So I was meeting up with Dan and Lisa, Jimmy and Kate and one Jeremy Cameron. For those of you who brush past the last name, in a previous debauched life he was the artist formally known as Bullshit, but prefers his full length name now. But for the purpose of story telling, my appreciation of the ‘devils’ tongue and timely theme of the tour….Bullshit it will be! Also Paul Booth and Leyton Perris were over for some mayhem! And not disappointing I add.
The Americas Cup base in Valencia is simply brilliant, and without crapping on ad-nauseoum, it was a perfect set-up. You have probably all seen some kind of footage on TV and it was a good as it looked.
Myself and JC Bullshit arrived on the Friday, sails full of wind! With Dan, Lisa, Jimmy and Kate all on extended holidays in Spain and Europe, they had settled in nicely, and I’m sure they were looking forward as hell to the two of us getting there! In fact they had someone smiling on them as they bunked in with one Steve Tindall. Also they managed to blag a few days on the waves, earning me a slightly green tinge….and not sea sickness! Donut that the lads would be proud of, international donut to boot!
Friday was a good night out, ending in a roof top night club, which was to become our final stop on a few occasions, massive place and all open aired! The next day we rolled out of bed and headed straight down to the Americas cup base to meet the others down there. After a few ‘Hangover’ cures, it was to the woolshed. This place had Kiwi written all over it , and was fantastic to boot. Very similar to the old Chinese markets in downtown Auckland. Can you picture all the Italian supports flocking there in 2000 to watch the race? No, neither can I…..but out of sight! Haha
Regardless this place had atmosphere by the shed-load. Wall to Wall, all sorts and all ages. We met up with Boothy and Perris, who were also midway thru an acute hangover, incubated by the 30+ heat! The Crowd gathered, and the self appointed MC kicked off a rather despondent national anthem (minus the Maori version I add). Fingered him as being the Lieutenant 2nd in charge of team Cromwell! But fairness to the old coot, he got the crowd going. Pity about the race, loosing by a unhealthy margin.
We then moved the show down to the waters edge, more specifically the Estral Damm Bar.
A shining beacon of light if you will, perched on the Harbours edge, emerging like a nice froth atop the Saturday afternoon larger of life! This place had found 10 new friends, and we intended to stay and Dupree it. In all my travel’s, and more specifically time spent at bars, never have I seen such an array of …how do I say…Stunners! The bar manager must have had a Harbott hiring policy, generally being they either have the job as they walk in the door…or not, CV be dammed! Love it!
I really think this is where it gets, and the night …a little Dark. Basically held up there drinking 2 Euro beers for the night. Half way thru the night, a rather confused Perris returns, mumbling something about a blown jandel, super yacht, duck tape and a tap on the side of head. Not really sure what transpired the 2 hrs he went MIA, and am none the wiser as I sit here. But I know for sure a beach was involved, because a rucksack full of it was deposited on the dance floor by him? Irony is, its really as close as most of us got to the beach the whole trip! Anyway, night ended at Roof top bar…..late!
Sunday was really the big one, not so much for racing, but just one of the great days. The race was delayed due to no wind, so we headed down the viaduct to a quiet place and have a wee pint. 2 Hrs later the boats return after racing was abandoned, and with it every Kiwi waiting for them on the waters edge, you have to give it to us, you would have thought we one the whole dam thing! Waving flags, hats, t-shirts and even one bemused baby! The DJ had rummaged around his ‘Spanish’ collection and expecting a classic Gypsy Kings song to emerge, instead he brought out some NZ classics from a 2 week period in the 80’s! About 10 Kiwiana songs blasted the Harbour, 4 being Dave Dobbyn repeats! Classic stuff. We also meet up with Sandy and a few of her mates from London, as the party hit full swing. It was about this time in the afternoon that Boothy was trying to change his 9pm flight back to London. More and more desperate calls were dialled, until finally he hit pay dirt and got on one the following day. Boothy will be taking sweet and sour memories away from Valencia that’s for sure. Having already packed his bag, and carrying it ,we headed out for the night!
We all headed off for dinner, before returning to Estral Damm for a night cap, and what also turned out to be JC’s 30th Birthday as the clocked clicked over 12. As much as the big fella tried to play it down, we all took as fuel to the nights fire. On a side note, not since Sex in the City (Was walking past TV at time) have I seen someone fret so much about turning the big Three Zero! He had a point, as the big hand met the little one on the clock I noticed a few more crows feet, grey hair and he even forgot to get the next round, but this might be more to do with genetics than being 1 day older! But I digress, this is once again where it gets a little pear shaped, well that’s if the thieving Spaniard is a portly we fella. See Myself and Boothy fell victim to this incredulous scourge in Spain. My bag had a camera (photos of PJ 
Montgomery and Bar Girls!! Sad) and …well booth lost all his clothes! Mmmm…..was not a happy camper when he arose from his slumber and trudged off to the airport with only a Wallet, passport and 3 day old clothes on his back! Just tell me when it’s safe to joke about this Paul, although was one of the best days around. Totally worth it! Pandol was downed for the biggest hangover yet, but as Bullshit puts it….taking painkillers on that hangover is akin to popping a few sealegs in the perfect storm!
One thing that made me prouder than a All Blacks father, was the amount of Kiwis that had made the trip from Home or UK. This has been touched on in all the reports and convo’s I’ve had. But, being an ElderStateman, I need to be the harbinger of what could only be described as perhaps the most painful New Zealander I’ve yet to meet (Not JC, Harbott and Thingy, although a photo finish)
No, Team Cromwell! Yes folks that craggy lot from down south had saved up there pennies, presumably but not spending money on fashion for 30 years, faking age to get pensions and no doubt numerous raffles consisting of Lamingtons and Styrofoam packed meat! Plus I suspect the odd under ground Bingo all nighter in the local town hall in Crommers, which It’s sad to report survived the latest winter blast back home. Anyway, one particular cringe inducing chap was this rabbles ring leader, we’ll call him Bazza. Bearing a large Kiwi flag and a 2nd hand wardrobe browed from an Hawaiian bartender, he set about turning kiwis beat-red in the face!
His war cries could be heard up and down the waters edge, as he rallied the troops and instilled national pride. Am quite sure flying halfway around the world goes some way to showing my support, but not for old Bazza, he wanted more. Like a possessed drama teacher, barracking us poor unsupportive kiwis into action. A Kiwi-Evangelist if you will!
After chants of the insipid Kiwi, Kiwi, Kiwi it was onto a true classic! Down on hunches in front of at least 100 people……fist clenched!
IF ANYONE CAN, A KIWI CAN!!!!!!!
For an hour! Like some slow motion flash back to the days of Telethons and national inferiority complexes! We all watched in some kind of twisted cringe, but found it strangely amusing! Timeless moment….
So a few more days then the last final blast in Valencia, and heart break like never before. I’m dam sure that Alfred Hitchcock had a hand in the script for this cup. What a classic, the Woolshed was like a roller coaster, not the Rainbow ends excuse…but a big one! The crowd was up and down like a one armed window cleaner, lead, behind, lead….penalty….Drama! The last 1min of that race would have been the most agonising in sporting memory, the Woolshed was at fever pitch. It was like the whole place had each won Lotto…..See below
Then….Damm it! I was shaking for about 20min after that race, Gutted. People just looked wrecked. But the Kiwis all rallied around and greeted the Team NZ boys like champions, rather moving actually. Even team Cromwell were in form. The crowd flowed them all the way back into base….sniff sniff….special times!
I have deliberated in telling the next yarn, but after consulting with my psychiatrist and boxing coach, it needs to be mentioned. We had all decided to head to the bar on the roof at end of the night, which was pushing dawn. The bouncer (Yip) had decided that we weren’t up to dress code and demanded we change out shoes or what ever…..funny being that we all were dressed the same. So a quick strip out the front, which would have made Demi Moore happy, while the Spaniard bouncer watches us and then proceeds too let us all in. After spending a few hours drinking and dancing, we decide its time to hit the road! ….not quite the ‘hit the road’ I had in mind. As I walked out to meet JC, I gave the bouncer the thumbs up thanking him for the night (Honestly call), next thing I know I’m eating pavement. He had cold clocked me from behind, right in jaw! I had gone down quicker than Australia One! Lucky for me I’ve taken more hits than Google, so was back to my feet rapidly. The cheeky sod had gapped it, leaving me to take a technical victory over my Greasy opponent! A rocky style hands in the air moment, and we was off. Only I could take victory out of that…..anyway, he hit like a wet pancake, only a slightly saw jaw the result. Still wondering what we did to rile him up so much…haha!
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