Phantom Blog

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!

Live at San Fran, 8pm 12^th September.

I rolled up to San Fran on an arctic Wellington Thursday night in a state of extreme ignorance with regards to the work of Troy Kingi. I’d begun to hear his name a lot and I was vaguely aware that he had become quite a major figure in the New Zealand music scene but I’d never actually got my shit together and given it a proper listen. Tonight, I’d fix that.

Leatherman and the Mojave Green marks the roll out of the eighth album on Kingi’s ludicrously prolific project of 10 albums, in 10 different genres, in 10 years. That is a level of productivity and accomplishment which is, quite frankly, slightly depressing to think about. He’s stated that the album is inspired by his all time personal favourite, the 2002 Queens of the Stone Age classic Songs for the Deaf. Kingi is speaking my language with that kind of talk. Songs for the Deaf were, for me, one of those works of art which hit a person in their impressionable high school years and permanently alter their taste thereafter. It was an introduction to a harder, darker, bluesy type of rock with more ambition and integrity than anything I’d heard before.

Troy Kingi takes the stage draped in the type of poncho get-up Clint Eastwood would approve of, with a buzzy Lawerence of Arabia style hat. He fits the part of a man emerging from the desert, having recorded this album at the iconic Rancho de la Luna studio in Joshua Tree, California. He oozes a larger than life charisma which seems almost too effortlessly cool to be from this slightly awkward country. 

This is the part where any self respecting gig reviewer is supposed to give a run down of the set-list on the night with a poetic little description of each tune but, in all honesty, I have no idea what any of the song titles were. As unprofessional as that is, I actually think it really lends itself to hearing an album as a whole when you have no singles you’re impatiently waiting for. Throughout the evening, you can really feel the desert vibe Kingi has brought home with him from that mad land, the US of A. Leatherman posses a dark yet fun, noir-ish quality to it. The band achieve what all band’s aim for; to be so tight and well-drilled that they’re able to relax and have fun while casually killing it. 

Troy Kingi and his band make a great case for the power and appeal of live music. My music taste has mellowed over the years as I’ve enthusiastically leaned into impending middle age and I think if I heard this harder type of rock as I scrolled through radio stations in the car, I’d probably keep scrolling but it goes bloody hard in the flesh. You can’t help but get a little hypnotised as the band draws the crowd in. 

Kingi eggs the crowd on to start a mosh-pit for the final song of his performance. I’m too repressed to join in but there’s something heart warming about watching people losing it in a mosh. It’s a reckless abandonment in the name of fun. I have the feeling this may be the first of many Troy Kingi gigs I attend and I might even buy the album to finally find out what any of those songs are called.

Fashion is a funny thing—current, retro, high-end, street, boho, athleisure. It’s all ultimately subjective.

One thing is for certain: we all have that one piece of something special that evokes memories of times gone by, with many stories woven into it, and wish we could buy it again to make sure it never wears out.

Stepping into Hills Hats, you can’t help but feel this is where that exact kind of magic is made.

Founded in 1875 (yes, you read that right), Hills is approaching 150 years old. That’s an age worth pondering.

Not to get too heavy, but in that time, the world has seen the fall of the Berlin Wall, the Chernobyl disaster, two world wars, the space race, and—let’s not forget—the creation of the home computer.

In modern marketing, words like “heritage” and “authenticity” get thrown around a lot. But in truth, they’re rare to come by. Hills Hats, however, is the living embodiment of those words.

As you walk through the doors, you’re greeted by the smells, sights, and sounds of raw materials and fabrics—a vibrancy more akin to an exotic fabric market than to the streets of Petone.

A warmth envelops you as familiar yet unknown faces welcome you, eager to share stories and lessons from the world of hats.

The factory, aptly named “The Hatmosphere,” is warm and inviting while also being a pleasant assault on the senses. Trust us, you’ve never seen this many hats. The space invites curiosity and wonder, and every corridor or corner seems to lead to another equally stimulating and creative environment, filled with artifacts most have never seen.

The machinery and equipment alone are something to behold. Steam rises from pipes used for shaping hats, metal hat molds, felt brushes, and countless other hat-making tools are spread across the floors. Sewing machines hum as hands work diligently, producing a clear volume of craft. Natural smiles abound, but there’s also an unmistakable sense of pride and hard work in the air.

At the heart of the space is a sitting room, inviting customers to relax while others try on an array of hats. Comfortable, luxurious leather sofas form a cozy storytelling nook, a space that, we’re told, has also hosted many musicians over the years.

Hills Hats is celebrated for its traditional methods and high standards of craftsmanship. Every hat is handmade with meticulous attention to detail using premium materials. Sustainability is also a priority, with environmentally friendly materials and processes used wherever possible.

Their offerings are vast, from timeless styles like Panama hats and fedoras to more contemporary designs and bespoke creations. They also cater to more corporate niches, producing hats for uniforms, promotions, and events. With a strong reputation in New Zealand—and indeed, around the world—you’ve probably seen their work on the big screen.

Hats may often be overlooked, but they hold a unique significance. Sitting atop the head like a crown, they’re the perfect finishing touch. Over time, they mold to your shape and age with you.

At Phantom Billstickers, we live by the motto “flora for the concrete jungle,” ensuring vibrancy and character on the streets of New Zealand. Similarly, Hills Hats provides the crowning jewel for any outfit, on any occasion.

In a world where fashion trends come and go, Hills Hats stands as a timeless institution, blending heritage with craftsmanship and innovation. Whether you’re looking for a hat that tells a story, serves as a symbol of craftsmanship, or simply adds the finishing touch to your style, Hills has something for everyone. Every visit is not just a purchase—it’s an experience that connects the past with the present, proving that quality, authenticity, and a bit of magic never go out of style.

To take a journey to the Hatmosphere, jump here.

Prima Facie tells the story of Tessa (Mel Dodge), a top defence lawyer who specialises in tearing holes in the claims of alleged victims of sexual assault. To her, law is a sport, and like all top athletes, she lives for the next game.The opponent is irrelevant, only beating them. Tessa is a captivating character; highly intelligent and a little cocky but self aware enough to be funny about it.

The inescapable intimacy of a one-person play is the perfect canvas for Prima Facie.

As Tessa monologues to the audience, she confides in us, she banters with us, she makes us laugh and draws us in. Somehow we are on Tessa’s side, vicariously enjoying the ride of her success. When she explains the correct method of interrogating a victim on the witness stand until they’re tangled in a web they can’t get out of, we can’t help but admire the craft. We really shouldn’t like her but we do.

One night, Tessa is brutally assaulted by someone close to her and everything she had taken for granted in life suddenly lies in tatters. The status afforded to her by a prestigious job, her position in society as a winner and her core sense of self are all suddenly feel deeply compromised. In the court case which follows, all the weapons of rhetoric, language and implication which Tessa deployed so skilfully for a living are turned in on her. Now she is the one trying to scramble her way out of a web the lawyer for the accused is spinning around her. 

The bond established between the protagonist and the audience in the first half of the story serves to heighten the emotional impact of the harrowing turn of events. A “He Said, She Said” case is the most brutal dissection of character imaginable. For a jury of their peers, two people will compete to be viewed as the sole honest and respectable member of society. 

Prima Facie examines the ingrained unconscious prejudices that form our collective perceptions, projections and biases. It also illuminates how the legal system and the power structures which govern society are built to defend the status quo from those who would disrupt it.

The plot and themes of Prima Facie are undeniably heavy but the play never risks overwhelming the audience with an excess of misery. On the contrary, it provokes a lot of thought about urgent societal issues while entertaining and engaging from beginning to end with a very tight control of pace and tone. 

There’s a polish to the whole production born of experience, this being the 2^nd season of the play after an initial New Zealand run last year. The minimal set, lighting and score serve the story well without ever distracting. The long standing ovation at the conclusion was richly deserved.

*Little whinge on the side: When you go to the theatre, go to the toilet before hand and turn your fucking phone off. Jesus. 

Of late, it’s been nothing but giant briefs through the door for our Custom Shop team. For us, Custom Shop means from scratch, to mind bending, one of a kind, showstoppers. It means blending paper, paste, paint, and now giant ginger hands. 

The backdrop to this campaign, a stunning mural that introduces the mythical ‘Ginger Giant’ to the city. 

This isn’t just any mural—it’s a dynamic piece of art that blends seamlessly with the eclectic vibe of K’ Road while standing out as a testament to the creative energy of our team and the mysticism of the Ginger Giant himself. We wanted to create something that wasn’t just a backdrop but an integral part of the community’s visual landscape.

But the mural is just the beginning.

To ensure the ‘Ginger Giant’ made its mark, we also rolled out a large-scale street poster campaign. These posters are strategically placed to catch the eye of anyone passing through this cultural hub, making Mac’s new drink impossible to miss. It’s all about spreading the message far and wide, inviting everyone to experience what Mac’s Brewery has to offer.

By blending art, culture, and advertising, we create experiences that resonate with both the brand and the community. 

We’re stoked with this project, and we can’t wait to see how the Ginger Giant will inspire and delight everyone who encounters it on K’ Road.

Cheers to creativity, collaboration, and, of course, the legendary Ginger Giant!