Matt has had a few bad breaks but must be due for his luck to turn, Andrew said by
way of brief description of the person joining us for lunch at the Pink Elephant Cafe.
"I think you’ll like him," he added knowingly.
Matt walked towards us with one of those bouncy steps that suggested he had the
world on a string and was sitting on a rainbow, as the old song used to say. He sat
down, patted his flaming red hair into place and signalled the waiter, announcing that he was hungrier than "a dingo on a
baby hunting expedition." I started to remember how my friend Andrew had
been wrong before about my taste in music and people. Matt ordered a large lunch
and a bottle of the cafe’s best chardonnay hardly pausing to study the menu. Andrew
introduced me as a man of independent means and sometimes writer,and Matt as an
independent man. I could not help asking Matt to elaborate.
"I’m an entrepenuer,’’ he announced.
He continued on between mouthfuls to explain that the rock concert with a name band
should have made him a bundle - bit it didn’t. Instead, guess what? The minor event
he had organised as a second string to keep the city fathers happy had proved to be a
winner. This was an antiques fair and the entries had flooded in along with one old
woman’s contribution of an entire houselot she sold him for a song, which he promptly
resold. The door sales had also been a money spinner as thousands trooped through
the exhibition just to look.
"I believe you’ve had some bad luck as well," I gently inquired when I got a word in.
And then there was the Playboy plane fiasco. The plane had been booked to fly to
Auckland for down under New Zealanders to marvel at in all its decadent glory - for a
fee of course. But the airport was designated a security area so the plane could not be
parked and publicly exhibited. They had tried to compromise with a plan to tow it clear
of the airport but this had meant huge towing fees and a special engineer‘s expenses.
The Playboy bunnies that came with the plane then ran into union problems. Local
unions wouldn’t allow the girls to work here.
"We finally finished up with no plane and one bunny who had a Kiwi passport,and a
bunch of angry clients. But that’s showbiz."
A flashy smile accompanied the last statement with outflung arms and another large
sigh.
Then the touch. Had to come.
"I’ve got this little number going that’s solid gold. Nothing to do with showbix. Pure
commerce. Guess what has the biggest growth potential thats essential linked?
We didn’t get a chance to answer. Matt looked a trifle alarmed over my shoulder then
suddenly announced that the call of nature had priority over the call of gold and
disappeared into the restaurant’s interior. Two largish gentlemen in suits arrived at our
table under the impression we were Matt’s business partners and could assist them in
the recovery of money owed them from a failed scheme to tow Antarctic icebergs to a
south island deep water sound and then melt them down to market as pure mineral
water.
By the time we sorted out that little misunderstanding Matt was long gone. Turned
out a sympathetic kitchen hand let him out the back after being convinced the two suits
were welfare snoops harassing unemployed fathers who had no child visiting rights.
Andrew and I are still arguing over Matt’s share of the lunch bill.
The West Coast of New Zealand’s South Island is an isolated and primal place. Large
tracts of forest and bush creep down to the sea from the mountain range that divides
the island.On the eastern seaboard there are the populated plains but on the narrow
strip in the west a sprinkling of hardy souls and small townships.
James K Kinsey thought it would be the ideal place to pursue his interests of painting
and meditation.He figured he could carve a low cost life style out of the mountains and
live in peace away from those strange creatures called humans. He would hint
occasionally at a relationship gone wrong on the "other side," as he liked to call the
city of Christchurch, often described as the garden city of the plains.
JK, as he became to be known, would come down to the local store about once a
month for provisions, having built his small home up on the mountainside on land that
cost him nothing after he discovered some ancient gold mining law. Seems this law
allowed miners to build a dwelling on a claim.So JK dug out a small shaft,extracted a
tiny bit of gold, filed a claim and built his house.
He did it the hard way. Hauled everything up the mountain on his back,bit by bit. Took
him three years, initially living in just a tent while he built. The house was a wondrous
thing. He used native timber from the forest, then installed solar-heated rainwater
tanks, a picture window and a petrol powered generator. As a back-up he had four
truck batteries and a windcharger which powered his radio and tape recorder. This
allowed him to listen to opera and classical music as he read books about nature.
JK used gemstones in his fireplace and made walkways bordered by rocks and
mountain flowers. From sphagnum moss and decomposed punga logs he built a well-
nourished vegetable garden, as well as a rose garden, all screened by chicken wire to
keep out scavaging possums. He befriended native birds; his favourite a bellbird he
named Oscar. Oscar visited him every day and would sing melodiously from the branch
above where JK had his easel. The paintings were mainly of native animals, bush,
flowers, and sunsets. Spectacular sunsets with molten clouds in unpolluted skies. They
were his favourites and he had the most superb view of them across the bush clad
valley and out to sea.
Then the Government appeared. A forest ranger tramped in and suggested
to JK he was trespassing on public land. JK explained about the ancient mining law
allowing homes built on mining claims. That’s only if they are profitable, the forest
ranger countered. JK argued that he may only scratch out a few dollars in gold,but he
had no overheads and owed nobody, so what he got out was profit. The forest ranger
was unimpressed and said he would have to vacate. JK said no and then was
summonsed to court. For two years he defended his home in the panelled walls of the
Christchurch law courts. Finally a Judge ordered him to abandon his claim and tear
down his home. JK crossed back over the Southern Alps and trekked up the mountain
once more to his retreat where he selected a large canvas with a blue sky from his
collection and painted the word LIFE over it with a large question mark. He then got
out a keg of dynamite which he used for blasting in his little mine, sat on the keg,
gazed at the sunset one more time, and then blasted
himself into it.
"Full time ? " I asked.
"But of course." he replied with a smile. Then he launched into an account of one of
his triumphs. Seemed he had organised a rock concert to coincide with one of the
city’s major sporting events.
"Oh the travelling wax works ? Well,who would believe an alcoholic caretaker would
park them all close together then start a fire. Melted waxwork models are not a pretty
sight." He sighed and downed another glass of chardonnay, before remembering
another disaster.The great Kung Fu aftershave project. Seemed he had a world wide
marketing scheme all lined up linked to Bruce Lee. But then Lee died a week before
the launch.A Question of Profit