T05:04:00.000+12:00

Well here I sit in my tiny room that I'm sharing with the lovely Alison from a play called The Fugue Code in tiny Toon Town otherwise known as Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.

Now don't get me wrong, if there was anyone in the world easier to share a room with I'd be very surprised. But I haven't shared a room since my sister moved out when I was about ten and I like it that way.

It's like having a boy over to stay but with none of the fringe benefits of the occasional orgasm and a manly chest to lie on.

I'm also staying in a rather devout household with many a picture of Jesus dotted about and much talk of christian ethics and church. As an atheist this is a new environment for me BUT I was dragged up proper and I can be respectful. They have been nothing but entirely generous and lovely and kind with driving me about the place BUT I'm not sure they'll be taking in my show about the sex industry and if they do I confess (not with a priest of course) to be pleased my piss-take of the Lord's prayer which comes complete with the lines: "Give us this day our daily head" and "Ahhhhh lots of men" is not in the international version of my show.

A-hem.

I have only done one show here so far which had a whole 21 people attending. But as it was 4pm on a Thursday on the first day of the Fringe with no one about on the street I was thrilled with that. Is funny how our expectations change from day to day. I am also performing here in a school gym. Oh the dizzy heights of fame where I get changed next to a hockey net and some plastic hockey sticks. (Probably the Canadian equivalent of Kiwi Cricket.)

My tech also didn't turn up til 15 mins before I was supposed to go on on Thursday, so that was exciting too. (Though not as exciting as in Winnipeg where the group before me took off with my CD and I nearly had to cancel my last show as I stupidly had no back-up and was bawling in the theatre calling then cunts when it came running in the door.)

But apart from that Winnipeg rocked the party! I won Best of Fest, got a four and a half star review in the Winnipeg Sun (see below) and made some brilliant friends. That town sure knows how to Fringe with some couples taking in 60 or 70 shows in the course of 10 days! Personally my eyes would start to bleed if I did that I think but I saw around 22 shows.

I also got two of the worst reviews in my life in Winnipeg, well actually the only 2 truly bad reviews in my life ever. And one of these was from the same show as the 4 1/2 star review in the Sun. Proving art is entirely subjective indeed. I could go into some in depth analysis of their reasons for not enjoying my show but I think I'll just call them twats. SO there, twats.

OOOOOhhh I'm so mature.

Anyways I have to go and break bread for lunch and then get my pink ass down to the festival centre to flyer. Wish me luck.

Ahhhhhhhh lots of men.

2007-07-31T05:42:00.000+12:00

HOT PINK BITS

Venue 7, The Conservatory

Sex sells Fringe tickets -- so there's really no need to promote New Zealander Penny Ashton's delightfully sleazy set of sketches. But those left outside the bedroom, er, theatre oughta know what they're missing.

After explaining "pink bits" is New Zealand slang for private parts, Ashton (aka Hot Pink) reveals herself -- in a decolletage-boosting (OK, they're practically popping out) bustier gown primed for burlesque.

Starting with a brief history of porn, Ashton sings, shimmies and pulls random audience members along for the, ahem, ride. A string of erotic bits about the origins of prostitution, fetishes you never thought could exist (don't even get us started on the "Roman shower") and how amputees do the deed is sandwiched between interesting sex facts, trivia games (with suitable prizes), a number by Hot Pink's, uh, sock puppet and saucy remakes of Madonna's Hung Up and Ricky Martin's She Bangs.

Audience members are called on to make bedroom sound effects, and while those shy of the subject matter might squirm, Ashton is as warm and self-deprecating as she is bold -- and hilariously sexy.

Sun Rating: 4 1/2 out of 5
-- Lindsey Ward

2007-07-23T08:09:00.001+12:00

Well what can I say, Winnipeg rocks the PARTY!

This fringe is sooooooo much more fun for me than the Toronto one. I have audiences! More than that I have had 2 totally and one virtually sold out audiences. I have had people loving the show. I have restored my faith in the show. I have smiled more and cried less. Winnipeg I love you!

I have been blogging for the CBC here and this is the link if you want to know what life on the Fringe is like:

http://www.cbc.ca/manitoba/features/fringe2007/blog/penny_ashton/

OK off to see more shows, Life is better, much much better.

2007-07-18T14:16:00.001+12:00

Some Toronto Pictures, A Post Prequel.

My Venue #3 - Theatre Passe-Muraille

A Saucy Tart in the Changing Room (Nice Bra!)

A Saucy Tech Tart, the Lovely Tara.

Backstage Glamour!

Frontstage Glamour

Some Teenagers Bedroom

2007-07-18T13:25:00.000+12:00

Yes yes yes, I've been crap. I know, LOOK stop bugging me about it all four of you! I have been VERY busy, I AM on tour you might remember, I am QUITE often drunk you realise.

Ah well I'm not drunk now (not through lack of trying but there was no one at the pub) BUT I am high on Diet Coke so I thought it was about time I splurged on some wordage and wrote about how many truly mental people there are in Toronto.

To be fair I am coming to you now live and uncut from Winnipeg where I arrived yesterday, and hey, there are some quite mental people here too, but in Toronto I lived between a homeless shelter and a nuthouse, so it was mental-palooza with lashing of spontaneous masturbation and a dribble of drool.

We in New Zealand rarely see people begging for money on the street. Sure it is a starting trend but for the most part anyone sitting on the sidewalk has generally twisted something running or is a home school child playing the piano to raise money to go to the Maths Olympiad.

Living in London I perfected my "sorry" smile and wave when being asked for money, and it got a big workout in Toronto. One man did make me laugh when he enquired; "Can you spare $100.......or maybe just some change" I still didn't give him anything, being a cold hearted bitch, but ahhhhh how we both giggled.

But then there were the just plain crazy, mamma took P when breastfeeding, Daddy hit me in the head with a brick and the state took away my lithium nutjobs EVERYWHERE!

In Starbucks a woman sat innocuously for a few minutes then started screaming, clutching at thin air, frothing at the mouth and going on and on about "McKenzie" being a cunt and how terrible the "niggerzzzzzzzzz, niggerz, niggerz niggerzzzzzz" were. Very Kramer from Seinfeld! (NOTE the N word is in quote marks, I did not say it!)

Then another woman sat next to me on the Street Car just incessantly babbling about "the world, and everyone's in the world and we all have you place and we have to be happy, and help each other and do the right thing in the world............" and just went onnnnnnnnnnn and onnnnnnnnnnnnn like a bad Martha Stewart episode. (Actually just like a Martha Stewart episode, they're all bad.)

When I got a text she leaned into me and said; "What a pretty sound, can you make it do it again, can you, can you, can you?!?!?" So i said; "No" and steadfastly ignored her, being the cold hearted bitch that I am.

One man was on the street dressed in black wizard's clothes ranting at traffic, another danced about outside Second Cup (Canada's Starbucks) and another crazy chick was singing to herself on the street. Oh, no wait.........that was me, but the rest were whack jobs.

The worst and craziest one of all though was the one who sat next to me on the Street Car, then told me she liked my pink eye-shadow, then flashed her badge at me and started talking about Jesus and the message. Totally mental, her badge said something about Latter Day Saints and she reckoned she was a missionary, I mean really, some people.

So yeah, Toronto, it has a Lake, a Tower (that I never went up!), a funky downtown, and a brigade of idiots six skaters short of a hockey team. I did seven shows there and had an OK time, the Fringe is hard and it wasn't the most fun I've had performing, but I stayed with a lovely lady and got a feel for the place.

One woman who often gets felt in the place was the topless chick who interviewed me about the environment on the street for the Naked News. That was a highlight and if you like to watch the NN look out for me. I'm the one staring at the other chick's tits, I mean really, where was I supposed to look!

SO onwards and upwards, Winnipeg here I am, so get off your arse and come and see my HOT PINK BITS!

2007-07-12T07:22:00.000+12:00

Well the show is ticking along nicely, BUT it is weird only having done three shows then having two days off, I don't feel I've really sunk my teeth into the Canadian Scene yet. In Edinburgh it's 22 shows in 24 days so that's the complete opposite, this is strangely leisurely by comparison.

Still it means I get to do things like go to the Toronto Beaches on Lake Ontario yesterday with my lovely Billet and snack on Greek Food before wandering along the boardwalk and taking photos of Squirrels. (They're so cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuute!)

On Monday night I also went to an outdoor poetry event where I wanted to stab out my eyeballs some of it was soooooooooooo fucking boring. One woman made throat noises for 15 minutes, it was apparently "sound" poetry or as I call it utter bollocks. The amazing Shane Koyczan was performing though (refer to Poetry Idol blogs) so was good to see him again. I've shared beers with him now in three different countries, this international itinerant artist stuff is fun.

I am currently avoiding flyering for my 6pm show but it's time I got off my ass and did so, more to come soon. I got a job blogging for CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) in Winnipeg so will probably post those here as well, so will be much more prolific at least for 10 days or so from next week.

In the mean time here's some Toronto snaps including a rather unfortunately named clothing store on Queen St, hhhmmpphhhhahahaha.

The Lovely Ruth, My Fabulous Billet

You Talking to Me?

All Clothes Sold Here are 100% Machine Washable

2007-07-08T06:24:00.001+12:00

Last night at the opening of the fifth season of Hot Pink Bits, and its first outside of New Zealand, something quite remarkable happened.

A man exposed his underpants onstage.

I did encourage him to remove his shoes and just take his trousers off BUT suddenly my audience volunteer stripper got a little shy at that point.

But never mind, he was hands down one of the best strippers I’ve ever seen, and that includes professionally.

He was one of the more enthusiastic members of my audience on my Opening Night here in Canada and today's 12pm on a saturday group were a lot more responsive, but still he flashed his somewhat weedy chest for all to see so he is officially a Hot Pink Bits Legend.

I only hope my 11pm on a Sunday Night of a supposed 35 degree day are still awake, I'm trying to pitch it as a cult event SO we will see what happens!

Fingers Crossed!

2007-07-04T02:56:00.001+12:00

Well as I sit here in a towel looking oh so glamorous in a dinky Toronto Apartment right downtown I am coming to realise I am opening a show this Friday. (Not at 8.45 as my website suggests BUT at 7.30 just in case you're coming along!)

I left Auckland on saturday amidst a hail of tears and snot having to leave all my beautiful friends behind for four months, and of course one beautiful friend in particular.

I HATE goodbyes and I thought I'd had enough at Heathrow Terminal Three in the 90's. Back then I had short hair and bad clothes and waved goodbye to a boyfriend and a gaggle of friends through mascara stained eyes, and I thought I wouldn't have to do that again.

But nationalities, Visa issues and an unexpected email back in January from a lovely Brit Fireman conspired against me and so I have leaked on and off since I left thinking of halcyon KareKare days.

BUT enough of the wallowing in self-pity, time to snap out of my oestrogen fuelled depression spiral and start selling my ass on the Toronto Sts. No not for research for my show on Prostitution but rather to get punters to come and see me.

Since I left NZ I have drunk beers on a boat in Marina Del Ray, slurped Frozen Yoghurt on the beach at Playa Del Ray, been to Chocolate Sunday at the Laugh Factory in Hollywood (where I understood 50 % of the African American Themed evening), toasted with Cocoa Brown finalist in America's Got Talent and finally ended up here in T'ronto eh.

And luckily here I'm being billetted with the fabulous Ruth whose apartment is cosy, fully equipped, has a lovely double bed for me in my own room AND a gorgeous rooftop garden!

So I guess it's not all bad, lol.

Today I head off to get a SIM card so I can text everyone at home, try to find a plastic Martini Glass and pick up my 2000 flyers to hand out to anyone I can find. I only hope my Adult Themed Prize packs have arrived from www.fromaphrodite.com and that the cordless microphone turns up at my venue tomorrow.

I also hope all my new Canadian Jokes go down a storm - ie "Have you heard of the great Canadian Porn - Brokeback Mounties (Thanks Dan) and of course the famous Canadian Porn Star - William Shat-in-her. TASTY!

OK people wish me luck, and here's to smiling a bit more frequently too.

HOT PINK BITS - Toronto Fringe
Venue #3 - Theatre Passe-Muraille Mainspace 16 Ryerson Avenue
Fri July 6 @ 7.30PM Sat July 7 @ 12.30pm Sun, July 8 @ 11PM Wed, July 11 @ 6 PM Thu, July 12 @ 8.45 PM Fri, July 13 @ 4.30PM Sat, Jul 14 @ 3.30 PM

The Laugh Factory

Cocoa Brown - Finalist in
America's Got Talent

2007-06-28T22:43:00.000+12:00

"Do we really need a Penny Ashton shoving Oral Sex down our throats."

Says Disgruntled of Dannevirke after today's Panel on Radio New Zealand National where I was a panellist along with the lovely Jon Bridges.

NOW that is the best quote of my life, apparently I can shove oral sex down a throat through a radio wave.

I am AMAZING.

I'm not going to tell you what it was ALL about, suffice to say it involved virgins, rings, parents, The United Kingdom, chastity pledges, ensuing STD's and how anal sex isn't real sex in the eyes of god.....apparently.

OH and me shoving oral sex down throats.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.............

Good on me I say, the world needs more oral sex, so go on everyone, get out there and shove it.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article1971097.ece

2007-06-25T17:46:00.001+12:00

The weather this weekend in Auckland was, to be quite specific, shit.

When is wasn't raining cats and dogs and Shetland ponies it was blowing Gail through the pohutakawas and even tossing in the odd bit of thunder and lightening to really keep it real.

Those in Canada and Scandinavia (or Queenstown for that matter) might scoff at us quivering in a 12 degree Celsius day but to a Kiwi Girl with scarcely any fat on her bones (mpphhhwwaahahahaha) it was as cold as a look from Megan Alatini.

And I thought it was all absolutely bloody marvellous.

You see I and the "Hot Fireman" (he just loves that nickname by the way) were holed up in a bach nestled in the Waitakere Ranges in picturesque KareKare. We had enough food for a Kirsty Alley relapse, loads of DVD's to argue about (Family Guy was the Winner), sky TV with ALL the channels (though it mainly stayed on E!), a rather large bed for scrabble playing, some alternate board games (I SOOOO won), a guitar AND a fireplace with loads of wood.

See, bliss.

Now some Earth Mother viking mountaineer types might scoff at our lack of physical activity....um let me rephrase that, might scoff at our lack of actually getting our feet muddy out in the wilderness. They might call us poncy townies for never feeling the cool slap of a wet branch on our buttocks or for never appreciating the pungent phlump of a tui's crap on our shoulder. But to them I say "na na na na na", (I never claimed to be mature), because I loved every minute of my indoor hibernation.

I'm about to head off to North America to work my sizeable ass off so 48 hours of doing nothing but eating, drinking and watching Ryan Seacrest was totally choice.

I even went all Alison Holst on it.

Yes I whipped up two rather lovely meals ably assisted by Mr F.Man and we also chowed down on Sticky Date Pudding, chocolate ice-cream, cheese on toast, Corona, Bubbles, Merlot, Pinot Noir, porridge, enchiladas, chips, dip and the odd kiss or two. (I did say sizeable ass didn't I?)

Comfort Food all the way and I was well comforted indeed. I busied myself in the fabulously well equipped kitchen and took pride in going TA-DA as I placed plates in front of my willing assistant.

I mean good grief, you'd think I was destined for this house-wifing lark. But I'd just like to say it was only for a weekend AND if I ever do get married I'm still not changing my name for any MAN!

OK where was I?

Oh yes, back in The Real World and unfortunately no, I don't mean a re-run on MTV, I mean packing up my room, tidying my office and retouching my roots before I jet off. There's a lot to organise before I flash my Hot Pink Bits to North America, but even though it's pissing it down outside, thanks to my willing assistant, I have a rather infectious toasty warm smile on my face.

TA-DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

And some snaps of when we finally left................

Someone put some Sunlight Liquid into Piha Beach!

I Can Sing a Rainbow was in my head for hours!

2007-06-24T22:02:00.000+12:00

NEVER EVER watch Alexander by Oliver Stone.

Apparently the Macedonians had Irish accents didn't ya know.

"OOOOHHHH Darius get away witcha ya grate potaaato heeeead. I'll see ya cavalry and raise ye a nail bomb ah will."

It's arse.

That's it.

Night night.

(Apologies for crap phonetic accent.)

2007-06-20T13:54:00.000+12:00

Mastercard Gold Card are a pack of Jerk-Off Twat Burger Butt Munches.

I got one a number of years ago SPECIFICALLY to take advantage of their free travel insurance if you pay for your travel on your card.

I just thought I'd ring before I head off for four months to make sure my spazzy epilepsy and asthma are covered properly.

Imagine my disgusted suprise to find they had changed the policy to say you can only go away for 35 days to have ANY sort of cover. They won't even cover me for the first 35 of my 114 day trip, they just don't cover me at all.

They did a survey and found that most people only go away for under 35 days. AND! So freakin what, I don't give a toss what other people do coz it's all about me so they should do what I want.

I don't care they got a new card to me in London last year withing 20 hours of mine being filched, they're still gob-shite puke swillers.

And to add insult to injury I'll now be paying for my insurance at Columbus Direct with my .... gold card.

AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

That's all, nothing more to say, banks are assholes.

2007-06-19T13:25:00.000+12:00

Yes yes yes, I've been dreadfully remiss in my updating of random cerebral leakages and I apologise.

I also apologise for the wank factor in that last sentence.

I also apologise to the person searching for "The Owl and the Pussycat Breasts" who came to this blog. I really can't for the life of me imagine what fetish you have but good luck to you I say.

SO what have I been doing you may ask.

Well as I jet off to Canada in eleven days (EEEK) you would think I would be head down bum up doing publicity, organising shots for Beaver Bites, and learning how to say "Put the hockey puck in yer five hole EH!" (That isn't rude if you're wondering.)

But instead I have been sucked into the vortex that is http://www.facebook.com/.

Facebook for the blissfully uninitiated, is the new Myspace. Myspace for those stuck in early 2006 is a website where old men pretend to be young girls to pick up other young girls. (Oh it's also a very useful marketing and networking website for performers and the like.)

Both sites involve finding friends, asking them to be your friend, then generally mocking them.

The difference is on Myspace the "friends" tend to be people trawling for you to buy their latest ITunes download or hilaaaaarious comedy routine, whereas on Facebook it's usually actual friends you know and aren't trying to sell you anything.

Well so far, I'm sure it's only a matter of time till I'm getting messages from someone wanting to sell me Owl Breasts DVD's but at the moment it's friends having fun swapping pics and telling each other things like:

"Penny is having a cup of coffee and a lie down as she's had enough of work today."

I know, GRIPPING stuff.

I did join some more socially responsible groups today like:

"Abolish Abstinence Only Sex Education" and "Against Gay Marriage? Then don't Get One and Shut the Fuck Up." BUT you can also join such ones as "I Love Spooning" and "I Could Eat a Knob a Day."

I know, MENSA Stuff.

BUT generally it's for wasting time and laughing. Two things I am good at and like rather a lot.

Then combine that with drunken nights out, chatting on MSN, emails and trying to find the perfect romantic hideyhole for a weekend of uninterrupted scrabble playing, and you have a girl looking more and more unprepared for a four month trip away.

Still at least I'm playing a lot of scrabble this weekend with a hot firefighter who I won't see for four months, possibly longer, and frankly I'd rather that than having all my undies ironed.

I'm sure you'll agree.

My Profile Pic on Facebook. I'm sure my Dad wishes we still wore these so he can tell us apart.

Half a Hot Fireman, A Whole Drunken Slapper and the Fabulous Noel.

OH and PS if you get onto Facebook don't forget to "poke" someone over and over again, it's too too hilarious.

2007-06-09T14:04:00.000+12:00

My parent's house is a mine of wasted time and chocolate biscuits.

I have spent the last four and a half hours watching Wife Swap, E TV's Top 101 Most Outrageous Television Moments, Antiques Roadshow, Parkinson and a soppy Made for TV Movie from 1986.
Genius.

When you jump around onstage for two hours every night entertaining Christchurch Punters at the Harbourlight in Lyttelton, a little me time to watch crap TV is highly appreciated.

The worst thing is it is a beautiful day here and I am wasting by plugging a USB port into my Navel and a TV aerial into my ass. (Metaphorically of course. My parents might get annoyed as to the state of their electrical equipment otherwise.)

BUT OMG, you won't believe what happened in Wife Swap, this woman who we shall call Satan Bitch from Hell, aborted the mission after three days as she found out the other wife had broken up her now husband's first marriage. She accused her of being a marriage wrecking whore biscuit and demanded she leave her nuptial dwellings and EIGHT kids.

Thanks Christ for that the whore thought to herself.

Funny how she was a whore when it was the man who was married, but gosh darn it if some women aren't total sillybillies sometimes.

BUT let's remind ourselves, it's just a TV programme.

HHHHmmmm.

The worst thing about this house though is there is chocolate and jellybeans and chocolate ice-cream and spongy puds and cheese and butter stashed in every nook and cranny. My father merrily ignores his heart condition with wanton abandon and stuffs his face regularly with crap.....so like father like daughter. (Well excepting the heart condition part...hopefully.)

But luckily I'm only home for a week AND i am expending a lot of energy onstage every night so I reckon I'm fine. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it like Sticky Toffee Pudding.

The shows have been going well, thanks for asking. Well excepting the night when my parents brought along 65 family friends.

Whilst I am immensely grateful to them for being such fabulous parental supporters, and to the friends for giving me their $20, the night was a total nightmare. A whole heap of people of a certain age with a disapproving eye on my subject matter, not laughing at my obviously hilarious self, was, shall we say, fucked.

A friend described it perfectly.

We comedians are addicts. We are addicted to being laughed at and when we don't get out hit we suffer appalling withdrawl. AND I had to drive so I couldn't even substitute laughs with the Methadone that is Beer and Wine. Still I went to a friends house and played a PlayStation Trivial Pursuit Gameshow, so that helped slightly. I even managed to win even though I had the most wrong answers and slowest answer times, crafty wee bitch huh.

The next night though was fabulous and even featured two MP's in my crowd. (Labour of course so things didn't get out of hand.) SO I no longer have the shakes and my bowel movements are back to normal.

Phew.

See you back in Auckland on Monday, then only three weeks to go til Canada!

2007-05-31T14:15:00.000+12:00

Somebody recently gave me crap about my Cornish accent. Oi haeppen ta think itz maervelus moiself sew screow yoou. I was regaling him with my fabulous Pirate Poem at the time so now I shall force it on the Hot Pink Massive as well.

Only stipulation is that you must go ARRRRRRRRRRR after each verse as if you were as salty a sea-dog as Lot's Wife. (Wanky obscure Bible Trivia there, hehehe what a tawt.)

OH that's right, I have a fab old column all about Pirates because on September 19th it's
International Talk Like a Pirate Day!

You have to cast your mind back to Don Brash's philandering ways when he had two wenches on the go at once but I'm sure you'll manage.

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Tuesday is International Talk Like a Pirate Day! AAARRRRRRRRR!

So ye may notice a few words slip past ye salty dogs that wouldn’t make sense any other day but on this day make parrrrrfect sense.

OK, now that we’ve cleared that up…..Why do pirates always carry soap? SO if they get swept away they can wash themselves ashore.

AAAARRRRR-hahahahahahaha

But really I’m wanting to talk politics with ye scurvy ridden parrot lovers. More specifically hideous mental images that are pervading the news and are worse than a syphilitic barnacle on the arse of Mary Louise the fat wench from Upper-Twaddle-on-Rye-Bread.

Personally I don’t give a maggoty rat what politicians do with their pork sausage or Cornish pasties, as long as gays can marry and no one blows their infernal tobaccy in my good eye. But all this reporting of it is turning my gills as green as Black Dog Bitch’s amputated toe.

Speaking of tobaccy why didn’t the pirate smoke? Because he had a patch!

AAAARRRRR-hahahahahahaha

If I have to imagine Captain Don Juan Brash in a clinch with anymore exotic lasses from the East or Mistresses of the Round Table then frankly I’m going to lose my pig intestines braised in rum and Frenchman’s bile on the poop deck faster than you can say “Is that a canon or are you just pleased to see me.”

But what I find most unbelievable about this whole mess of cats guts, is that there are two wenches in the land that want to fire his canon in the first place. I know some say power is the ultimate aphrodisiac, but even if he were clothed in Johhny Depp (AARRRR) I’d still know he was under there and walk the plank rather than show him my treasure chest.

Incidentally did you hear about the Pirate Movie? It was rated…. ARRRRRRR!

AAAARRRRR-hahahahahahaha

Also making me blood curdle is that according to a National MP it’s good Don is rooting about as it means he’s a red blooded male. I’d like to see if he’d say that about a female MP or just call her a harloty jezebel with legs easier to spread than the grease of a spitroasted mongoose. Somehow I think so.

ARRRRRRRRRRR well I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised at Don’s latest affair coz as they say; “When a man marries his mistress, he creates a job vacancy.” I just thought the job market would have been closed for the barnacled baldy and that a comb over, even on a pirate, would only ever attract the likes of Bleeding-Eyes-Bette, who hasn’t seen a thing since the octopus.

Just goes to show, I don’t always know everything, but I do know what Captain Hook died of………..Jock Itch!

AAAARRRRR-hahahahahahaha

The Pirate Poem

I want to be a pirate
And Sail the Seven Seas
And have a name like Black Dog Bitch
And say “A-hoy me hearties”

I want to have a gang
Of fearsome buxom trollops
Who’d cook a mean Cajun stew
With body parts and scallops

For my obnoxious drunk behaviour
I’d finally have an excuse
With a quick grope of the codpiece being
an acceptable way to seduce

But if Roger’s Jolly was crap
If his love techniques stank
There’d be no phoney phone numbers
Just a wee quick walk of the plank

And I’d never have to worry
About being overweight
With a constant diet of tuna and rice
Perfecting my Piece of Eight

My Pirate garb would reek style
Frilled shirt of blood red claret
And every day I’d accessorise
With a different coloured parrot

Then I’d tragically lose one hand
And replace it a hook
Which would mean I’d never lose my keys
Always knowing where to look

I’d be squalid, filthy and coarse
Dirty, nasty, deranged
I’d say the most disgusting things
So I guess there, not much would change

But my skin would always be radiant
A pirate queen sensation
With an endless supply of spirulina
And sea-salt exfoliation

And though in a different form
Men would continue to quest
For the glorious elusive contents of
My Golden Treasure Chest

But I fear I never will be
The Terror of the Pacific
For no matter how good I’d look in the hat
I get catastrophically seasick.

Black Dog Bitch, Jim the Cabin Boy and Captain Bad Wig

2007-05-29T10:57:00.000+12:00

A copy of my blog from http://nzbookmonth.co.nz

Poetry Idol

On Friday night on Wellesley St here in Auckland there was nearly a riot.

It was outside the London Bar because there was a gig on that night that proved so popular the Bar was stuffed to capacity before the show started.

Tears were shed, tantrums flung and bribes offered as people were desperate to get inside BUT over 100 people ended up being turned away.

SO what was the gig do you think?

U2, Fat Freddy’s Drop, Robbie Williams, The Wiggles………?

No in fact it was a Performance Poetry gig, namely Poetry Idol.

Usually the only riot poetry causes is when people stampede away from it. In fact people can be so scared of Poetry that they see psychiatrists for their condition, which is clinically known as Metrophobia.

I am not making this up. As if a limerick and a sonnet are going to be lurking behind a bush and jump out and molest you with their evil stanzas. “OOOh watch out the Haiku will get you!”

Yes well, the extreme reaction is rare but most people have probably had a nasty little outbreak of Metrophobia from time to time, mostly prompted by Crap English Teachers/Lecturers.

“Yes but what does it MEAN?” barked at you by pearls and a twinset does little to encourage an interest in words, and by the time I got to English 101 at Canterbury University I found poetry about as interesting as Bob Clarkson.

But then I discovered poetry as performance and it seems the Auckland Massive has as well.

Friday night, to be frank, went off like a bride’s nightie.

The queue to get into the bar extended down the street and when it became evident most would not get in, various poets launched into outdoor impromptu performances to entertain them. Awesome!

Inside every nook and cranny of the Bar was filled with hugely smiling faces as the ten contestants, who had been whittled down from thirty in auditions, took to the floor.

We had old, young, bald, hirsute, clean, filthy, gay, straight, newbies, old hands, crazy and sane, and the audience lapped it all up. One particular highlight was 87 year old Chick Lowson who was there with his cradle-snatching 93yr old wife. When he told me they had gotten married in 1941 my brain kind of shut down. I was impressed with my three year relationship 10 years ago…..I no longer am.

He then sealed the deal with a beautiful poem that expounded the theory that “Love never dies…” And at 66 years of marriage, he’d know.

He didn’t win though, the gorgeous Miriam Barr took out that honour after she sailed through the first two Judged rounds and then snatched the bulk of the audience votes in the tense three way final.

It was an vibrant alive evening of performance poetry presided over by three fabulous judges in Graham Brazier, Jo Randerson and Canada’s inspirational star of the Writers and Readers Festival, Shane Koyczan. This powerhouse performer blew everyone away with his delicious words: “ I want your body to be something that I did wrong, I want you to hold it against me” and “You make mirrors want to grind themselves back down to sand coz they can’t do your reflection justice.”

The evening concluded when second place winner Jesse Jones picked me up onstage to celebrate then promptly dropped me on my ass. ROCK n ROLL man. (Well more bruises and awkward flashes of undies, but it felt very Jack Kerouac to me.)

In short it was s**t hot, words flew, sweat soaked, red wine ran out…. and you’d better get there early next year.

Packed Crowd of Smiles at the London Bar

Shane Koyczan

2007-05-24T12:20:00.000+12:00

This blog must be extremely disappointing for some people who visit it.

I mean I know it's packed with witty anecdotes, irrational rantings and the odd poem, which would be marvellously entertaining for most....however to a select few I'd wager it's a major downer.

One of the wonders of modern interwebbing is the track and trace thingymebobs we can out into our blogs via HTML.

(HTML is really quite exciting when you get your neurons round it but I see some of you glazing over like a Krispy Kreme at the mention so I'll continue.)

I have a thingymebob in here that tells me what people have searched for under Google to find my blog.

And well well well if there aren't some filthy minxes out there.

I know I'm not exactly Martha Stewart when it comes to minding my p's and q's... (I wonder how she told the big lesbian ladies that no in fact she wouldn't be performing cunnilingus on then in prison, very politely I'm sure.) and I realise in my heading I say the word fuck-knuckle AND that my blog is called Hot Pink Bits...but really what people are looking for!

It should come as no suprise to me with my research for the show Hot Pink Bits throwing up all sorts of interesting proclivities, but it's the combination of words giving me a giggle.

There have been the typical and predictable; "Pink Bits", "Rate My Pink Bits" (an hilarious site where people post pics of their bits and people rate them out of ten, mmwwaahahaha), "hot pink nipples" and so forth. Slightly more amusing ones...heaps from http://www.bangamidget.com/, and "Back Door Babes", also "lovely breasts" (how nice they came to me) and "nobby nipples" (hehehehehe). And then the downright hilarious ones like "sluts willing to bear it" and my all time favourite; "Felching Bristol."

Hahahahahahhaha, fleching Bristol, mwwaahahaha, felching...Bristol, hahahahaha. I love the fact someone typed that into Google and then found little old me who is neither in Bristol or equipt to Felch. And the most hilarious part is the person was diligent. I just searched for it myself and he trawled through SEVENTEEN Google pages to get to me. SEVENTEEN, mwaahahahahaaaa.

(Those mwaahahahah make me sound more like Dracula huh?)

OH and I did see a hilarious Porn Title on my trawlings though...Felching Nemo. Nice.

So there you have it, hello to all those searching for different things, whatever you're into go for it I say! Do come back if you enjoy these Pink Bits but otherwise have a nice time in Bristol.

Ka Kite Ano...(Bit of Te Reo Maori for you there.)

PS If you are wanting to start a Blog I highly recommend you call it www.backdoorbabesratemy pinknobbynipplesdirtyslutsfelchingnemo.blogspot.com, your hit counter will be off the scale!

Another Amusing Combination of Words, Hvar, Croatia

2007-05-22T15:07:00.000+12:00

Well the madness of my Comedy Festival Season is now over and I have a lovely review (see below) and some nicely sold out houses to show for it.

ALSO thanks to D.Vice one lucky punter won a vibrator the size of a very large root vegetable in a raffle. Frankly I'd be a bit scared of it myself, it looks like some sort of engineering burrowing device with a detachable digging implement. Which in a way I guess it kind of is BUT it looks rather like a dalek too......ejaculate....ejaculate, so it's not for the quaint hearted.

A lot of people don't realise the amount of work that goes into producing a festival show, and the competition we locals have in all those fabulous internationals. As a result I work my butt off to get my image plastered all over town, on radio, in magazines and on the tele.

Some call it megalomania, but I prefer the term publicity whore.

As such when TVNZ offered to fly me to Wellington for the day to appear on Good Morning to promote the wondrous Poetry Idol (see below) I jumped at the chance.

The fact it meant a 4.50am start on a day I had a show at 9.45pm in Auckland was a small sticking point but being the whore that I am I laid back and thought of ticket sales as I had a wee snooze-ette on the plane.

I was collected at Welly Airport with Wiremu from NZ Idol fame and whisked off to Purgatory, or as the locals call it Lower Hutt.

There I was powdered, curled and coffeed as I chatted Pase Doble and Foxtrots with old Twinkle Toes himself Brendan Pongia. Wiremu sang beautifully with his sister and then it was bright lights, camera and action and I was chatting Poetry Idol and Hot Pink Bits with Twinkle Toes in front of the nation. Well the Good Morning watching nation anyways.

I ended with my NZ tribute to the Owl and the Pussycat (see below) and got a nice round of applause from the sound operator.

After that fun and shenanigans I was dropped off at my sister's for a chat and an email check before she dropped me into town for more coffee at Fidel's.

From there it was off to Radio NZ for a panel discussion on women in comedy - I would write some material about tampons Simon as long as it was funny. Men talk about their knobs endlessly and get them out onstage and that's supposed to be hilarious but a little menstruation isn't? Screw that.

Or something like that anyway, oh yes and you notice........more whorish behaviour, but with longer skirts.

From there it was off to ooh and ahhh appropriately at my friend's baby. Thankfully it wasn't an ugly child and I didn't have to fake it. Nothing worse then seeing Chucky in a pram and having to stifle a scream as you say; "Oh he's so....... distinctive looking isn't he.....it is a he isn't it?"

Then I called a cab and was whisked off to Wellington airport to board my 4pm flight which was sure to be leaving on time as it was a beautiful clear day.

Or so I thought.

As I sat in the departure lounge noticing my boarding time ticking past and harried Qantas people scurrying about looking perterbed, I suddenly felt an Australia One sinking feeling that I wasn't going anywhere at 4pm.

Then Bing Bong...I'm sorry to announce that Qantas Flight 666 has been delayed for approximately one hour due to engineering difficulties. We say we're sorry for the delay, but in actuality we don't really give a fuck, especially about Penny Ashton who has to be in Auckland tonight for her show.

Then when I heard a customs dude say the same plane hadn't left til 8pm the night before, panic set in. I marched to the ticket desk and demanded to be placed on an Air New Zealand Flight to Auckland, I demanded to be moved to the next Qantas Flight, I demanded they charter a flight, I demanded they just patch the plane up as best they could and risk it, I demanded George Clooney (hell while you're being unreasonable), BUT none of these requests were granted.

It was all fine however as the plane did leave at 5pm along with one back door unable to be opened. Lucky for them I say, I would have slapped their ineptitude all over my publicity whore network and that would've shown em. Mini-shepherd's pie or no mini-shepherd's pie.

In the end I made it home in one piece though and the show went on.

Phew!

SO come and see what my airline fuss was all about in POETRY IDOL!

Poetry Idol is coming live and uncut to the Auckland Writer’s and Reader’s Festival.

(Shane Koyczan)

Held in Auckland’s iconic London Bar, it will star the freshest, most original performance poets in New Zealand. Be witness to their poetic prowess as they battle it out to see who will take home not only the Poetry Idol crown but also $400 in cash and prizes.

And with contestants who range from 20 years old to 84 years young, it promises to be an eventful evening!

A Poetry Slam with a twist, Poetry Idol will pit the performers against each other under the watchful eye of three celebrity judges. After each round the judges will offer advice to the budding bards as to how to improve for their next round BUT those who do not make the grade will be eliminated along the way.

In the end two poets will face off for a final and the entire audience will cast the deciding votes.

Hosted by New Zealand’s leading Performance Poet, Penny Ashton, Poetry Idol promises to be a sizzling night of live literature. Joining her as a guest performer and also as a judge on the night will be Shane Koyczan.

Shane Koyczan has placed in the top 6 of North America Slam Champs every year he has competed. (This competition attracts thousands of competitors.) He is the winner of Canadian Broadcasting Corporation's National Poetry Face Off and recently received the nod for best poetry reading from the Edinburgh Book Festival.

New Zealand’s own Graham Brazier and Jo Randerson will be the other two star-performers and Judges. Graham is a powerhouse performer and the Hello Sailor lead singer is now a beloved NZ icon. Jo Randerson is a young fresh voice in comedy and literature who has been making her mark on the scene for nearly a decade.

(Jo Randerson)

Performance Poetry is a little understood yet highly entertaining genre and it’s time you found out why!
DO NOT BE AFRAID.

POETRY IDOL – Watch as they make it their own, raise the bar and knock your socks off.

London Bar, Cnr Wellesley and Queen St Upstairs, Friday May 25th from 8pm. Be early to make sure of a seat! Only $5 on the door.

Finalists:
Anaise Irvine
David Mailangi
Worzel
Murray Lee
Chris Kirk
Jesse Jones (Johnny Jesus)
Charles Lowson
Miriam Barr
Renee Liang
The Druid of Devonport

The Possum and Ruru

The Ruru and Possum went to sea
In a beautiful tiki green boat
They took some sprite and vegemite
Wrapped up in a five dollar note
Ruru gazed at the Southern Cross above
And sang, like on Ten Guitars
“O lovely Possum! Oh Possum, my love,
What a spunky Possum you are, you are, you are
What a spunky Possum you are.”

Said the Possum to the Ruru “I didn’t know you
Could sing like Te Kanawa sings
Oh let’s tie the knot, but first let us pop
Into Michael Hill for the rings

But alas he was closed, so it was proposed
To sail for a day and a year
And when they arrived, they were surprised
To be met by a rascally Kea
With a ring clutched in his beak, his beak, his beak
With a ring clutched in his beak

Dear Kea are you willing to trade me a dollar for your ring?
Said the Kea “I Will”
So they took them away and were married next day
By a cow from Invercargill

They dined on lamb chunks and pineapple lumps
Which they ate with Mum’s wooden spoon
And snout to beak they danced on the beach
By the light of the silvery moon, the moon, the moon
By the light of the silvery moon

A Ruru Glove Puppet Silly!

2007-05-17T10:07:00.000+12:00

My latest review....hurry to book for tonight as Friday and Saturday are sold out! Or come in Christchurch at the Harbourlight! Hooray....

Theatreview Review....

AS INTRIGUING AS IT IS FUNNY

NZ International Comedy Festival
Penny Ashton - Hot Pink Bits

at The Classic Studio, Auckland
Until 19 May 2007
[1 hr]

Reviewed by Sian Robertson, 15 May 2007

Madame Penny welcomes her darling audience into her bawdy, velvety playground to sample delightful vaudevillian songs and fascinating sex facts. It's a history of the sex industry, embellished with theatrical interludes, obscure facts and figures, and audience participation including a pop quiz and a scripted performance from a well known adult film - but don't be afraid, Mistress Hot Pink will never put you on the spot (unless you want her to).

Tackling the entire history of the global sex trade - from the occupational hazards of phone sex to famous porn stars through the ages; from the habits of 5th century empresses to a bit of local history - is such a lot to cram into an hour of comedy she sometimes seems a bit rushed. However, her obvious appetite for the subject matter with all it's thrills and spills, delights and indignities, makes for a sumptuous and carefully selected buffet of juicy material.

This is not just stand-up comedy: Ashton's show is a finely crafted piece of comedic theatre, visually tasty, as intriguing as it is funny, taking us on a unreserved inspection of the evolution of prostitution, the advent of the adult film, the takeover of video and then the internet, etc. Encased in a fabulous pink corset her remarkable lungs hit us with a raunchy, resonant voice and several naughty versions of a few popular songs, such as 'A Few of My Favourite Things'...

It's just really refreshing to see someone having such a ball broaching every imaginable angle of sex-for-sale without a hint of shyness, or resorting crass gags. Obviously the audience weren't that squeamish or they wouldn't have come to an act called Hot Pink Bits, but anyone that was a bit timid at first was put at ease by the end of the show by Ashton's warm, enveloping, gutsy and fun manner.

Despite touching on some of the political aspects of the sex trade, including pointing out a few absurd laws and the obvious gender issues, it's never an excuse for a rant. Our mischievous Madame keeps the tone light, celebratory, and witty, delving into the odder side of our preferences and tendencies with a playful and well-researched abandon.

If you're at all interested in openly and humorously exploring the subject of sex (and let's face it, who isn't a little bit curious about other people's pink bits and what they do with them?) you'll love this show.

My only complaint: the seats in the Classic Studio are a pain in the buttocks so you might want to take a cushion (unless of course, you like a bit of pain with your pleasure). I couldn't help wondering if anyone noticed the Hot Pink Bits audience limping out gingerly, looking like they got a lot more than their money's worth!?

2007-05-13T12:14:00.000+12:00

A poem in praise of female assets for Mother's Day...

Women’s Charms

Out breasts
Loud breasts
No sunken shrunken breasts

Kauri breasts
Bonsai breasts
Nature’s variety at her best

Breasts for feminine things
Like clutching in a swoon
Breasts to bring a lover
To serenade me out of tune

Teddy Bear breasts
Jungle gym breasts
Strawberry flavoured milkshake breasts

Lived in breasts
Wizened breasts
Gravity’s won the battle breasts

Breasts with torso attached
A lumpy mattressed bliss
Breasts with nipples attached
That lean towards your kiss

Clamped breasts, plastic breasts
Breasts that will deceive you
Red Cross breasts, Umbrella breasts
Breasts that will relieve you

Women wear their breasts
With style, grace, panache and flair,
And here’s the thing boys, if you’re nice,
We may even let you share.

Guess I better ring her now!

Mum Tolerates a Drunken Hug at Sister's Wedding!

2007-05-10T23:21:00.000+12:00

From a review in the Comedy Festival. And people wonder why we feel a little fucked off with attitudes from time to time.

Sometimes it can be hard to find a point of difference between stand-up performers. Until you get a feel for their material, they tend toward an inexpressive sameness in appearance - either slightly overweight guys in t-shirts and jeans, or men in suits.*

*(Female performers are rarely noticed at all but tend toward a 'stroppy' or 'flirty' look, either a bright pink t-shirt or something to accentuate the bust.)

If only it weren't true!

Still if you've got it flaunt it and make it pink I say. I happen to think my breasts aren't too bad so I use them to distract from my ass. So what.

And what is a stroppy look? (Well apart from the one I'm telepathically sending in the writer's direction anyway.) He may as well say we're all sluts who can't get on the TV.

Again I say, if only it weren't true.

But actually, it's not. He's a twat, end of story.

Damn, and he made me angry again.

2007-05-08T15:54:00.000+12:00

Last night I stripped off a layer of clothing with an audience and shook it about in the air to the frenetic cry of "Get your tits out, get the troops out, get your tits out, get the troops out..."

Ahhh yes, the comedy festival.

And more than that, Phil Nicol.

If you haven't seen this pint sized Catherine Wheel of outrageous comedic talent with a penchant for getting nude and hitting himself in the head with a microphone, then I suggest you head down to the Classic Comedy Bar at 7pm this week. (321 Queen St)

If you like George Bush, Maeve Binchy and your strongest drug of choice is NutraSweet, then maybe stay at home. (Especially if the idea of Penis Aerobics bothers you.... though no actually it bothers me but I still loved it.)

It's all about a drug induced odyssey of insanity through 4 days in Amsterdam after a fight with his Irish girlfriend and is quite frankly fucking hilarious.
Go there or be square.

That's it, nothing more to see here........I've calmed down.

Phil Nicol wishes Nicky Watson left her Tits in.

2007-05-03T17:44:00.000+12:00

Warning - Extreme Anger, Language and National Mockery

I am PISSED off.

Pissed off at toffy nose private school twits (ok ok I went to a private school, but I'm different) who all went off on their OE's to Europe to crusie about on yachts and boff rich nobby twats after they've sunk a tankard of champers and quaffed caviar off someone called Nigel's erect penis with a chihuahua running around yipping like Paris Hilton on speed.

I'm pissed off that this tanned idiotic lot then congregated into groups known as syndicates who preyed on New Zealand's hopeless insecurities as a nation and made us all believe that just because some of us could sail we should all become devoted fans of sweet fuck all happening on the water and it would prove something to the world if we won a race that most Americans haven't even heard of.

I am pissed off we even won this in the first place and had enormous ticker tape parades through NZ's main centres as if these sailing toss pots had done something like cure cancer or invent stilettos that didn't hurt.

We only got excited because we beat Australia, whoop-de-doo.

Then I am pissed off we had to defend this cup (after it had been smashed up by an equally demented hater of Colonial Oppression) and built an entire district in Auckland to cater to an elite group of girls called Shazza and Shaquila who just love to put on their white pants, frosted pink lipstick and head down to the Loaded Hog to be fingered by the cigarette machine. (As in next to it, not actually by it, though that would be entertaining.)

I am pissed off that I face painted in this viaduct wearing overalls in 2000 and that some nasty bitch asked me is I was pregnant. I mean really!

I am pissed of we won again and fuelled this inane sense of divine right to a stupid silver cup and also instilled a sense of expectation that we'll win forever.

I am pissed off with red socks.

I am pissed off that NZ then went on a xenophobic rampage to the soundtrack of a christian fundamentalist and declared any sailor willing to take 11 million dollars to sail for another syndicate a TRAITOR! Funny how no one seems to think Chris Dixon is traitorous, what's the bloody difference?

I am glad we lost, and in spectacular fashion.

AND now I am pissed off that the fucking America's Cup sailing is on when I am trying to earn a living doing social commentary on Breakfast TV and that I keep getting cancelled in favour of watching NOTHING happen in a place with a name that has a lisp and lots of orange juice.

Presumably they put in with their champers to toast their caviar quaffing rich twat chihuahua humping selves.

Now some may say I am being selfish, that many people enjoy the sailing and that many possibly find my inane jokes on the news of the day tiresome and childish.

To them I say, go stick your boat shoes up your port hole and twat off.

SO there.

I feel much better now!

And most Americans still don't know what it is.

HHmmpphh

PS. Come to my show, I promise to be much nicer.

2007-04-29T10:15:00.000+12:00

I have a gorgeous friend who last night celebrated her 36th birthday.

We met almost exactly ten years ago amidst a haze of Ouzo fuelled revelry on the Greek Island of Ios.

For those of you who don't know Ios is a kind of floating Sodom and Gomorrah (so had to look that spelling up) in the Adriatic Sea. A Mecca for backpackers who descend on it's white sands and crystal clear waters to drink themselves to oblivion and shag like the overexcited early twenty-somethings they are.

My then boyfriend and I had decided we were going to leave London's dinge and bask in Grecian sunlight whilst working in one of the squillion bars that fought for patronage for the few months of the year that tourists spawned.

We nestled into the local backpackers for a mere 5 quid a night and set about finding employment and learning that the local word for wanker is Malaka. (For some reason everyone wants to teach you that.)

The most common job on offer was the "fish-hook". This is the person who stands outside the bar and says "Come in, you know you want to" to the wildly inebriated antipodeans who stumble passed, tempting them with drink specials that almost always included a shot of Ouzo and the implied possibility of a root from an equally trolleyed punter.

Though this didn't seem a particularly brilliant use of my Bachelor of Arts I thought what the hell and asked at a few bars.

What I hadn't bargained on was the first old man I asked leering at me through herbaceous eyebrows and asking; "Hev you got a short skert to wear?"

Given I was quite a lot fatter at the time and about as likely to wear a mini-skirt as give Prince Charles a blow-job I declined his offer of employ.

I eventually got a job at Cheers, The Little Irish Bar and for two whole nights stood there from 10pm to 4am attempting to entice punters inside.

Then I got paid.

Or should I say then a paltry amount of drachma was dropped into my hands that wouldn't feed Lindsay Lohan.

So I quit and decided to party hardy for a few weeks then head back to London and make some real money. (Well enough to feed Lindsay Lohan AND Calista Flockhart maybe.)

It was then I met my lovely friend who was single, footloose and fancy free. We became drinking buddies over bleary eyed late nights of Heinekens, dancing to Abba (she's obsessed) and lazing about on the beach during the day.

When I recently figured out that that was ten years ago I couldn't believe it BUT then again when I look at her newly renovated home, two kids and husband, I guess I can.

A lot has happened for her in ten years, and me too but I guess I'm still footloose and fancy free with no home or kids. And luckily we're both more than happy with our arrangements.

SO last night even though I was sober (she's lives in the arse end of nowhere) we had a boogie to Dancing Queen for old time's sake and I was briefly transported back to a breezy Adriatic day and the delight of making new friends on the other side of the world.

Wow that sounded a bit like a Malaka huh.

2007-04-26T11:36:00.000+12:00

Last night I couldn't sleep for two hours.

My brain wouldn't let me as it kept yelling at me to do various things.

This always happens just as I am about to do a show. The million and one little things that require attention swim through my mind at 3.45am and keep me awake. Well actually they more thrash about like a toddler in the deep end who never had swimming lessons with no Mummy in sight.

The only way I managed to get back to sleep was to tell myself that is I was still awake at 5.50am I should go to the gym.

I fell asleep at 5.45am.

Miraculous.

Now I am awake when I should be and beavering away at my computer as I finalise opening night invitations, Christchurch technicians, Canadian Tax Waivers, Front of House personnel and Technical rehearsals in Auckland, Advert design for Edmonton, Accommodation for Toronto, Tax Returns for NZ, Air miles to get me to Canada (fucking United Airlines Cheating Bastards), Poetry Idol auditions, going to the gym, eating and panicking that I have no money.

Well actually I am now distracting myself by writing a pathetic feel sorry for me blog, but it's a short one I promise.

You see I am concurrently producing SEVEN season of Hot Pink Bits in two countries over five months.

You're right, I'm a twat.

I mean it beats working for "The Man", whoever he is.....and to be honest he must be making a fortune huh, but well it can sometimes get a bit much for one little girl to bear. (That's me in case you're curious.)

It's about now that the weight of impending financial disaster kicks my ass into publicity overdrive and I shout from the rooftops just how goddam fabulous my show will be, so please come.

So there you have it. A very non-Kiwi thing to say BUT come see my show, it'll be fabulous. It's had great reviews in Wellington and Christchurch and it really is good. So there.

ALSO please come and see it so I don't have a mental breakdown and start getting creative with my poo and walls. Though I guess I could win the Wallace Art Prize if I did, but well, I just don't like poos really.

OK I promise to leave now, I have a meeting with my accountant who will no doubt say to me yet again; "You know these shows you do, they don't really make you any money do they?" And I'll smile again, agree, and plan my 25 seasons for next year.

See you at the Classic Studio, The Harbourlight Theatre, in Toronto, Winnipeg, Saskatoon, Edmonton or Vancouver.

Yep.............twat.

PS There is one silver lining in all this with being essentially single for six weeks. At least I don't have to waste time shaving my legs, cleaning my room or changing my sheets. Nice!

2007-04-20T15:39:00.000+12:00

Don't you hate it when when you suddenly realise you have something.

Before you had it you didn't care about it.

If it wasn't there it didn't matter because you didn't know what it was.

If it went away for a while you couldn't give a fuck because you didn't know where it had gone or what its name was in the first place.

If you decided to go away you never gave it a second thought and just looked forward to jumping onto that plane and sailing off to new adventures.

But then all of a sudden something pops up when you least expect it and makes you think about it quite often.

You like spending time around it because it makes you laugh and has a very sexy smile.

You even like to take it away to nice baches in the Coromandel where you watch DVD's, eat fabulous food and hold hands.

Then all of a sudden it takes itself off to Europe for a number of weeks and although you're in exactly the SAME position you were before you met it in the first place, everything seems a little less bright, a little less funny and a lot less sexy.

Don't you just hate that.

Lucky I have a two whole seasons of Hot Pink Bits to take my mind of it completely.

Coz that'll work.

Anytime now.

MMMhmmmmmm

Yep

Wooohooo I just sold more tickets to my show, it DOES work.

For a bit anyway.

Oh and I have more GST.

WOooohooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

And then of course there is writing rambling aimless blogs that never end.

I reckon that might work too.

Or not.

HHHmmmmmm

OK really leaving now.

I promise.

Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

COME SEE MY SHOW!

PS this is Abbey from www.thebalihouse.com a great place to stay and hold hands.

2007-04-17T10:24:00.000+12:00

OK so with Hot Pink Bits selling fast at the New Zealand Comedy Festival, you'd better get booking so you don't miss out! It sold out completely in Wellington, you wouldn't want to be sad now would you......

HOT PINK BITS

Whatever happened to Divine Brown? Can a phone sex operator get RSI? Do people really have sex through a pizza? Frustrated you can’t look any of this up on your work computer? Then Hot Pink Bits is the show for you.

That’s right everyone’s dirty girl Penny Ashton is back, and in 2007 she’s naughtier than ever. For her brand spanking new show Penny has trawled the ins and…outs of the international sex industry and will tell you all about the lives of the she’s, he’s, and she-males that make a living in the world’s oldest profession.

Resplendent in a hot pink corset, dripping in cheap jewelry and strung up in fishnets, Ashton will sing, dance and pontificate on porn, prostitutes and Lockwood Smith in a burlesque-esque romp through the kickers of the global sex trade. There’ll be a group orgasm, an audience gimp and a very sexy stripper. Songs will be reinvented, fetishes will be indulged and Nana will need a lie down. But of course it will all be done…in the best POSSIBLE taste.

Classic Studio, 321 Queen St, May 14th - 19th, Book at 0800 TICKETEK

Harbour Light, London St, Lyttelton, June 5th - 9th, Book at http://www.harbourlight.co.nz/

Praise for HOT PINK BITS Wellington 2007 – TOTALLY SOLD OUT SEASON!!!
“….this polished and confidently performed show takes an irreverent look at sex that is far from dirty and very, very funny.” Dominion Post

“…Hot Pink Bits is cheerfully irreligious, and delightfully disrespectful of politicians, celebrities and many other desperate wannabes. The full spectrum of perversion is delicately sampled, with a wit that is sharp without ever being cruel.” Scoop

“Ashton was a ball of confident energy; singing, dancing, mincing and prancing her way around the stage and up into the audience.” Lumiere.net.nz

Wellington Fringe Awards – Honorable Mention Best Comedy for Hot Pink Bits

2007-04-13T12:08:00.000+12:00

Today is Bad Friday and I feel much more at home on Friday 13th than I do on Good Friday when Jesus SUPPOSEDLY rose from the dead. Funny really, I guess that makes him a Zombie and quite at home today too.

ANYWAY enough religion bashing for today and onto a nice poem.

I thought it was time I posted one and this is an old favourite and a nice counterbalance to all that nasty swearing from yesterday.

Take Two Before Bed

Can I be
Your Vitamin C
Your shot in the arm
Your can of V
Your fizzing fix of Vitamin B
Bubbling Effervescently

Can I be
Your ecstasy
Your Codral Cold
That’s non-drowsy
Your speed, your coke, your Herbal E
That makes your heart beat wildly

Can I be
Your cup of tea
Your trim flat white
Your Diet Pepsi
Your PCP or LSD
A tab on your tongue of TNT

Can I be
Your potpourri
Your essential oil
Your scent of the sea
Your Glade plug-in Pine Tree
With Pheromone Aromatherapy

Can I be
Your vitamin C
Your strength in the face
Of adversity
When I need you and you need me
A dose of love, that’s orangey

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

2007-04-12T13:14:00.000+12:00

Imagine my horror when faced with the prospect of driving all the way to Alexandra, deep in New Zealand's South Island, without any musical accompaniment.

I was borrowing my parents car which had had a CD player, but it decided to kark it just before my SIX hour drive.

I was so annoyed I said cunt in front of my Mum! Imagine that.

Relax, she laughed. Possibly a nervous reaction covering her inner monologue of "That'll be her father's influence" but she laughed nonetheless.

Then she said "why don't you check out our tape collection?"

I bit my lip so as not to say; "Actually I'd rather undergo a female circumcision than listen to Richard Clayderman does the Beatles accompanied by the Pan Pipes of James Galway" when I realised that beggars couldn't be choosers and scuttled inside.

And what a nostalgic blast from the past that all was!

First up The Best of Bread. Now you might not imagine that one so funky and hip and down with kids as I might be interested in an old 70's band with frankly a stupid name BUT you see it takes me back to 1992 and to a boy. He was enamoured with Bread and I was enamoured with him, quid pro quo I became enamoured with Bread.

Ahhhh youth.

SO when after a whole intense week of lazing in bed listening to "If a picture paints a thousand words then why can't I paint you...." he broke up with me after shagging Catherine Talbot on the Law Trip, I was devastated. I cried listening to "If a picture....." ahhhhh you get the idea.

Pathetic.

Next up was the soundtrack to Grease Two.

For those of you unfamiliar with this frankly stupid movie from 1982, it is a role reversal on the original concept of "If your man doesn't like you just change". This time it is the girl, Michelle Pfeiffer, starring in her greatest dramatic role as a Pink Lady, who is the cool one and she is looking for a "Cool Rider". Instead she finds geeky Maxwell Caufield who then transforms into a leather clad Lothario just for her. Oh with some singing and dancing along the way of course.

And in 1982 I LOVED it.

Rotten Tomatoes gives it a high 14% quality rating and on listening again for the first time in years I too have had a role reversal, it's fucking terrible!

Next up was Solid Gold Hits 1984 which kicked in with that rollicking classic "Wired for Sound" which I so was. Other smashes included "Tainted Love", "Hands Up" and of course those massive hits....."Chariots of Fire" and "The Hill St Blues Theme."

Not much happening in 1984 obviously.

BUT the best one was "How Great Thou Art" by Sir Howard Morrison. Good fucking grief, a hymn, hilarious.

Anyway you get the idea, there was Eurythmics, Culture Club, Neil Young and ......... Richard Clayderman and I had a lovely trip down to the wedding, which was also very lovely.

So go ransack your parents tape drawers, there's a plastic world of fun waiting to be shared!

Choice.

2007-03-29T17:41:00.000+12:00

I did something today that I just have to share with the class.

You see I finally knocked my GST (Goods and Services Tax) on the head today. "Woohooo" you say, "how much fun was that?" "God that's a sexy woman who does her own tax" you shout. "Thanks Christ I didn't have to do it" you think.

Well yes.

It's kind of like a bi-monthly period that bleeds me dry, makes me irritable and snappy and I usually end up in the red.

Today however I had a serious giggle when fiddling my fiscal sanitary towels. You see for my show Hot Pink Bits, which is all about the sex industry, I had to do loads of research. Most of it was done on my trusty laptop with www.bangamidget.com being my favourite site.

However when I was in Christchurch I did decide I needed to watch some classic porn to get some cheesy dialogue. I headed down to Peaches and Cream on Colombo St and got out The Candy Stripers and The Satisfiers of Alpha Blue. The first being set in a hospital, the latter in OUTER SPACE! "It's cock Jim, but not as we know it.........."

I took it home to my parents place, banned them from the lounge room and watched it on my trusty laptop.

I must be one of the first people in the history of time to fastforward through the rooting to get to the chatting but that's exactly what I did and got lots of lovely inspiration for dialogue. I then returned the DVD much to my Dad's disappointment.

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

So what you say?

Well today when I was doing my GST I legitimately put $5 hireage for porn down as claimable expense. And how many people get to do that! Though two years ago I bought a Blow-Up Man Doll for my show Busty Rhymes. He was black, was called Tyrone and had a 10 inch vibrating penis that slotted into his crotch area too.

So people I reckon you should all be comediennes, porn and vibrators are legitimate expenses.

Ahhhhhhhh I love my life.

Gotta run, got a date with Tyrone.

2007-03-26T17:06:00.000+12:00

It's not often that one gets pissed singing karaoke with ones Dad til 3am on a Saturday morning, but that's just what one did this weekend.

My Dad usually lives in the flat miniopolis that is Christchurch but was visiting the big smoke to spend a week with his sister. On Friday night he came over for a nice meal of salad. Being as Dad thinks brown bread is nouveau cuisine he eyed the rocket suspiciously before declaring; "What's this shit?"

He managed to stomach it all however, even including some fancy balsamic vinegar. Ahhhh dads.

Anyways after dinner my Aunt went home and Dad I got stuck into a few bottle of a lovely Merlot with my flatmate and before you could say "inappropriate parenting" we were a little sozzled and playing Leaving on a Jet Plane on my pink ukulele.

Then at 12 am I had a flash of inspiration. What would a Christchurch man who (seriously) has his own commercial Karaoke Machine at home like to do on a Friday night out in civilisation?

You guessed it......murder My Way.

So we packed our bags and were ready to go, off to K-Rd. K-Rd for those that don't know used to be Auckland's seedy underbelly, except it wasn't subtle enough to be an underbelly. It was more Auckland's seedy bedazzled push up bra with tassels on a girl called Dave with an Adam's Apple as big as my fist screaming out; "Go on now go, walk out the door, just turn around now coz you're not welcome anymore!"

Since those halcyon days though K-Rd has lost some of its shine. BUT even though the bedazzler has broken down and the urine has intensified it still has its cool places and Azerbaijan Karaoke Bar is definitely one of them.

It's long and thin, is always staffed by the fabulous smiling Cherry and has friendly regulars all battling it out to sing Sweet Child of Mine (I usually win by the way). SO I decided to haul Dad up there for a bit of faux Japanese culture.

We settled in with Heinekens, bourbons and the song book and got busy choosing which masterpieces we would serenade the drunken stag's do with. (Nothing like men hitting on you in front of your dad to keep an evening interesting.)

Over the next three hours we warbled favourite after favourite whilst Dad gradually became a singing sensation. We sang Cabaret together, he did My Way, I did I Touch Myself but it was our rousing Copacabana that stole the show and turned Dad into a star. On the high note from the big Barry M we decided to quit while we were Solid Gold Dancers and not thrash out the pain til we were Britney Spears.

We did well.

A drunken toddle home and Dad was tucked up in the spare bed ready to sing another day.

God help my mum.

Beady-Eyed Ashton

2007-03-18T11:15:00.000+12:00

I remember my first really big music festival.

It was 1998, T in the Park, in a desolate location between Edinburgh and Glasgow.

The line-up was amazing for a wide-eyed kiwi girl whose concert experiences up until then had been Billy Joel, Elton John, Crowded House and U2. (Now you may mock those choices but I defy you not to sing along to Elton John, though the fact i went twice and drove up to Auckland from Christchurch the second time is really quite embarrassing so please don't tell anyone.)

We had Pulp, Portishead, Space, Catatonia, Prodigy, Robbie Williams, Garbage, Charmbawarmba, James, Travis, Kristen Hersch, Gomez, Cornershop. Asian Dub Foundation, Natalie Imbruglia, Beastie Boys, Finlay Quaye, Stereophonics, Ash blah blah blah blah......................

Gotta love Google, my memory aint that flash.)

I mean holy fuck, what a line-up and it was all poised to be a beautiful thing.

On the first day the sun was shining the Tennants was flowing, the ferris wheel was spinning and Robbie was singing like he was winning. Choice. It was like totally cool man and my sister and I had a great time bopping on down like the early 20's groovers that we were.

Then came day two and a typical display of Scottish summer weather, it pissed down with the force of a 10 000 Scottish football hooligans after a night on the McEwans Ale and deep fried mars bars, and the results were equally biological.

A soggy messy smelly field of churned up grass and pulverised earth which attempted to suck you under just like Quicksand in a Tarzan film whilst relentless rain permeated every fibre of your clothing and mud oozed up your legs like a deranged mutant beauty treatment.

In short I fucking hated it.

Oh but it gets better............I was camping.

Brilliant.

Yes and not in one of those palace tents with blow-up mattresses, a veranda and a small room for the house boys, oh no, in a pup tent with my whining complaining sister.

You couldn't even sit up fully in this tiny excuse for a living arrangement and if you were sodden and covered in mud you had to do yoga manoeuvres outside so as to remove crap infested clothing whilst trying not to show your neighbour what you had for lunch. You then had to somehow shimmy into the flimsy canvas poncho without spraying it with mud all the while ignoring your moaning sister and not slapping her in the face.

Did I say I fucking hated it?

And it gets even better.

In these pre-cellphone, pre-eftpos on site days my sister decided to head off to the nearby pimple of a village to get some money out. She would be an hour at most and I'd meet her in the big cabaret style tent in plenty of time to go and see Gomez, my new favourite band of the time.

So I waited...

and waited....

and waited...

and WAITED!

Gomez started but I couldn't leave the tent as where was my sister? Was she dead? Had she fallen into Loch Ness? Had she been abducted by a big hairy Celtic man who wanted to batter and deep fry her?

Unfortunately not, she just took three hours to go and buy herself an entirely new wet weather outfit....

Did I mention I was trying not to slap her?

Oh and it gets better, she didn't get me anything at all and I was still in my T in the Park rubbish bag wellington boots whereas she had actually gumboots, a parka and wet weather trousers AND I only got to see Gomez's LAST song.

OK I'm ranting now, and god knows I'm no perfect travelling companion, her side to this story id probably vastly different, but well it's my blog and I'll blag if I want to.

SO why am I rabbiting on about all this bollocks?

Well because I just got back from New Plymouth and the fabulous WOMAD where I actually had a brilliant time.

It did rain but it only really pissed it down like a Scottish lad on the Sunday morning and by the time the performances began at 12pm it had all but stopped. It was quite spookey actually and if I wasn't an atheist I'd say the Buddhist Monks chanting all night for good weather may have helped. But I am so that's bollocks but my weren't we lucky.

There was a wondrous line-up of people from all over the world and NZ, with our Mamaku Project doing a stonking couple of sets and selling out of their CD's. I MC'd a few hours every night and got to meet a lovely Chinese Flautist,an Iranian bagpipe Cossack dancer, an Israeli Flamenco singer and Mr Scruff Brit DJ extraordinaire amongst others.

It was all in the gorgeous Brooklands Bowl Park in New Plymouth and I even stayed in a very flash house of an ex-All Black and NOT in a nasty little tent. In short it was choice and you should all go next year.

It's true, there is an awful lot of Dahl, ripped striped Nepalese pants, seed pod hats and fire-poi BUT luckily the rain put them out and to be fair hippies, though smelly, are usually very nice and the Vegan Veggie Burger I had was quite delicious.

The final night party was legendary even if I did drink white wine, red wine, beer and bourbon, and I found myself belly dancing with the Iranian to Eastern European Folk Music and deflecting the attentions of an Indonesian Gamelan player. Ahhhh life!

Here's some pics of then and now:

T in the Park 1998 - Sunny Day

And the not so bloody sunny day

Rubbish Bag Chic by Trelise Cooper

AND Little Miss Hurricane Katrina

WOMAD 2007 - TSB Bowl New Plymouth

Too Many Vodkas

Mexican Diva Lila Downs Projected on the Brooklands Stage

The Group Orgy by the Dell Stage aka Tango Lessons

Chinese Flautist Guo Yue and Geordie Upstart Ben Murray

The Portaloos Near The Pagoda Stage

Hippies R Us

2007-03-13T15:23:00.000+13:00

Gosh I am being a busy wee beaver aren't I??

And no this isn't yet another column about sex....but rather I am feeling the need to post poetry on a more regular basis I think, so here's one dedicated to where I'm about to spend the next two hours....the gym.

It's a place filled with pain, sweat, gym instructors screeching "ARE YOU FEELING ALRIGHT!" and many a gay boy eyeing up many another gay boy....well maybe that's just Les Mills, but it's where I spend an inordinate amount of time feeling like this:

Exercise

Exercise
Taut trim thighs
Butt I’d like to minimise
Seeking out adrenaline highs
So to lose a dress size

Exercise
Is it really wise
Joints grind and muscle fries
All for that elusive prize
Of Perfection, but who decides?

Exercise
Don’t economise
Lycra stocks are on the rise
I’ll only sweat into merchandise
Lovingly made by teenage Thais

Exercise
Euphoric cries
Smiling gym bunnies, must die
Perfect teeth I’d like to prise
Apart and force feed chicken pies

Exercise
Resigned sighs
The rate that I metabolise
Means I’ll be there til my demise
Gotta love that exercise

My Exercise Outfit from 1983