The Lost Boys

Thirtysomething and close to their mothers, Nick Churchouse and Lane Nichols are the lost boys, unsure of their place in the world but struggling to make it. Follow their pursuit of marriage, mortgage and man-cubs.

All aboard for Never Never Land

09:34am 24 Dec 2009

27 comments

BY NICK CHURCHOUSE AND LANE NICHOLS

NICK: Okay. That's enough of the goodbye crap. You'll all be sick of it by now.

It's the last day of The Lost Boys and it's down to me and Lane to check out. Tom has been under pressure ever since his beloved squeezed out 1x glorious thoroughbred offspring. That's a whole new world I cannot even begin to fathom. He's barely out of his high school PE shorts but he's leapfrogged into fatherhood. As for us, we'll be there soon (ish). Maybe. Who knows?

But we're not shelving The Lost Boys to spend more time procreating. Many of you have asked for a no-bull explanation of why it's curtain time. I'll let the Long Man explain. Lane?

LANE: Some of our readers have asked why a blog of such social and political significance, with a global fan base well into the millions, could ever be for the chop. Well, the "truth" is this. Since Churchouse penned a witty and personally revealing entry about Hugh Hefner and his own adolescent under-the-covers foray into the world of Playboy magazine, our very own intrepid business reporter has been head hunted.

Nick is off to the Playboy mansion to become Hugh's right hand man, witnessing the hedonism that only Hugh knows and compiling a weekly newsletter for the corporate sex god - Pets at Play. (Or Kama Sutra from a Zimmer Frame - ed.) Of course, continuing The Lost Boys is no longer possible due to copyright issues and legal hurdles surrounding Nick's intellectual property. What a jammy bastard!

Over and out

09:23am 23 Dec 2009

17 comments

BY LANE NICHOLS

Sometimes I have no idea what I'm going to write. A teenage Lane Nichols

I'll sit at my laptop, stare blankly at the screen, then pound at the keys like a runaway train with no driver. Like a parked car careering down a hill with no hand-break, or a spooked horse galloping aimlessly across a dark field.

It can be tough coming up with new material and I freely admit I wouldn't waste my time reading some of my previous posts.

But others have been like finely-crafted works of art - beautiful records of my life and emotions, documented for prosperity with honesty, courage and humour (I hope).

Like sand through the hour glass these have been the days of our lives.

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Last post

09:28am 22 Dec 2009

13 comments

BY TOM FITZSIMONS

That's probably too grandiose a title for this blog.

Lost Boy I might be now, and for this week still, but six months ago I was just a humble Dominion Post reporter, unable even to get the attention of Lane and Nick as they strutted the newsroom, high-fiving each other and comparing their latest scarves and fake-diamond earrings.

You might say I've come a long way. I've posted about vegetarianism and the politics of Wellington's suburbs, a fight I almost got into and the arrival of my new baby son.

I've met blog fans on the bus and in the pub (the inimitable Astropuss), at Parliament and on the phone. And both of the original Lost Boys have independently told me they like me better than each other.

But it hasn't always been easy. I've often woken up of a morning and suddenly remembered it was my turn that day. Nick, in particular, has saved me countless times.

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Lost and Found ... and Lost

11:15am 21 Dec 2009

24 comments

BY NICK CHURCHOUSE

"The time has come," the Walrus said, "to talk of many things."

If Lane had not branded me a wookie in the early days of The Lost Boys, I'd have liked to be branded a Walrus. They sound wise, have enormous tusks, and body slam It all began with a moustache and a few wines ... each other when grumpy. That'd be the way to live.

But this Walrus' days are numbered. The Lost Boys are off to see the wizard.

Some of you have mentioned it's time. Some of you have said it's long overdue. Some of you can't possibly imagine a world without The Lost Boys. Whichever your category, it's been enjoyable and enlightening to have your feedback, comments and cut-throat criticisms over the past two years.

I'm sad to sign off, but leaving is always the hardest part. It takes a strong person (and in this case a fluffy one) to stand up and walk away.

My last will and testament

08:09am 18 Dec 2009

27 comments

BY LANE NICHOLS

I Lane Nichols, being of sound mind and body (what's left of it) do hereby set out my final wishes as to my affairs and estate. Please respect Lane's final wishes

Well 'estate' is a bit of a stretch. To be honest I have sweet $%#@ all. On paper I'm worth close to nothing.

It's not like I own any property. My family can hardly flick off my inner city condo and collection of imported European sports cars then split the resulting millions in sale proceeds.

They'll just have to hawk off my modest possessions at Cash Converters and scrape together whatever they can.

If they're lucky my old Mazda (yes, I finally bought a car) might fetch enough to cover my funeral expenses. But I wouldn't plan a lavish holiday to the Swiss Alps on my imminent inheritance proceeds if I was a grieving relative.

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