Culture shock

Will Johnston has a solution for one of the Tauranga CBD’s problems, and he’s practically giving it away.

It’s fair to say that I was excited to go to Hamilton. That’s not usually a sentence that comes out of my mouth. Cold and foggy isn’t my cuppa. However, this time, Hamilton was going to be different.

It was at Spark Arena in Auckland, and it’s the musical about Alexander Hamilton that’s taken over the theatre world since its first performance in 2015. My wife is a huge musical theatre fan, so this was a must for her and, by association, me. Don’t get me wrong, I like a musical as much as the next 39-year-old musically untalented guy. But mid-show when I noticed my forearm was wet from the tears of joy and sorrow emanating from my wife’s face, I realised I was not at her level of enthusiasm/hysteria. Bless.

But the thing that really struck me while we had our baby-free weekend in Auckland was that we are lacking a vibe in Tauranga. 

There’s a buzz in Auckland (if you tell an Aucklander I said that, I’ll deny it). Maybe it’s more people, maybe it’s bigger buildings, maybe it’s just traffic (though we have that in spades here – amiright)? Or maybe it’s the fact that businesses are actually open and operating at night – not just food and booze businesses, either. 

I hear the same old argument about Tauranga not being big enough to support opening at night, or even support half of the businesses during the regular shopping hours. But rather than just complaining – as I’m prone to do as I sink into my late-30s role of dad jokes and loathing of bad parking – I have a solution! 

All I ask for this fix is a humble working week’s worth of fees that the Tauranga commissioners charge per day of work each. $1,500 each x 5 work days = $7,500. I know, generous of me, right? I’m not even charging the chair’s fee of $1,800 per day. Which I would be totally justified to do as I am quite clearly the chairman of my own board. 

So here it is: Whack it on the rates, mate! 

Every residential ratepayer gets an allowance built into their rates that must be spent on tickets to shows/events every year. If you don’t spend it, it gets divided up as an annual cash payment among all businesses/organisations in the CBD that would benefit from an entire theatre of people coming to town before/after a show. 

Worst-case scenario for the ratepayer: You get to go to a bunch of shows a year, expand your horizons, and fill the CBD with reasons for businesses to operate there. Worst-case scenario for a business/organisation: They get a sweet cash payment at the end of every year to keep the doors open/pay their staff and reinvest into their business to make the CBD a more attractive place to socialise for the ratepayer. 

Now, who do I invoice for this idea? 

All this aside… It worries me that I’ve mentioned rates AND went to Auckland and enjoyed myself. Who have I become? Middle-aged?! 

 radiowill

Nappy days

Will Johnston revels in life with a newborn, and all its smelly surprises.

My life has changed in the most glorious and fulfilling way. I feel like I’ve just been given the quiet word by the universe that this is actually the point of life: To create and love new life. Only took almost 40 years to get it.

Since Goldie was “whipped out the sunroof” in late October, I can’t think of a better feeling than reclining on the couch, my baby daughter on my chest swaddled like an oversized Christmas bauble, freshly nappy-changed, perfectly asleep with the rain outside for extra cosiness, breathing in the smell of her little newborn head. Delicious! 

But it seems there are a few things new parents need to find out the hard way…

We’ve all heard of the poo explosion, “poonami”, “apoocalypse”, a serious “shituation”. You know, the one where it goes through all the clothes and up the back. But we didn’t realise what would happen when that hilariously small, pink baby bottom is unsheathed and turns into a poo-shooter, a bum-gun if you will. Juuuuuuust when you think she’s strained for 10 minutes, she lets a huge one out in the nappy and immediately passes out with the effort… You gingerly remove the nappy, assess the damage, run a solid clean-up crew. Then and only then does she throw the final wave of bum-grenades out of the trench, over the waiting nappy, and on to the wall, the mirror, the carpet, the blinds and your hands.

We were also not informed that newborns are weirdly loud sleepers. The groans, the strains, the noise that resembles a cat in the distance, the creepy little laugh from beside the bed at 3.30am.

What I’ve come to learn over the last few weeks of being a dad is that my baby is SO lucky to have been born in Tauranga, where we have amazing midwives and medical facilities. I’ve learned that a baby smile is sometimes a smile, and sometimes the precursor to a sniper-like poo. I’m thankful she’s a girl, otherwise I would’ve totally had baby pee in my face multiple times. I’ve learned that my wife is the bravest person I know, has a pain threshold higher than I could ever imagine, and possesses a natural ability to know just what to do with our Goldie girl at any point. I’ve learned I need more storage on my iCloud for the seven pics I take of every one of her facial expressions. Finally, I’ve learned that if you ever brag to your partner that you managed to get the screaming baby to settle, then she will immediately wake up, vomit on your shirt just before you leave the house for a meeting you’re already late for, and throw in a poonami for good measure. 

  @radiowill

Baby on board

Columnist Will Johnston is in awe of the mysteries of pregnancy
– but glad he’s not the one gestating.

You know what it’s taken me almost 40 years to realise? Men would be terrible at
being pregnant.

My wife, Tiffany, is due to give birth to our first baby in the next few weeks. Literally at every point of the pregnancy my mind has wandered to how I would handle the situation she is currently in. As Tiff would say, “Oh, so, we’re making me growing a human about you again, are we?!” 

Yes. Yes, we are. Sort of. Let’s go through it from the start, shall we?

At six weeks pregnant, she was full noise, suffering from what I have come to learn is an inaccurately named ailment called ‘morning sickness’. They should just call it ‘day sickness’, because that’s how long it lasts. All freak’n day! There were voms from 3am to 11pm. 

You know what’s less fun than morning sickness? Morning sickness when you’ve got COVID-19!

Yup, Tiffany caught COVID-19 at seven weeks pregnant. That developed into a bit of long Covid mixed with a foetus draining all the remaining nutrients from her body (pregnancy, it’s sooo glamourous). We ended up in hospital after she spent 48 hours hugging a toilet. Pay the nurses more! They were amazing at Tauranga Hospital. It wasn’t until week 23 or 24  when she finally stopped heaving at least two times a day feeling like you’re hungover with a tummy bug.

Now, can you imagine the cries of despair and notions of travesty that would spout from the mouth of a man if he had to handle even a week of this torture?! Remember the last time a male in your life got man-flu?! We are really not set up for it. 

We all know a guy with a beer gut, right? Let’s talk about growth of stomach area. When one is working on a "keg" rather than a "six-pack" in the abdominal department it is usually years of relentless hand-to-mouth work, walking a meticulous line of over-indulging and exercise avoidance. Sometimes decades worth.

Can you imagine going from six pack to phenomenal mid-section bloom and increasing in weight by about 12kg in five months? And alongside that all of your organs are getting pushed around and your stomach is shrinking at an alarming rate as said organs mush it towards your oesophagus. What’s more, you can’t even drink anything fun to get the beer gut fully formed! Just imagine a male tradie on the building site at the end of a hard week on the tools. But imagine him eight months pregnant and not able to enjoy a beer with the boys. And do you trust him not to have that beer?! 

Don’t even get me started with will power. Tiff’s had what I like to call "snout cravings". Not so much in the
eating department, more in the smell craving department. She has sniffed a lot of red wine and coffee during this pregnancy – two things pre-preggers Tiff never touched. 

Speaking of K9 nostrils, as she walked in the front door the other day, she declared: “Something is off in the
fridge, get rid of it now!” Then exited the premises. Can you imagine a man off his food? The hardship! 

I think all men know a guy in their group who has a weak bladder; on a road trip they have to stop five times between Tauranga and Auckland (the beer gut isn’t helping). But at least they don’t have a tiny human who sporadically throughout the day kicks them swiftly in their already slightly baby-crushed bladder – usually at the most inappropriate time.

Finally, tie all of the above together, chuck in reflux, increasing water weight throughout the day, pain in multiple different joints and muscles due to the rapid change in weight and size, significant hormone changes, shortness of breath because your lungs/diaphragm are literally getting pushed up by your organs, rubbish sleep and low iron/energy levels… Then go to work and not complain 24/7 about it all. 

I kicked the foot of the bed the other day. It took me two days to stop limping and telling people about how sore my toe was. Men are 100 percent the fairer sex.

The trick is knowing this. I am happy in my current wheelhouse containing phrases such as: “What can I make you for dinner?” “Would you like a back/foot rub?” “Can I help you up/down/sideways?” “Can I run you a warm bath and roll you in the shallows as you make faint whale noises?” 

Ok, well maybe not that last one! 

I’m a lucky man. Lucky to have a baby on the way with the woman I love. And, lucky I’m not the pregnant one!  

  @radiowill

Will Johnston

Will Johnston vows to keep it cool. It took some matrimonial mayhem to inspire Will to become a celebrant himself. Cringeworthy, cookie cutter nuptials? Awkward side eyes in the aisles? Not on his watch!

I pride myself on not being a boring old lady dressed in a curtain, adorned with some form of floral headdress, spouting love metaphors like I’m channelling Mr Darcy. 

Allow me to give you some context on this. I have three celebrants to thank (or blame, depending on how you look at it) for becoming a celebrant myself. They are the three who ran the weddings of mates of mine all over one memorable summer a few years back.

Culprit one, mid-ceremony, broke into prayer, followed sharply with a hymn – high-pitched and solo – at a wedding that the couple specifically requested be free of religion.

The second spent the entire ceremony calling the groom Max. His name is Matt. 

And the third opened the ceremony with the words, “Love is like a river…”. That’s where I tuned out. I couldn’t tell you a word of the rest of it. She also got in the car with the bride when she arrived and asked “if she was sure she wanted to go through with it.” Then said, “It’s not too late to back out”. Read the room, lady!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure that there are many who haven’t been taken with the untraditional diatribe I spout as a celebrant. But I’ve never sung a hymn at an atheist wedding. 

On the contrary, we are living in the Bay of Plenty of exceptional celebrants. I’m constantly blown away by the great people who get into the wedding industry full stop, actually. And the vastly experienced vendors that have constantly evolved with ever-moving wedding trends. 

There is one concept that I have held as gospel over the years I’ve been a celebrant: It’s such an honour to be invited to marry a couple, you owe it to them to not make it like every other ceremony they’ve been to. You must do something different every ceremony.

I remember doing a ceremony in Rarotonga a few years ago for some friends and there was a celebrant there who had three ceremonies to choose from. As in you pick one, write your names at the top and the bottom and it was done. Literally the definition of ‘insert your name here’. Seems a shame for such an idyllic setting.

Speaking of idyllic settings, the BOP has had a hell of a time over the last few years when it comes to weddings. Imagine buying a wedding venue, getting it all up to scratch ready for the summer ahead and then all of a sudden, it’s a global pandemic, the borders are shut, no one is allowed to leave their regions and there’s a 10-person limit at weddings. I’d cancel it too! 

I have a couple I’m going to be celebrant for at the end of 2023. They were supposed to get married on the first day of the first lockdown a few years ago. They rebooked right as we all got locked down again. And then again when the regional palaver kicked in. So they’ve just rebooked for two years’ time… Surely?!

At the end of every season, I look back on the weddings I’ve been part of and the people I’ve met over that time. There’s always a sentiment I feel at that point. It’s different at the end of every season, much like every wedding is different. But this last season was really one of thankfulness. If nothing else, the weird Covid world we’ve inhabited the last few years has given us perspective on when to be thankful. 

If you’re going to have literally the most expensive party of your lives, you may as well start it with a few laughs. If you’re getting married sometime soon, make sure you tell the person you’re using as a celebrant that. Otherwise, you might get a hymn-signing, curtain-clad lady. Ain’t no one got time for that, especially when there’s an open bar waiting! 

@radiowill

Will Johnston

Meet UNO’s new columnist – a veteran radio announcer who now wields a hammer. Want a new home?

Not only will he seal that deal, he’ll marry you, too.

It was the 4th of August 1983 when I was birthed. Ok, no, we aren’t going to do my whole life story… Fun fact though, I have one sister, she’s eight months older than me. Let that land. She’s adopted. Not that weird in the end. However, when they adopted her, my parents had no idea they were a month pregnant with me. Surprise! Jury’s still out on whether that was a good surprise.

Until recently, I was mainly a radio announcer on The Hits, for 20 years. I say mainly because who has just one job anymore? I still have a local Saturday morning show (9am-12pm on 95FM… shameless!) But I’m now a real estate auctioneer. What a learning curve THAT has been for the last eight months! 

I took a leap and changed career because I thought, if I don’t do it, I’m always going to wonder what it would’ve been like. When you have those thoughts, you’ve already sub-consciously made the decision, right? I’m also a big fan of helping someone achieve something, being in front of a crowd and connecting, so it makes sense that I’m a celebrant, and MC, too. I have great work stories. I did a wedding two weeks ago where someone had to be taken away in an ambulance because they were passed out drunk at the table… before dinner! But enough work chat. 

Let me give you a snapshot of my personal life. In my spare time I like to do literally nothing. My ideal night right now would be on the couch, pizza in one hand, beer in the other watching something varying between sport or MTV’s Catfish. I’m a simple man, the key is making peace with that and then outsourcing anything in your life that is complicated, right?

I have a two-year-old ginger cavadoodle named Bear. He’s motivated by two things only; ball and food. Much like me.

Every Tuesday, I MC a quiz at The Tauriko Pub Company and have two glasses of red wine and some waffle fries while I’m doing that. On a school night, I know! CRAZY. And I’m not even sorry!

I got married last year to Tiffany. Yes, she’s nine years younger than me. Yes, I love that. Yes, she’s the best person I know and makes my life one million times more worthwhile. Gush, gush. We live at the Lakes, but I wish we lived by the beach. Or at the very least by an actual lake.

I had a chat with my wife this morning about me being the most likely person I know to get Covid; auctioneer, celebrant and MC… I probably interact with over 200 people on a quiet week. Downside = Covid. Upside = all those people have awesome, hilarious, unique and important stories. Those stories and my experiences are what I’ll cherry pick just for you in every issue of UNO forever… Or until they get sick of my drivel and sack me. Catch you next issue!