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

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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!

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!?

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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

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

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.

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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

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

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

I totally love fireworks!

There's just something about grown up boys (and let's face it, it's usually men) blowing stuff up into pretty pictures in the sky that reverts me to a six year old.

It actually makes me go "ooooh" and "aaahhhhh" and grin idiotically at the heavens as gold leaf shimmers it's way down to earth, and as on Saturday night, into my hair and eyes.

You see Saturday was the opening of the Auckland Festival, or as we like to call it, AK07.

My friends and I decided to get there early so as to score a good possie and at 6pm there were only a few thousand there.

There was a little stress caused as members of our party struggled to find us as the thousands became tens, then hundreds of thousands (especially as one of those had the beer and was two hours late) but I would like to extend a thank you to the nice person with a giant pink hand on a white stick that made navigation slightly easier.

And actually it was possibly a godsend my beer arrived late as I therefore never felt the need to trek across the Andes to get to the Port-a-loos. Two of our party disappeared down a crevasse on this trip and were never seen again. OK they found us at the end of the night with tales of stinking sanitary provisions and screeching brats, but it was touch and go.

BUT I digress.

The fireworks were provided by Groupe F, a French troupe of technical wizards who produced explosions like I've never seen. An entire sky filled with the aforementioned gold leaf, enormous pillars of fire that you could feel singe your eyebrows and the finest showers of gold I've ever seen this side of a porn video.

You were so close to the action that on numerous occasions you were gently tickled by embers falling all over you. I even got some in my eye but wasn't too bothered, (unlike a porn video) and it really was quite choice!

One sour note was seen near me in some manly argy-bargy, as is always the way in huge gatherings of people. You see one swathe of people decided they needed to stand up to see things and so there was lots of angry yelling of "SIT DOWN" and in one case a brawl nearly erupted when one fat man was yelling at another fat man to park his sizeable ass. They were barrel chest to barrel chest and I had visions of toddlers flying into a column of fire but unfortunately..... oops sorry I mean fortunately, that didn't happen, and just like a spent wick the situation was diffused. (See what I did there.)

And then it was all over, 500 kilos of explosives (or something huge that like that I can't quite remember or find on Google) gone up in a puff of smoke. (See what I did there.) And lots of giggling reverted toddlers madly flicking through their digital cameras to see pics that will never truly encompass how like totally cool it all was.

Helen Clarke, our sexy fashion plate of a PM summed it all up nicely in her speech that opened AK07; "Auckland is rocking tonight." Man is she groovey and down with the kids, but indeed it was.

It was one smoking night of entertainment, that went off with a bang created by some luminary bright sparks of the the visual spectacular industry to light up our lives in an incendiary fashion. (Uhhhh I think you saw what I did there.)

Some snaps to illuminate your day....(I promise I'll stop now)











The Otago Goldrush Hits Auckland











Artist's Impression of Australia











Child Impedes my View but Makes Pretty Pic











Attempts to Incinerate Child Fail











Artist's Impression of Toi Toi











Artist's Impression of Jazz Hands

Oh and here's a silly wee ditty about the aesthetic qualities of art, and appropriate depictions of the human form in society.


Grecian 2007

I don’t mean to sound a prude
But why are Greek Statues always nude?

Wouldn’t the Christians have looked askance
If David hadn’t been wearing pants?

Did Theseus really slay the Minotaur
Flapping about without any drawers?

And they’re obviously cold as they’re all a bit stunted
So wouldn’t they rather be Y-Fronted?

SO to be brief add briefs and save degradation
Because after all ladies,
Things are so much better when they’re left
To our ….. imagination

Hellllllo everyone and welcome to March. How exciting.

I'd particularly like to welcome all those who have come to my site after searching for such things as "pink bits" "hot pink teen hos" and "backdoor angel babes". I realise I'm not quite what you were looking for but hey, have a squizz anyways and thanks for upping my hit counter.

ANYWAY


As to what I want to say, I'm having trouble wording exactly what it is that I want to say, as it's all about ...........what I actually do say.

You see I have developed a rather terrible habit of being terribly indiscrete. So terrible in fact I've used the word terrible four times in this paragraph alone.

When it comes to most things I believe a problem shared is a problem halved. Or actually in my case it's more problem 0.0000000001 nd. If I've done something stupid or pashed someone dumb or text "hey big boy come put your snake in my plane" to the ugly guy I met at the karaoke bar who was singing "We're not Going to Take It" then the first thing I have to do is tell someone about it.

"Look what a dickhead I am!" I'll shriek, "How could I be so fucking stupid?" I'll wail. My friends will then smile, cluck their tongues and silently thank god they posess the gene that prevents them from telling me the retarded things they've done coz that would be....well retarded.

From terrible to retarded, even my vocabulary is mocking me.

I guess this wouldn't be so bad if it was only in reference to pashing, groping and draining the battery on my Mum and Dad's car in Christchurch three times in one year. (I know, how retar uh ....silly!) I mean that's not so bad AND self-deprecation is the basis for many a comedy career........or maybe that's masterbation, hhhhm either way.

But you see, I can go soooooooooooooooo much further than that.

Sometimes I have been known to divulge far far far too too too personal details about ..... um .... putting his rumple foreskin in my wheel clamp, slapping his cervical smoocher in my pizza oven, thrusting Sir Throblington in my ahhhh i think you get the idea.

Sex.

I'm terrible, I blurt out intimate details like a bulimic does McDonalds. I'll tell my friend something like...."Oh my god you so won't believe what happened last night....just when I was about to xyz him, his xyz flew up and hit Aunty xyz in the xyz, it was such a mess we had to call the fire brigade."

She'll then laugh and smile awkwardly BUT no where near as awkwardly as she does the next time she sees him and can only think of his xyz flapping about like a newborn fish.

Oh dear.

SO I have resolved to try and be more discrete with someone I've been seeing a bit of lately. I won't say anything at all about his vast chest, gorgeous eyes and almost hilarious jokes. I won't utter a thing about soft lips, sexy smell or ability to lift me up, and I certainly won't mention his accent, which is a pearler.

I'll just say he's quite nice and we've held hands...........quite a few times.

Diddly diddly doo, that's all, nothing to hear here, dum de dum de doo.

There I'm loads better already.




PS His jokes can be quite hilarious but don't tell him that.


Some pics from Teal Bay...



You Talking to Me?





St Helena Bay





Teal Bay





New Zealand's Next Top Model






A few Red Wines

Fuck me, was it really that long ago that I put thought process to pixel and spat out some interweb ramblings? To my four (hello Kojo) readers I am immensely sorry. You have probably well and truly buggered off by now anyways BUT just in case you have ventured back due to some weird masochistic urge to re-read old crap, a thousand apologies for your wasted Broadband usage.

In spite of what you may think I truly have a good excuse. I have been knee deep in porn and erection enhancement rings promoting and performing my new show Hot Pink Bits. And to be honest I've been partaking in some non-virtual pink bits activities as well.

OOO errrrr you say. Well yes.

But let's start at the very beginning , for as Julie Andrews says, it's a very good place to start.

So first on the Pinky agenda this year was the World Busker's Festival in Christchurch where I premiered my brand spanking new show Hot Pink Bits to a rather lovely response. I had nearly 1000 people come and see my pontifications on porn, prostitution and Lockwood Smith in dirty old Christchurch. I even spanked naughty councillor Barry Corbett's bot bot on stage for being a filthy perve......well actually he was a total sweetheart but it suited my show better for him to be a Cantabrian gimp with a rampant flagellation fetish AND desperate for a beating, so voila, he was.

And to think he did my birthday call on 3ZB when I was ten, I feel violated.

From there I toured my show to the Wellington Fringe Festival and my first entirely sold out season at Bats Theatre where I had a brilliant time. The staff and audience at Bats are amazing and do a fab job, and it was so nice to do such a successful season in the best indie theatre in the country. (Incidentally if you're ever in Wellington New Zealand, pop in and say hi and give them lollies, they're much more fun when they're bouncing off the walls on food colourings.)

Some of my reviews said quite choice things like:

Dominion Post Review 12th February 2007

Hot Pink’s Polish

Another show with sex as its centre the one-woman comedy Hot Pink Bits, playing at Bats. Written and performed by former Royal NZ Ballet dancer-turned-comedienne Penny Ashton, this polished and confidently performed show takes an irreverent look at sex that is far from dirty and very, very funny.It is not so much about how we do it – or don’t – as it is a quirky and fascinating look at things associated with sex, such as fetishes, prostitution and porn. ...... It is just a pity that Ashton is assigned only a five-night season as this highly professional show deserves a much longer run.

(For those of you who didn't know I was in the Royal NZ ballet.... neither did I!!! But I guess those 90's were a blur of cocaine and Russian contortionists so who knows.)

Scoop Review

12th February 2007

Penny Ashton’s lively show is an energetic hurtle through 7,5000 years of sex-obsessed human social evolution, from Palaeolithic stone idolatry through to Internet dominatri and 0900 relationships......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.The audience was happy to be shamelessly manipulated, joining in a general knowledge quiz for prizes, offering up one lucky punter to act in a homage to ‘70s porn, and another to bump and grind, as well as participating en-mass in a stirring group orgasm. Ms Ashton’s enthusiasm and comedic competency deliver all that is promised, including the splendid corset which renders her remarkable chest remarkably chesty. ......This is a great evening out, equally fun for grownup boys or girls, whether desperate and dateless or durably coupled.


So there we go.

Since then I have been attempting to do things like vastly overdue GST returns but just can't be fucked.

Well actually I have been, and quite regularly, but unfortunately this isn't helping me achieve all my goals. Though to be fair as one of my goals is to be serviced by a very tall, very sexy man, it seems I am ticking that box quite satisfactorily but all the others have been as badly neglected as Anna Nicole's pot plants.

I have therefore dealt with this situation very maturely ........ by running away.

Hey, it worked for King Edward the Eighth, when he abdicated for that hotty Wallis Simpson.......

OK so maybe that's a bad comparison, and to be honest ever so slightly wanky, but nonetheless I am now holed up in Teal Bay 40 km out of Whangarei so I can recuperate and recharge my batteries with some salt water and Pinot Noir.

I am in a good old fashioned Kiwi Bach I found online that is about 20 metres away from the sea. I can hear it pounding away now as I type as a matter of fact and that makes me feel relaxed and happy. Hooray for New Zealand, I truly love the beach. I didn't used to, I used to be mortified of looking like a beached whale in a Speedo Spandex wrist cuff, buuuuuuut happily I'm over that now. I discovered the big breast bikini shop and now feel a little more comfortable about getting my mammaries out for general consumption.

Now some may think it blasphemous to be online at a bach but let me tell you I am on dial-up right now and waiting for a response from the Super Unleashed Snail network that is Telescam is just as painful as eating lentils and doing fire-poi, so feck off with your judgements.

So there.

Mind you I can only cope with dropping out out for 3 days max and will be back to the hectic pace of Auckland life on Thursday. And as I am here with girlyfriend from school, I am very much looking forward to whatever testosterone filled tall delights the City of Males may have to offer me.`

Choice
Penny
xo


And here are some photos from the show...


So many sexy men so little time....a lucky punter strips in HOT PINK BITS!




"Hello everyone, I'm Richard the Cock Puppet!"




Getting Friendly with the Repertory Audience




"And then, you like won't believe what happened!"




"I know, I can like hardly believe it myself!"




"Get em OFFFFF!"




Thank you and GOODNIGHT!

All Hot Pink Bits Photos © Dave Binstead

HOT PINK BITS!

Everything You Never Wanted to Know……


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 favourite 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 accompanied by Dwight the Ivory-tinkling Home-Schooled boy-Wonder, 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, a live sex show, 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.

Penny Ashton is New Zealand’s own global comedienne who has been making a splash on the world stage since 2002. She has two Billy T nominations, five Best Female Comedienne nominations and one Adelaide Fringe People’s Choice nomination.

One day she hopes to win something.

“…can't fail on a stage in the English speaking world.”  edinburghguide.com 2004
“…a potty mouthed Pam Ayres.”  Metro Edinburgh 2005
"She was funny, charmingly friendly and warm......Pure class." Nelson Mail – September 2006

Ashton has performed all over New Zealand and in Canada, USA, Singapore, London, Australia, Germany and Scotland. In 2006, Penny represented New Zealand in The World Cup of Theatresports in Germany and Australasia in a Performance Poetry Slam Tournament Tour of the UK. She is a regular on National Radio, Breakfast TV and at the bar. She drinks sav blanc.

More of her global exploits and achievements can be read at www.hotpink.co.nz and www.myspace.com/hotpinkpennyashton.

Her HOT PINK BITS and other miscellaneous dates are as follows:
January 18th – 22nd as MC for the Late Night with the Buskers at the Loaded Hog, Cashel St, CHCH.
January 23rd – 27th HOT PINK BITS, Repertory Theatre, Kilmore St, CHCH, 9pm, Door Sales only
February 4th – 5th HOT PINK DOES ROTO-VEGAS, Rotorua Festival of the Arts
February 10th – 14th HOT PINK BITS, Wellington Fringe Festival, Bats Theatre, 8pm, Book on (04) 802 4175 or book@bats.co.nz

Hot Pink Bits – All Singing, All Dancing and ………All WRONG!
R18, Content WILL Offend


Thanks to DVice Shops for their kind support of HOT PINK BITS!

Today I did something monumental! I officiated over my very first union ceremony.

For those of you who don't know I am a Civil Union Celebrant. A civil Union is what the New Zealand government defines as a marriage that both homosexuals AND heterosexuals can enter into. Marriage is still the domain of heteros (though personally I don't know why they just didn't go the whole hog and let gays marry) but both persuasions can have a Civil Union.

The one I did was for a heterosexual couple who decided they supported the bill so much they would CUP instead of Marry. Which I liked as I can't actually marry people, as that's a lot harder to become qualified for and basically one of the old fuckers has to shuffle off the mortal coil before new ones are appointed!

MAN, that was a lot of legal mumbo jumbo so I'm glad we got that bullshit out of the way.

ANYWAY, it was really really lovely. Not just because of the fact their vows were lovely, the families were beautifully supportive and the rain held, but because I was the legal glue in the mix. I made it official, and that was waaaaaay cool, if I'm going to be intellectual about it.

It was really nice to be able to translate what I do, ie rabbiting on in front of people, into a meaningful setting. If you do a good gig at the classic people remember you for a few years maybe, but if you make their ceremony more special, your skills will be remembered indefinitely.

And though that sounds arrogant, as if it's all about me, it's not. It's just really fulfilling to turn talking crap into something more for other people to enjoy and remember.

OK yes I've had a few wines, and yes maybe you feel the fact you don't have anyone to say such lovely things to and that makes you slightly soppy, but either way I had a lovely time and SOOOO want to do more.

So if you want to CUP, just drop me a line, and if you want me to marry you, email your local MP!!!

Penny

Happy New YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR

Yes yes yes, sorry I am crap. And I'm afraid nothing is about to change. Well unless you're a new reader that is as it's retro time again!

Yep as I am FLATOUT preparing for my new show:

HOT PINK BITS - Christchurch Busker's Festival, 23rd - 27th January, Repertory Theatre, 9pm, Door Donations Only

AS well as for the Rotorua Festival of the Arts - February 4th and 5th

AND the Wellington Fringe, Bats Theatre, 8pm, February 10th - 14th.

SO

I am repeating an XTRA column from two years ago when I had just done exactly what I'm about to do now.

Enjoy



Hot Head - 01.02.05

I'm sitting in a lovely cyber cafe in Rotorua on a Sunday afternoon. Earlier today, as is befitting my star status, I performed a 10 min set in the local shopping mall for three people and a dog. No I exaggerate, there were three dogs, no really there was a good crowd and it was actually a lot of fun. I always find it fun modifying my material to suit 8 year old ears and I even had an audience participant dressed all in pink be my human microphone stand. Hilarious stuff. Yes It's the Rotorua Festival of the Arts and I'm having a lovely time. Look ma, I'm finally playing Vegas.

This one is even better than usual however as I'm staying at the Novotel! Yes that's the Novotel. The flash place where I don't have to be suspicious if people take my bags, where they call me maam and where people actually bring me food to my room. I get so excited about room service I usually take photos of it. I haven't done that yet but it is early days.

I arrived yesterday, freshly sunburnt from the Christchurch Busker's Festival. There I was staying somewhere slightlyly less palatial - My Parent's house. Again I had a bloody marvellous time. I tell you there are worse ways to make a living than trip about the country making people laugh in the summertime. In Christchurch I performed 4 nights in a row at the Loaded Hog to roughly 300 people a night. Rock and Roll. They had a comedy club going that featured both busking types and comediennes. I explained to the audience that though I couldn't juggle, I was very good with balls, even managing 4 at once when I'm feeling lucky. They seemed to understand me.

It was an amazing vibe in a packed Hog and I wasurprisedy suprised to find many many single men in the audience. I gather I was a little intimidating for your average Christchurch type though with my week being disappointingly chaste. One man did offer up the pick-up line "I may not be Fred Flintstone, but I could sure make your bed rock" but only because he thought it would make a nice addition to my act. Ahhh well.

There was one man on my second night that deserves special mention. Ahhhh he was a treasure. He was part of a stag night, which I think stands for Stupid Tossers And Gonads. He was a prime gonad this one. When I told people to chat amongst themselves briefly while I collected my props he felt it would be a lovely moment to scream "LOSE WEIGHT" at me. Isn't that just too too special for words.

Ahh yes well XTRA if people found me intimidating before that moment you can just imagine what they thought after. Suffice to say, I was so enraged at that shit that I unleashed a torrent of abuse not seen since Mr Hilton thought he might do an internet search to see what his daughter had been up to. His genetalia was treated to a number of stunted vegetation references, as was his brain. His sexual prowess was found comparable with the life-span of bubbles and his general appearance was likened to a baboon's diseased nether regions.

I never actually saw his physique but I'll bet a significant amount that the beer he imbibed to fuel such a neanderthal statement isn't doing his waistline any favours. I was so incensed I went into a swearing frenzy and a bouncer commented at the end of my act; "You have got one filthy mouth - but that was fucking funny." Thank god for that.

That was the only blight on my time in Christchurch however. My parents came along to see me and blushed in all the right places. I saw heaps of wonderful international and local performers. I saw Sam Wills take his testicles out and put them on the forehead of a heckler in a show aptly names - Midnight Madness (ahhh boys). I saw Mario Queen of the Circus crowd surf around a busking audience in Cashel Mall. And I saw more jugglers than you could throw 5 devilsticks at.

Then yesterday morning I got up early, flew back to Auckland, packed up my car and drove to Rotorua in anticpation of Hot Pink Does RotoVegas tomorrow night. Guess I'll just have to see you there!