Phantom Blog

It’s raining in Motueka. It feels like it’s raining all around the world.

A few weeks ago, it was the birthday of one of my all-time best friends, Mike Jones.

I can’t remember how long ago Mike died, but it seems like a long time.

Then a day or two after that it was the birthday of my beautiful daughter, Hope. R.I.P.

Grief is a sneaky thing. It’s there, but you may not know it’s there.

I met Mike when I was 14. My parents had moved to Christchurch from Dunedin and Mike lived over the road at his mother’s dairy. Phyliss, Mike’s mother, sold lots of pies and sandwiches to the railway and cartage workers who worked just right close to the store. Trains would wake us up in the middle of the night. The gasworks were about a quarter mile away. The stench never left us.

Phyliss was a little round Pakeha woman with grey hair and some random hairs that grew off her chin. Phyliss’s eyes almost always gleamed with love. She had two pug dogs, Mickey and Minnie.

Phyllis started work at 5am when she began to make sandwiches for the shop. My favourite was always lettuce, vegemite and some crushed walnuts.

Mike was half Maori. It was said (by Phyliss) that Mike’s father fell into a vat of boiling fat at a whaling station somewhere around Picton.

Mike was a big guy with a huge personality. He had a crook hip and walked with a limp which was barely noticeable.

Me and Mike connected fast over our mutual love of music. He played bass guitar on his Fender Precision Bass. He’d practise day and night and thrust his groin away behind the guitar. He wasn’t a flashy player, but my God he was solid.

When Mike played his acoustic guitar, he’d sing away to an original song that he created called, “Wees and Poos on my little brown head.”

Life was a laugh. We had music day in and day out.

We’d sing together at night. “Have you seen my wife, Mr Jones,

do you know what it’s like on the outside?

Don’t go talking too loud you’ll cause a landslide, Mr Jones…”

I moved into the dairy (my parents lived 30 yards away on Wilson’s Road) to be close to Mike so we could talk music day and night. We shared a very small bedroom.

Each Sunday Mike’s girlfriend, Kay, would come over and stay in bed with him all day. Mike would give her a good rogering. Kay was a sweet little thing.

One day one of my girlfriends came very close to an orgasm in that room. I didn’t stop running until I got to Ferry Road.

Hope, my daughter, was a beautiful woman and all too vulnerable for this world.

Grief doesn’t allow me to say much more about all that. Grief draws a ring around your heart and draws it in real tight.

Lately on television there have been various news items about the notorious mental hospital Lake Alice.

In the Big House I met a few guys who had been sent to Lake Alice for punishment. They tried to rebel. When they returned, they were very damaged goods. There was no place for them in the whole, wide world. They never rebelled again. It just wasn’t

in them.

I was in mental institutions three times between 1974 and 1975. I was in Sunnyside twice when I tried to escape my addiction to Cocaine and Opiates. On the first night in Sunnyside another patient jumped on top of me at 3am and tried to have sex with me.

I was sentenced to the Cherry Farm Mental Hospital in 1975 for a court report. I was put into Villa One which was a treatment villa for alcoholics. I was the first drug addict in the place. Every morning at 8am a nurse would bring me my Methadone, then she would sit in front of me for an hour to make sure I didn’t die.

After a week I was elected Secretary of the Patient’s Committee.

The head shrink said that my problem was that I could not express negative feelings.

After a couple of months one of my visitors was busted for bringing drugs onto the premises. As punishment I was given a shot of some drug whereby I literally could not move. I complained and was given another shot of the same drug.

I couldn’t kick up trouble anymore.

But that’s living in a democracy for you.

Needless to say, I was given a bad court report and went straight to jail.

In jail I found the book that would change my life, “Soledad Brother” by George Jackson. It allowed me to feel angry and that got me through my Lag.

There are lots of things that will piss you off in the world. The new leader of the free world is one of them. The man is a sordid piece of rubbish and we must express negative feelings about him, but we are trapped. I’m sure you know this.

Every time I enter the USA, I must have a “waiver of ineligibility” because of narcotics convictions from more than 40 years ago. This waiver takes months and months to get.

So, we have a convicted felon in charge. This man is loud and belligerent. He will make your ring-gear pucker up.

There are plenty of people in New Zealand who are quiet and belligerent, who think that the world owes them a living, who rip off anyone who comes close. People who would rip the pennies off a blind man’s eyes.

Decades ago, I was in business with a man like this. He was a nightmare. And more about this in my next blog.

Kelly and I have just been downtown in the ’52 Bug. It’s pouring with rain, and ordinarily we don’t take any of my Volkswagens out in wet weather.

The bug ran out of gas, and we had to crawl to a gas station to fill it up. With a 6-volt ignition, it doesn’t pay to have the lights and wipers on as well as the fog lights. The ’52 bug doesn’t have a fuel gauge, which can be difficult at times.

I had to go to my pharmacy and pick up some Prednisone and antibiotics. I’ve not been breathing well. In fact, I have some kind of shadow on my lung, the same as I did when I was eight years old.

When I was eight, my mother told me the doctors were going to try to keep me alive until I was ten years old and then take a lung out. No one seems to know what this meant. My mother was very much in awe of doctors, so it’s possible she misinterpreted everything.

When I was ten, they put me into hospital and the shadow had gone. I never got sick again for years.

Nowadays, we often talk about “Healthy Homes.” I was brought up in a house that had rotten floorboards and a room (a second living room) that was dedicated to coal for the coal range. We lived right by the bush in Dunedin, and it was always damp.

But I’ve always been good at (if I do say so myself) overcoming obstacles in my way. I’ve always gone against the tide.

I often ask Kelly what I should write about in my next blog. This time she said “Coldplay.”

I had to change my clothing.

My chemist is a 45-year-old Mormon, and he took his daughter to see Coldplay over the weekend. This was the very first concert he had ever been to in his whole life, and he loved it.

That’s good enough for me.

Coldplay brings happiness to millions of people, and I can’t criticize that.

I’ve never seen a Mormon dance.

I often write about freedom and the importance of having one’s own views. Bob Dylan once said that no one was free and that even the birds were chained to the sky.

Mao Tse-tung, when he sent Chinese troops to help North Korea in the Korean War, said, “Without the lips the teeth are cold.”

There is nothing worse in this life than to be alone. Solitude has no friends. That is my view.

Yet it is easy enough to feel that one is on one’s own. My mother went to work when I was a kid. There I was all day, lonesome and unable to breathe properly. That is being alone.

My friend “Mad Dog” was alone. He died of a morphine overdose on Christmas Day many years ago. I have not yet stopped crying for him, for his solitude and what he could have been.

In my terror, I surround myself with people. We help each other.

Yesterday a very good friend got in touch with me after several years.

I glowed all day.

That’s what friendship does. It warms the heart.

Kelly and I have just been downtown in the ’52 Bug. It’s pouring with rain, and ordinarily we don’t take any of my Volkswagens out in wet weather.

The bug ran out of gas, and we had to crawl to a gas station to fill it up. With a 6-volt ignition, it doesn’t pay to have the lights and wipers on as well as the fog lights. The ’52 bug doesn’t have a fuel gauge, which can be difficult at times.

I had to go to my pharmacy and pick up some Prednisone and antibiotics. I’ve not been breathing well. In fact, I have some kind of shadow on my lung, the same as I did when I was eight years old.

When I was eight, my mother told me the doctors were going to try to keep me alive until I was ten years old and then take a lung out. No one seems to know what this meant. My mother was very much in awe of doctors, so it’s possible she misinterpreted everything.

When I was ten, they put me into hospital and the shadow had gone. I never got sick again for years.

Nowadays, we often talk about “Healthy Homes.” I was brought up in a house that had rotten floorboards and a room (a second living room) that was dedicated to coal for the coal range. We lived right by the bush in Dunedin, and it was always damp.

But I’ve always been good at (if I do say so myself) overcoming obstacles in my way. I’ve always gone against the tide.

I often ask Kelly what I should write about in my next blog. This time she said “Coldplay.”

I had to change my clothing.

My chemist is a 45-year-old Mormon, and he took his daughter to see Coldplay over the weekend. This was the very first concert he had ever been to in his whole life, and he loved it.

That’s good enough for me.

Coldplay brings happiness to millions of people, and I can’t criticize that.

I’ve never seen a Mormon dance.

I often write about freedom and the importance of having one’s own views. Bob Dylan once said that no one was free and that even the birds were chained to the sky.

Mao Tse-tung, when he sent Chinese troops to help North Korea in the Korean War, said, “Without the lips the teeth are cold.”

There is nothing worse in this life than to be alone. Solitude has no friends. That is my view.

Yet it is easy enough to feel that one is on one’s own. My mother went to work when I was a kid. There I was all day, lonesome and unable to breathe properly. That is being alone.

My friend “Mad Dog” was alone. He died of a morphine overdose on Christmas Day many years ago. I have not yet stopped crying for him, for his solitude and what he could have been.

In my terror, I surround myself with people. We help each other.

Yesterday a very good friend got in touch with me after several years.

I glowed all day.

That’s what friendship does. It warms the heart.

Street poster campaigns are not just about visibility; they are about creating an indelible brand presence. By occupying public spaces, these brands make a deliberate choice to connect with people in their daily routines. This approach fosters a genuine connection that is often lost in the glossy pages of magazines or the pristine windows of high-end stores. Here, on the streets, brands can be playful and enthusiastic, engaging with audiences in an approachable manner. It’s an invitation to experience the brand in an organic setting, where the hustle and bustle of everyday life become the backdrop for brand storytelling.

Connecting in the Everyday Hustle

In the fast-paced rhythm of city life, where individuals are constantly on the move, street posters catch the eye and captivate the imagination. They are strategically placed in locations where people naturally congregate—busy intersections, bustling transit stops, and vibrant suburbs. This ensures that the brand is seen and felt in the pulse of daily existence. Rather than interrupting the flow of life, these posters harmonise with it, becoming part of the urban tapestry that people encounter every day.

Brands that choose street poster campaigns understand the value of being present where life happens. They embrace the chaos and energy of the streets, aligning their messaging with the rhythm of the city. This approach not only widens their reach but also enhances their relatability. By engaging with people in their natural environment, these brands demonstrate their understanding of the audience’s daily challenges and joys. This authenticity resonates deeply, forging connections that are more meaningful than those established through traditional advertising avenues.

Crafting Authentic Brand Narratives

Street poster campaigns give brands the freedom to craft narratives that are as authentic as they are compelling. In a world where consumers crave realness, these campaigns stand out by telling stories that reflect the brand’s core values and mission. With bold visuals and straightforward messages, street posters communicate the essence of the brand in a way that is both captivating and relatable. They allow brands to showcase their personality—be it rebellious, innovative, or bold—with enthusiasm and flair.

Breaking Down Barriers with Bold Messaging

Street poster campaigns are a powerful tool for breaking down barriers between brands and their audiences. They challenge the traditional notions of luxury and exclusivity by bringing high-end brands directly to the people. Through bold and dynamic messaging, these campaigns shatter preconceived notions and invite everyone to engage with the brand. This approach is both straightforward and revolutionary, as it dismantles the walls that often separate luxury brands from the everyday consumer.

By choosing to communicate through street posters, brands make a statement about their values and priorities. They show a willingness to step outside the confines of conventional marketing and embrace a more inclusive approach. This not only broadens their appeal but also strengthens their connection with the audience. It’s a declaration that true style and sophistication are not limited by boundaries but are accessible to anyone who wishes to engage with them.

From Luxury to Accessible: A New Perspective

Luxury brands have often been perceived as exclusive entities, accessible only to a select few. However, street poster campaigns offer a fresh perspective by showcasing these brands in a more inclusive light. By occupying public spaces, they shift the narrative from exclusivity to accessibility, inviting a wider audience to experience their offerings. This approach is innovative and dynamic, aligning with contemporary values that prioritise inclusivity and diversity.

These campaigns redefine what it means to be a luxury brand in today’s world. By choosing to engage with audiences on the streets, brands signal their commitment to being part of the community. They demonstrate that luxury is not just about owning expensive items but about experiencing quality and craftsmanship in everyday life. This shift in perspective resonates with modern consumers who value authenticity and accessibility over exclusivity.

The Dynamic Future of Street Poster Campaigns

As we look to the future, street poster campaigns will continue to evolve, driven by the rebellious spirit of brands seeking to innovate and connect authentically with their audience. These campaigns will harness the power of dynamic visuals and bold messaging to create impactful brand experiences. They will remain a testament to the enduring appeal of meeting people where they are, in the heart of the urban landscape.

In an ever-changing digital world, the tactile and tangible nature of street posters offers a refreshing contrast. They remind us of the power of simplicity and directness in communication. As brands continue to explore new ways to engage with their audience, street poster campaigns will undoubtedly remain a vital part of their strategy, proving that the streets are where true connections are made and where brands can authentically thrive.

My life in the Bush of Volkswagens

I passed my driver’s license in April 1968, the day after the Wahine disaster.

There were cracks in the road up on Murray Aynsley Hill in Christchurch and that’s where the traffic cop started screaming and yanked on the hand brake. He drove the rest of the way back to town and gave me a pass because he “never wanted to see me again.”

My first car was a Vauxhall J and it never went at all. The second was a 1939 Ford V8 Sedan which was a beautiful car. I sold it, then I bought it back. I put it off Dyers Pass Road because I was spooning and kissing my girlfriend at the same time as driving.

I remember running down the bank to the car (I had jumped out) and past my girlfriend to get to the vehicle. That’s young love for you! She was some kind of lover lady let me tell you.

But, it is best not to spoon and drive. No doubt the government will one day issue a fine (or worse) for spooning and driving. They are, after all, malicious sorts.

Two years after this I bought my first Volkswagen, a 1960 Beetle in a beautiful turquoise colour. It had arrived in a CKD (Complete Knocked Down) state and was assembled somewhere up near Auckland.

It had a large back window (as opposed to the Oval and the Split back window models of the 1950’s), and it had only semaphores for indicating turns on the road. It had no bubble indicators on the front guards. This was the European model and every single day I search for another one. It was 6-volt and so the headlights were dull and starting it was sometimes a dubious proposition. But to hear it sputtering up was pure heaven.

The only other thing I have to report from that era is that I almost bought a mid-50’s VW panel van from Five Star Motors on St Asaph Street, the local VW dealers. I continue to mourn my crooked reasoning about not buying this vehicle because it has also stuck in my mind all these years.

I never mourn the fact that I failed to buy a Standard Vanguard. They tended to rust before your eyes.

But, back to the story, so do old Volkswagens, rust before your very eyes. You have to watch them carefully and never drive them in the rain.

I have owned Volkswagens where the rust has been ‘fixed up’ using cardboard, newspaper, silver paper, gaffa tape and old tin cans ironed out flat and then affixed to the car using pop rivets. This is all part of the adventure.

The other common issue with Volkswagens that I should point out is their vulnerability to catching fire in the engine compartment. There is a fuel line that goes to the carburettor that often becomes corroded and leaks gas on to the hot motor. Check it often and always travel with a fire extinguisher. There are also a number of good aftermarket fire extinguishing products available as well. I have Blaze Cut systems in all my vehicles.

Currently, I own four vintage VW’s and I’m on the lookout for a nice VW “Notchback” from the mid 1980’s. I have owned two of them in my past and they were fabulous cars. In my lifetime I have owned probably thirty Volkswagens and I loved every single one of them whether or not one could see the road through the floorboards.

Currently, My 1952 Bug won Best in Show and Best in Class at the 2024 VW Nationals held in Kaikoura. This one I found in California and had it converted to rhd in NZ by my masterful VW restorer Mr Dave Hermans at Revive’m near New Plymouth.

My ‘52 has matching numbers and was restored beautifully by the bloke in California who wanted the cash (lots of it) to shift to Thailand. This Beetle is a grand driver even without synchro on the gears. Double declutching has to be carefully learned.

This car, instead of small side windows, has “crotch coolers” to cool the cabin down. Vents open on the side of the car just behind the front guards.

Life has let me down, but this vehicle never has.

I have a 1958 Volkswagen Transporter which is being converted to a Samba by Dave Hermans. It’s been eight years now. I have had it back, but it is back in the North Island getting some minor issues ironed out. It has part power steering and this is a beautiful thing. Before I decided to restore it I hooned around in the Transporter for about fifteen years. The rego plate was “Furtha”. It has never failed to start.

The previous owner, no doubt deciding to get rid of the rust, gave it a quick flick in red and white. He also blew the gearbox on Takaka Hill.

Then I have a 1963 21-window VW Samba that I bought in Australia. It was a prize winning car and has a 2.3 litre motor. It was restored by Steve Hopkins who, apparently, is famous for this sort of thing. It has a Super Race Crank with Chevy journals, Mahle forged pistons and an Eagle Race cam. Ignition duties are carried out by a MagnaSpark system. It also has a Kennedy race clutch and a Freeway Flyer Transmission. It has a lot of other upgrades as well, like disc brakes and so on and so forth.

It had been owned by Michael Ryan who was Hugh Jackman’s personal trainer. Apparently, the Wolverine himself was often seen driving around Bondi Beach in it. It has been featured in various Volkswagen magazines.

It goes like a cut cat and you could easily cruise around all day at 80mph in it.

It is a thing of Beauty, a work of art.

My 1956 Beetle I have owned for about six or seven years. A woman owned it and restored it in Australia before that. It is numbers matching and is in a very nice condition. It remains a 6-volter. The only problem I have had was that the exhaust pipes had not been heat-protected and so the paint bubbled a bit around them which lead to rust. I have had that rust cut out now. A local mechanic whilst servicing it had it on a hoist. He proclaimed that the underside was perfect. “You could turn this car upside down and eat your dinner off it.” To be fair, I have never tried that.

I have had a mighty good life with lots of spooning in it. I’m here for the enjoyment of it all.

Actually, I’m away to do some spooning now.

Spooning and watching test rugby is the best. A try is often scored!

Spoon on Brothers and Sisters!