Four Years

High School: Four Years
University: Four Years
Olympic Training Period: Four Years
Time Between World Cups: Four Years
How Long I Spent Trying to Appreciate Leonard Cohen Records Before I Gave Up: Eight Years
How Long My Last Band in Japan Lasted: Four Years
How Long My First Band in NZ Lasted: Four Months
Number of Work Days in a Week with One National Holiday: Four Days
Minimum Paid Holiday as Mandated by NZ Government: Four Weeks
Length of US Civil War: Four Years
Length of World War I: Four Years
Length of World War II (US involvement): Four Years (give or take a few months)
How Long I've Been Married: FOUR YEARS

David Bowie may have sung, "We've got FIVE YEARS/ that's all we got" but it just seemed like five years to him because during the Ziggy Stardust period he was trying to be gay and refused most solid food. The magic number is clearly four, and the fact that Sarah and I have survived the first four years is reason for serious celebration.

We went out for some seriously ***** (that's pronounced "five star") Italian food last night. You may have heard that I don't do restaurant reviews, and I'm not about to start now, but there was a quattro formaggi pizza with walnuts, a bruschetta composed of manuka honey and pears, and, as the menu said, The Best Ever Lasagna, which, were it my restaurant, would be renamed the Best Ever Lasagna Because It Comes With a Shitload of Meat. As I sliced the lasagna, meat poured out from between the layers of pasta like ice cream on a half melted Mississippi Mud when bitten. It was so good that I didn't even have anything to drink, for fear that adding anything further to the taste orgy would so desensitize my tongue that my own penne-and- tomato-sauce-with-$6-bottle-of-South-African-Cab-Sav would never suffice again.

In keeping with the celebration of FOUR, I've decided that the anniversary will last for four days. Thursday was Italian food, Friday was staying at home and watching Springsteen on the Daily Show (we would have done that anyway . . .) but it all picks up again on Saturday because we are flying to Auckland.

To see The Who. From the 12th row.

And yes, I know that Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey are half the original band and that their combined age is 128 (no shit), but as Pete has said, they are very lucky that the guy who wrote all the songs and the guy who sang them are the two left standing. Fair enough I suppose. And besides, we and about 50,000 other people saw the Beatles play a show in the Tokyo Dome a few years ago with one original member, and that dude was definitely sporting man cans (abnormally large male breasts) at that point. The Japanese did have the decency to advertise that event as a "Paul McCartney" concert, but you know what I mean . . .

And the four day celebration of the four year anniversary concludes Sunday with a lie in at the Rydges Hotel in central Auckland where we shall gather another six months worth of mini soaps (perfect for the gym) before returning to Christchurch and eating the best fish and chips in Australasia, no screw it, the best fish and chips in the Pacific Rim (I find it hard to believe that there's a place in either Chile or Oregon that can compete with our guy down the road).

1040 Takeaways at, uh, 1040 Colombo Street for those of you in ChCh, is absolutely the best fish and chip shop in town. The double burger with cheese will melt the heart of anyone (and I now you're out there) opposed to the basic premise of ever ordering a burger in a fish and chip shop on the basis of keeping some order in the universe. To hell with order in the universe. It's time to embrace chaos, and order the fucking burger. It's really good.

I'll let you know how it all goes. Hope everyone else has a good weekend.