I'm loving Dallas instead
The Napkin Diaries
by Paula Pistol
I'm loving Dallas instead
I made it down to the waterfront to say farewell to the iconic swan float at last Sunday's Santa Parade. I'd heard it was possibly the last time it will make its gentle journey down Oriental Parade. It was great to see the crowds amass paying scant heed to the fierce wind. Gotta say the Ronald MacDonald float was a bit suck but the rest was a fine display of Wellington community spirit.
I've gotta admit, I come over all a bit nostalgic as soon as the fairy lights start going up around town. The toy section of Kirkcaldie & Stain becomes an attractive place to spend lunchtime, and I did shed a tear as the swan with its little goose-bumped ballerinas floated past.
Wanda Martini and I didn't shed a tear when 43,998 other Wellingtonians belted the chorus to "Angels" (What does "I'm loving Angels instead" mean??) down at the stadium. How far away from being "over" is Robbie Williams? I wonder if Robin Reynolds feels nostalgic for her pre-RW life. Probably not. From the outside looking in, it still seems to me to have been entirely calculated on her part. Gita Mann confirmed this for me when she told us about the special fancy Robbie Williams media showcase concert in Auckland last year. She said she was standing there with all these lovely, nicely turned out kiwi girls, any of whom would have made Robbie a good wife and were probably great in the sack as well.
Sticking out like a sore thumb was one trollop in tight leather pants, a vinyl corset, big tits and lips, massive blonde hair, and a male minder who was probably, in hindsight, a News of the World hack.
From a selection of excellent ladies, this was the one who bagged Robbie's plums. Gita said the ensuing goss around Auckland was that when Robbie's local driver challenged him on why he overlooked some of our finer specimens, Britain's favourite delinquent told him (when he finally got out of the hotel room): "Mate, I wasn't looking for a relationship. I was looking for a root". So rock star. So chamingly yobbish. So what.
Thank god he's gone. Good on him and all but it's getting a bit boring.
I know in the grand scheme of
things, he's just having a laugh and doing what the fuck he
wants and any publicity - good or bad - just sells more of
his records. But are our blokes too understated to pull the
Who could be the NZ heir apparent?
My bets are on Gareth from Goodshirt - cute with a bit of attitude - and Dallas Tamaira from Fat Freddy's Drop - soulful and utterly gorgeous.
On that note it must be time for my usual rant about the importance of supporting good local talent. I would like to think that some of the 44,000 people who fronted up to see Robbie will pay out as willingly for some of the upcoming local tours. You'll be wanting to go to Che Fu, Three Piece Suit (on this Friday at the James Cab with Ebb, Trinity Roots and Fat Freddy's Drop) and for a bit of modern nostalgia, Tim Finn.
My mantra for the week? "I'm loving Dallas instead."