Little Bushman - Last Night of Garden Magic

It's 19.28 when I call a cab and the show starts at eight. I'm in Hataitai having popped home for a little lie down and the Botanical Gardens are right the other side of town. However, thanks to Wellington's instantaneous taxi service I'm stood minutes later on the corner of Cuba and Ghuznee. A swift pint, another cab hailed on Dixon and I alight at the top of the cable car with minutes to spare. Snaking through the gardens I follow the sound of a band warming up - first closer then further away as the path wiggles down towards the shell stage. The great thing about these guys, I think to myself, is that I reckon it's going to take them a while to get going. But still - the mounting excitment of rushing a stage as a band you want to see strikes up it's first few chords. With no Glastonbury since 2005 I'd kinda forgotten what that's like. And then you're there and it's packed, much more so than on previous nights. Even the paths around the corner are rammed but somehow with a hop, skip and a little bit of luck there's room with plenty to spare for one more on the slope overlooking the lawn. Ok so the sound is a little woozy, the band a little noodley but I'm happy. See, I heard the album on a listening post in town and liked it enough to bend my no buy CDs, no buy DVDs rule. It was the 'Made in Aotearoa' on the sleeve that convinced me I could - well, I have to sample some homegrown. Got the album back to my room and realised they were playing this final night of Garden Magic - fantastic! The perfect accompaniment to a Summer's evening. And it was. So what if they lost themselves - or maybe just me - a little in the middle there. And I'm still not sure from where I was sitting if the rendition of the radio friendly 'Where We Get Born' was the right or the wrong side of loose. But by the time 'Little Bird' crescendoed - and with it a host of tiny bubbles flew night skyward like so many Celestials leaving for the mothership - well I was numb bummed and maybe a little bit stoned from all the second-hand smoke and I was contented and thankful which I hadn't anticipated after a weekend like this one, which up until this afternoon had been a complete and utter write-off. Still, even Little Bushman almost over-indulged at the end and I had just decided to leave - the sound of bottles dropping in the bank beginning to drown out the band - when 'Onus' breathed it's last few chords. With perfect timing - a dusting of rain. No hunting glow worms tonight, instead out of the park and on the road into town - couldn't help but be reminded of Ashton Court - a stroll down Lambton Quay and a number 14 bus home past the Christmas trees of Oriental Bay. Just in the nick of time as the rain thunders down, a hot shower soothes sunburn, a cuppa'tea and the National radio jazz forecasts more storms at dawn. Midnight, goodnight x