I watched Pumping Iron again the other night and was reminded what an excellent doco it is. It tells the story of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s quest to win the 1975 Mr Olympia title. Before he was everything he is today, he was one of the heroes of a period in bodybuilding when men looked more like Greek statues and less like fake-tanned roid-filled bulls.

If you haven’t seen it I recommend renting the DVD and settling in for a lovely period piece. I liked it best when someone asked Arnie if he drinks milk? “I don’t drink milk. Milk is for babies.”

Tim and I have spent a lot of time together over the past few years. We worked together most days, fought about once a week, slapped one another in the face with wads of cash after especially busy nights and generally made each other laugh.

For the record I am the better table tennis player.

Now we live in seperate houses in different parts of town and are doing our own things. Tim is going to be working at the new Cassels and Sons brewpub and I’m going to become a painter like Tony de Lautour/Mark Gore.

For those of you that miss him too and want to come to a nice, family friendly event and see Tim in his daytime guise, I will see you down at New Brighton library on Sunday evening.

Tim will be playing with Handsome Marlon and Lawrence Arabia for the launch of New Zealand Music Month in Christchurch. The event runs from 5.30-7.30.

We’re still having fun down here…

The state of anarchy that has governed Christchurch roads since the earthquake is officially over. Today I needed to get across town to collect my mail. This is a long-winded and diverting route that sucks over an hour from an afternoon. As the traffic was diabolical, I thought I’d cycle. As I left the house I thought to myself, “I do have no helmet, but I’m sure bicycle helmet laws are just a means for police to harass poor teenagers. I’m sure there is room for interpretation of the laws in the current circumstances.”

Well, it’s not the case. The fat-faced bastard who wrote me out a ticket was listening to none of my excuses.

“Surely no house and no job is a pretty good excuse if I promise to walk home?”

No, the law was the law and he was having none of my breaking it.

I tried asking if his house was fine? Make friends and all that. No, his house was fine, wearing no helmet was illegal.

I ran the slippery slope from aggression to nastiness. “I find it hard to believe this is a good use of police resource… Did all your mates get the rockstar body saving jobs and you got left with bike helmets? Is it nice having a house and a job?”

“You see I have two bicycle helmets, that I do wear. One is at the bar and the other is buried beneath my toolbox and shelves in my garage. And now you’ve gone and made me behave like a prick because you’re a prick.”

Snatching my ticket, we parted company. I was shaking with anger. I calmed down as I walked home and thought: “What a strange time it is in this city, lots of people behaving badly and now I’m one of them…”

Garry and Pam’s house is now big and empty. tim, Matty J and Yuki have moved into a flat on Armagh street where they can drink Scrumpy without Garry questioning their daily volumes.

Rosie has a job at Addington Coffee Co Op, where I am sure she will work harder than she ever did for me. She has also moved into a new flat where she can sleep with whomever she wants without Pam accusing her of sluttiness.

Juliet and I have moved into an apartment and are expecting to be there for the next six months while our house is made safe.

Earthquakes still permeate our lives, travelling around town is horrible and I spend my days fighting with insurance companies. We have decided to stay in Christchurch but I wonder if that pledge they are making people sign is a bit creepy and National Socialist. I will open another bar as soon as I can but in the meantime I thought I could keep you all aware of the cool places that are opening and trading in Christchurch again…

Dear Reader,

I have been wondering what the hell to do with this blog? It was started with the intention of keeping everybody up-to-date with what was happening at Goodbye Blue Monday. I was going to write reviews of bands and gigs and offer the occasional witty commentary on drunks I have known.

With time it became fun. It was the first time in my life people had chosen to read my writing and it was always a good threat if someone was misbehaving. “Don’t make me blog about this.”

Then there was an earthquake and I was blogging to let everyone know we were OK. We would open up as soon as possible and we could all get back into restoring vintage motorcycles. Everything would be nice.

Then there was another earthquake, and the bar closed forever. Just like that. Due to Christchurch being big news, a lot of people came to this website.

I am left with a website with no subject matter and I hate to turn this into some self-indulgent exercise about my feelings. So I am working on changing the site and seeking some focus. In the meantime I will continue to follow Tim around and tell you about all the terrible things he has been up to.

In good news, I finally got into my house on the weekend. It was pretty trashed but was a relief to be able to clean up all the rotten food. Can you imagine a jam/honey/chutney/red wine/smashed glass concocti0n that has been sitting round for a month? The first round of fridge cleaning made me dry-retch three times and vomit in my mouth a wee bit (I spat it in the sink).

So, stick with me while I work out what to do with this site and I will let you know as soon as I find a place to open a new bar.

It is with much sadness that I wish to announce that Goodbye Blue Monday is over. It is strange that something that I put my heart-and-soul into over two years has suddenly ceased to be. I think the building is still there – standing sadly with rain getting in and ruining those toilet walls I fought to keep clean and graffiti free – but the business is buggered.

And so, I think of the things that I loved most about the place. The bands and all the amazing music that was performed on that little stage, the back wall and the relentless labour of changing it every month, the monthly posters as they came in from different artists, Motorbike Night, Monday Debates, life drawing in a bar, table tennis, the pie-cart finally running, the Buzzcocks playing pissed at our piano after we locked the doors one night…

We created something that didn’t exist before we made it and now its over. We have started talking about Goodbye Blue Monday in the past tense.

It’s hard to pin down what it was that I loved the most? But the one thing that really made that place my favourite bar in the world was the people. It was the staff and my family working together on this madcap bar that liked to think it was different from anything else around.

When we opened, sometimes on a Monday Tim and I would be the only people in the place. Then slowly, over time, people began to visit. Then more regularly. Until the place was steadily popular. Sometimes, I looked about the crowd on a packed Saturday night and would know almost everybody in the place. And this was something I loved. We created a place that people chose to visit time and time again. And it was those people who showed up and sat on the couches and talked shit with Tim and I that made it special.

So, thank you to all of you that supported us. You know who you are. We like to think there were good times had at that pub. I hope you all had fun. We did.

I don’t know what we are all doing next. I will keep you all up-to-date.

Old Irish Drunks Getting Wankered on Free Piss played its reunion gig last night in Ashburton. In news that makes us more like the Carter Family, Pam (the Mammy) also played a wee cameo on the tenor guitar. True to form, Tim got too drunk and passed out early. Pam was worried he would die in his sleep, but I assured her he had been far drunker than that hundreds of times in the past and he had never died yet.

Mikey fiddled and Former Barman Josh joined us all in what was described as “probably the best band playing between Rakaia and Timaru”. Rosie and Anna danced before Rosie disappeared for a suspicious length of time (we suspect rooting). Garry got drunk and tried to start my car to show off to his American friends.

Oh we had a laugh. We got drunk and we sung and for a couple of hours we forgot all about earthquakes. Then fucking Ben Leaker pushed me in the pool and ruined my i-Phone, which made me particularly uptight. I went to bed. I have no photos of the event because, as mentioned, I got pushed into the pool. I’m less uptight about this now.

In worrying news, I have seen police pulling people over all around town. I think the fuzz that get the suburb patrol are angry at missing the glory of the central city shift, and take it out on poor souls who thought a State of Emergency meant they were immune from prosecution.

Today I spent two hours trying to get into my house and when I had some time with a cop I asked him if the amnesty was over? Is it true that I can’t tear about town on an unregistered bike, talking on a cell-phone while my drunk friend rides pillion?

And do you know what? He reckons there was no amnesty all along. He reckons you still need to have a safe, warranted vehicle to drive on the road. So I have shifted the licence plate onto the Honda CB50 as it gives more of an impression of “being of a warrantable standard”.

Pam and Garry have lived at Warrington St. as long as I have been alive. It’s the house I grew up in. It’s a big old weatherboard job that Garry says handles earthquakes like an aged belly dancer. “It flips and flops and moves all about the place before settling back into its relaxed state.”

Over the past few years, Garry and Pam have threatened to move – “Maybe into the city. A nice old brick building.” – but they never managed to find anything that suited Pam’s need for a garden or Garry’s outrageous garaging requirements (today I catalogued three 1904 De Dion Bouton’s, a 1927 Chrysler Special, several Austin Sevens disassembled in a parts shed, most of a Morris Minor, a set of Bentley wheels for the Chrysler, a Suzuki Katana…).

Luckily they didn’t move. Since the earthquake, there has been about 10 people living here each night. All of us displaced from our homes because so many people we know lived in the central city and on the east-side. Now Gaz ‘n’ Pam put up with three of their children moving home at the same time. Including their associated entourages.

There is something really nice about everyone being home again, it’s something that would never normally have happened for the rest of our lives and here we are, a big family, hugging each other after another horrible aftershock, when your legs are shaking and your cat-like reflex has been turned on again (even though you swore they weren’t going to get to you anymore).

When at Warrington St., Tim reverts to his teenage self. Communicating with grunts and coughs and eating grated cheese by the filthy fistful. The place became such a mess that Rosie called a flat meeting and we drew up a roster. This stops Pam from going nuts because she is the type of person who cleans her telephone, while Tim is a guy who gets shit on his finger when he wipes his bum and doesn’t wash his hands.

Now order has been restored and Yuki has asserted her position as Pam’s favourite.

Here is a list of current residents:

1. Tim

2. Pam

3. Garry

4. Rosie

5. Rose

6. Johnny

7. Juliet

8. Yuki

9. Matty J

10. Conrad

Garry and Pam, thanks for having us. It has been one of the most special times of my life.