Steven, he’s the one who we met in Nice a while back and visited in Wanaka a few years ago. It is he that is Grandson to Gordon, the patriarch of the OAP crew that took us to the club and let us camp on the lawn in Wanaka this year. He is also the second born son of Gay and Gary, proprietors of the Bean on Thames and most wonderful hosts to Conny and I in Oamaru. It is clear that Steven is from good stock. He’s a cheeky chappy with a glint in his eye and a tale for all moments. He tells us how he was raised to chat with anyone, and this for sure is the truth. In short, we like Steven, he is a good dude.

Currently, Steven resides in Perth where he is a miner. We landed at silly o’clock in Perth from our China Airlines flight. For those not in the know, think Easyjet, only about three times as long an aircraft.

When we arrived, Steven met us in October. A recently acquired brutish beauty of a Land Cruiser. Now I am all for an eco friendly car, but these things are my little hypocrisy in that I find them ace. The truth is, where they are needed, they are unrivalled.

We decided, well Steven had it all planned, to head down to Margaret River where he had rented a house. We did manage to stop at the least successful service station ever en route. We thought we would get fuel, air in the tyres, a coffee and a toilet stop before moseying on. Only having got the fuel, we were informed that they had to switch the water off, so no coffee, or toilets, of course there was also no air. So all in all, pretty shit…they did turn the water back on eventually, but not before putting quite the delay on our trip and one of our number near ruining their underwear. Here we could stop at a brewery, which we did, he and Conny got suitably liquored, we could cook, we did this also. We even went to the pub. Conny who had decided to be Steve’s wingman and ably assist in getting him some lady company, kind of fucked that up near instantly. Mere moments after having walked into the bar, pints were ordered and Steve went for the arm-link pint drink. The thing is, this is a customary friendship drink in Austria which is finished with a kiss on the lips. The drunken awkwardness of this moment and the beffuddlement of all around in essence meant that not only was she a crap wingman, but she had basically stamped her brand on Steve right off the bat, by making out with him for all the ladies and their menfolk to see.

Now that I had become the 3^rd wheel in this scenario, my thoughts turned to the stomach churning fact that it was an open mic night. Something that I had not predicted. You see I kind of fancy myself as a singer. I actually think I’m pretty decent, but I also understand the craft and delivery of people who do it properly. I practice at home, I have recently allowed Conny to hear but other than that, nerves essentially make me shit the bed and crash the Ferrari all at once the very moment I think someone could be listening. Pitch goes out the window, as do lyrics and also sometime so does guitar playing ability. Worse still I look like a nervous wreck with an eye twitch. Plus, microphones scare the shit out of me. In the last 10 years or so I have sang approximately three times in front of people, with varying degrees of supershitness that have not helped my ego any and one even where I over heard a guy whisper to another chap I knew “Car crash” as I walked off stage past them.

This time however, was different. First I went to my old favourite, Disarm, by the Smashing Pumpkins. I tend to do songs differently, which also makes me shit my pants, but this one I feel comfortable with. Surprisingly, despite forgetting how to play it and even at one point whether I had sung the right words or not, it came to an end with a bit of an applause. Who’d a knew? Then it was time to bust out a bit of Neil Young. And again, a few minor fuck ups but no disaster. They asked for a third…I thought “Fuck, I don’t really know anything you’ll know” As such I told them exactly that, said “fuck it” and sang some Editors, fuck ups, forgotten lyrics, chords and all. But this time, I just laughed and carried on. Today, for me was a triumph. As a certain Orang-utan buffoon would say, a huge win.

The night carried on, with Steven, who it may be said likes a beverage, ordering at least one, sometimes two sixteen year old malts to go along with his beer. We got chatting to some pretty ladies, one of whom was single, but by this point, Steve’s speech, although clear, had descended into odd tales with, as far as I fathom, no beginning, middle, or end. The patience and decency of these fine ladies was remarkable as they listened intently hanging on his words. Sadly Steve himself said he had no idea what to do…at that point he needs someone to just tell him to stop, change the subject or to but in. This never came. With that kind of patience, those ladies should be snapped up and married ASAP. Steven said as much himself.

The next day we headed out to the beach to put October through her paces. We went through some of road tracks that to the mere mortal Sunday drivers like Conny and I, nothing would get through, yet we were assured that they would be no hassle, that it was just a stroll in the park for the burgundy beast. And it was. Now I’m not saying it was like Rolls Royce comfort of floating on air while the bumps dissolve in spongy suspension. Oh no, there was a large amount of whiplash inducing bounce and wobble, Conny even decided a sports bra would have been the best option my thoughts leaned towards no top and a video camera, but alas, that is to where my thoughts would always turn. I learned swiftly to hold on, if not for dear life, but to at the very least refrain from repeated window blows to the head. What it was however, was an immense amount of fun. We had a blast along the beach, got our feet wet and had a little picnic before Conny took the wheel and drove us back to the road. No dramas, we knew she was a natch ever since she drove down the hill from Mike Magan’s house a few years back. However one less talented lady had tried to travail the road in her rented Kia Sportage. Needles to say there was a blockage in the road, while two local boys and their monsterous Cruisers towed her out. Tonight’s dinner and evening was much more sedate, we cooked and ate, in then a spot of TV and chat before bedtime. The next day was another beach, but first a beverage in an awesome pub that had been burned down by fire, but when it was renovated, they kept the burnt bits as much as possible. This time we headed to more rocky shoreline, it was all holey and ancient looking, a bit like the moon but at once a bit animal. Then it was my turn to drive back. Not as eventful, just a few bush scrapes here and there, as Conny’s but still fun all the same.

So ever since we met the Smith family, we had basically been told that Steven’s brother had really lucked out in love, and managed to get himself a beautiful hot Columbian bride. Next on our list was finding out the truth of this tale. We headed out for coffee with a view, served, coincidentally by a stunning latina, and then we headed in to Perth proper, not that Perth proper has loads to offer, but the park was nice, it had an incorrectly named glass bridge, which was not anywhere near as exciting as it had been made out to be due to the fact that it wasn’t that high…NOR WAS IT MADE OF GLASS! It was a standard metal bridge, with some glass panels on the side. Still the view of the city and the coast line was lovely. It was incredible to see what used to be the airport, now a seafront strip, but I imagine landing there in days of yore would have been one of the more pant ruining landings one could have.

We headed to a sports bar. A big fucker of a sports bar, I forget its name. It never fails to make me wonder why bars are so big and bar tenders are so sluggish. I’m not saying that all bars need to be breakneck speeds at all times, but there were so many people for so little to do and they all did it so slowly(and messily) it was infuriating. Anyway, on to our lovely Latina. Her name is Sandra and she arrived in brilliant white jeans and silvery sparkly shoes and is indeed stunning. Moreover she is an absolute treasure of a lady. Fun, bright and talkative from the off, I can only confirm that the legends are true. She took us to a little Chinese place for dumplings (Conny’s favourite. Told you, she’s perfect) where Steven, several pints in at this point and I had taken over driving duties, proceeded to knock a glass of darkest red wine straight into her brilliant white lap. She laughed and carried on, as any trouper would. She clearly has been out with Steven before. The food was delicious, the company even better and a great night was capped off with ice cream before heading back to her flat for cocktails. They were worried as there was not much left in the cocktail store at home as she and Bevan(Steven’s brother) were about to move house. Never fear, David’s here! I may not drink, but I like to think I’m the muts nuts when it comes to tending bar. So I bust out a couple of diesel strength specials from some honey liquor, aperol, whiskey, frozen berries, a dribble of prossecco and some juice. The cocktails clearly worked as conversation flitted from everything to work, food, drink, religion, politics and vagina waxing. Yes! Vagina waxing! Somebody sparked up a clove cigarette, now I don’t smoke, but this intrigued me. I took a puff. It was fucking rotten. Smoking and dentists combined. Eugh.

The next day was spent nursing hangovers and by nursing hangovers, I mean heading to a brewery for beer. Several beers in, Conny and Steve decided that the cidre brewery next door was also a good idea. Now, both places were great, beer lovely, cidre lovelier still, but there are only so many hours of a day being the sober dude with a couple of piss heads succumbing to their ways a man can take.It was nice chilling in the beer garden and such, watching the troupes of clearly underage but monied youth celebrating a birthday. As I got bored of their chat I took October and hinted at our impending exit by waiting at the gates. The evening spent hanging with the flatmates who had graciously put up with us. Conny was, however on the booze, I was actually packing the bags for our early morning flight. It can be said, that occasionally, Conny like many, can let the booze get the better of her. Now I can relate to this, it’s fine. Apparently, I didn’t hear, but one of the flatmates said something disrespectful to his partner, like I say, I couldn’t say what it was. However, Conny decided(for which I am quite proud of her) to call bollocks and stick up for her new friend! However, as booze tends to do, it got in the way of her doing this in an appropriate fashion, and instead she got all mouthy and silly and acted exactly as disrespectfully if not more than he had. In short. Tensions rose. I told Conny to wind her neck in. She called me a wimp among other things. I left her to it knowing the regret would come in the morning! The regret came alright. It didn’t help that they stayed up til past one am. Our flight was before 6 am and we had a 4 something start. Sufficed to say that Steven was not up for the drive to the airport as promised but he did call us an Uber. He has since reassured me that no real offence was taken and guilty parties barely remember. We headed to the airport below a stunning golden moon, Conny swearing not to drink again until June (this is April), with another hungover flight beckoning it did not look promising for Conny. Onward! To Malaysia!