About

I’ve decided to write a few stories from my travels.

I’m unsure how they will turn out or how interesting they may be to people, but it is something I have been meaning to accomplish for a very long time.

I only hope that by beginning this exercise I will continue to find value in life’s unexpected turns.

If you find yourself reading them, please keep into account I have zero experience in storytelling and my spelling and punctuation may be a little off.

Here we go.

I arrived in Auckland in December 2019. I’d taken with me a backpacker’s backpack filled with various items. This would be the beginning of my minimalistic lifestyle, later spending my twenties living out of a Burton snowboard camera bag. That particular bag I treasured for its full panel access for all my rolled shirts.

I write now having settled in London, where I have accumulated a number of belongings, filling my rented room with props from numerous film jobs I have worked on throughout my past several years as a prop man. Meanwhile, my instrument collection is forever multiplying. Though this story talks of a particular guitar I purchased on K Road. My grandma had given me a little money before I left, which I intended on putting towards purchasing a saloon body guitar to pursue a career in music.

It was at the last moment, before nearly buying another guitar, that I saw a Martin LX1 with a spruce top. I was literally unfolding bills when I caught it in the corner of my eye and was immediately drawn to it. I bought it, then left with a hard case which I later wrote the letter HMS on. I walked left out of the store and came across Pigeon Park, which I sat in thumbing blues riffs until the evening painted the sky pink.

I then returned to my hostel, where I spoke to the receptionist who offered me free accommodation in exchange for a few nights’ board in exchange for a show. This was perfect, as I was also looking to buy a van, and this bought me more time.

In the coming days I befriended an older couple, Lyn and Paul, and we went about searching for a van each. There were a number of locations to find a van—markets and garages—but finally I found a Mazda Bongo on a message board in the hostel and went for that. The bloke selling it was a Māori lad who seemed very lovely and requested I take him down to Rotorua if I was heading that way. I explained I wouldn’t be leaving until after my show, and he said that would be fine.

On the days building up to the show I befriended a guy who told me he played harmonica. I explained about my show and he said he would love to sit in. Finally, when the night came, he arrived with a C harp, which limited what I was able to play, locking me into songs in the key of G, which at the time, for my skill level, was a big hindrance. He then went on to run a monologue about how music had saved his life, though it was apparent to the troubled audience he was yet to have been experienced in music, and even the harmonica. The speech went on for a good twenty minutes, which favoured me, as I only had an hour’s worth of songs and I was doing a double 45-minute set.

He didn’t sit in for the second half, and I rattled out my other numbers to much applause.

That evening, me and my new comrades from the bar worked our way through the other backpacker bars, and I saw a girl with long red hair talking to a muscular gentleman at the back of the room. Our eyes met, and I shied away to my ever-drunkening crowd.

The next morning I awoke in my room, which had no windows. I was unable to tell what time of day it was due to the lack of natural light, but was sure I would be fine for time, which I was. Breakfast that day was being held at a hostel a few doors down due to construction work.

To my surprise, as I arrived my entrance was met by the same eyes and red hair from the night before. Plucking up courage, I went and sat with her. I told her about the van I would be collecting later that day and asked her if she would like to travel with me down to Rotorua. She then left the table, returned to her dorm to collect her bag, and met me at the door.