Yes, I do feel the pain for not being in Wellington to celebrate the sevens, which has become a mainstay of Waitangi Day in New Zealand.
But I had the next best thing...
London rocked the casbah for Waitangi day. My little sis was over for the celebrations, having just finished a small trip through Europe, and we set about throwing together costumes in haste. Ideas were flung around the lounge room in a blur, focusing on what would create a great NZ day costume. Finally, after hours of turmoil, we settled on a quote from one of the finest NZ films ever made.
"Just cook the man some eggs" was scribbled on the back of a cheap white T-shirt with 2 fried eggs painted over the nipples at the front. Little sis had the reply to the quote on the back of hers, for good measure.
It was a rushed job but it came through in the end.
To nurse all the homesick kiwis on their national day, an informal pub crawl is organised that runs along the same path as the circle line of the London underground. Things kicked off in Notting Hill at 11am and we were met by a sea of kiwis doing beer funnels in the street.
"Great eggs" they yelled out.
The day just got messier. Some bloke was walking around with a 2m length of downpipe still attached to a rainwater head, using that as his own beer funnel. Toilets were of a scarcity. I really felt for the girls when I saw the lines they were in at the various McDonalds and KFC's scattered through the city. Guys could just skip into the toilets with ease.
Ahhhhhh, the life of a guy.
The pub crawl didn't exactly involve pubs. everyone just drank on the streets and stopped at various places. The main goal was to get to the Houses of Parliament by 4pm for a massive Haka. We made it just in time and witnessed masses of kiwis, getting rowdy and drinking beers. This dude I work with led the bloody thing, though he didn't know what he was doing.
He woke up a few hours later in a paddock in Surrey.
Haha. I am not kidding.
A huge rugby game ensued outside one of the Westminster Cathedral. Like the pub crawl, it wasn't really a rugby game - more a game of smashing people. Rugby balls and body parts were flying everywhere. Escaping the carnage, we stumbled on over to a local Antipodean bar and saw the line out of it was massive so decided the next best thing to do would be to jump on the tube and head out of the city, into the sticks, and attempt another bar.
It was here that I got absolutely smashed.
But, it was OK. everyone else was too.
We danced away to poor renditions of "Weather with you"
After having a close call with the bouncers, we all decided to head off home. a cab was hailed and all the girls I was with piled in. There was no room left for little ol' me, so, like a pure hero, I said to the driver "get them home safely", tapped the back of the car and I proudly strode off into the night.
"Where the hell am I" I instantly thought. I got worried.
Really worried.
"I bet people get stabbed out here"
"Blair, Blair" my sister came running up, obviously ditching the cab. "No, you cant leave. You're my brother, and we cant leave". It was very 1940's movie themed.
"Im not getting into a cab until I get a pie then"
So I got a pie and we headed home.
Sunday, I spewed in the shower, wishing life would just end as I pushed the mushed peas through the little plughole, and finally, after serious grunting, I plucked up a little energy to do some research for New York.
A week and a half away.......
