Sharing the love on a special night with Smithies

So, John Key would turn gay for Brad Pitt.

In case you missed it, Express magazine last week asked the National leader the tongue-in-cheek question: who would you turn gay for? To his credit, he answered "Brad Pitt". Politicians are often paranoid about answering such questions, so good on him, but I can't help thinking it would have been more interesting if Key had said "Brendan Pongia".

I once asked Helen Clark on radio if she had any tattoos. Unimpressed, she said "No". So I then asked her: "If you had to get a tattoo, what would you get a tattoo of?" She wouldn't answer the question, so I asked: "What if we lived under a totalitarian regime where everyone had to get a tattoo but we got to choose what kind of tattoo we got?" The Prime Minister replied that she had never heard of such a totalitarian regime. At least I tried.

Personally, I thought the most interesting thing to come out of the Express interview was the news that Key doesn't have a problem with gay couples adopting children. "My personal experience with gay and lesbian couples who have adopted children is that they've done that magnificently," he told the magazine.

Excuse me? The leader of the National Party, a man who voted against the Civil Union Bill, thinks same-sex couples should be allowed to adopt kids? Did I miss something? How do you go from opposing a bill that would allow such couples the right to enter into civil unions, to thinking it's okay for them to adopt children? Are alarm bells ringing in Wakefield?

Personally, I don't have a problem with the concept either. Last century, I used to think gay adoption was a bridge too far, but then I saw a photo in Time magazine that changed my mind. The shot was of a little black boy being read a bedtime story by his two white adoptive dads. The article explained that the little fella had spent years in orphanages before the couple, who had been together for ages, managed to convince the authorities they could offer him love and a home. It occurred to me that if everyone thought like I did, that boy would still be in an orphanage instead of having a family.

About now, some readers will be thinking: "Lawrey, this column is called About Town - where is the local angle?" It's a good question, and here is the answer: if I was a guest on Rove McManus's show and he asked me who I'd turn gay for, I'd say "Grant Smithies".

Why Smithies? Well, to be blunt, aside from being a great wit and raconteur and a good guy, at his arts festival Sitting Room show last Saturday, the Nelson-based writer and occasional DJ brought pleasure to 450 people without even breaking a sweat.

For three hours and 20 minutes, my mate Smithies played tunes from his ludicrously huge record collection, and the crowd responded by throwing themselves around like the Solid Gold dancers. Everywhere you looked, people were shaking their money-makers and grinning like someone had popped an E in their drink.

My favourite overheard quotes were, "I had no idea there were so many good-looking women in Nelson" and "If you introduce me to him, I will pash him straight away". To be honest, I think Smithies showed considerable restraint. As the turntables spun, video screens flashed up colourful pictures of flowers. Had he interspersed words among the images - words like "take", "your", "clothes" and "off" - many people would have been powerless to resist.

Speaking of the crowd, there were a number of people who deserve recognition for their special contributions to the evening. The best couple award has to go to Rose and Richard Shepard, who, despite being together forever, were all over each other in the nicest possible way. The prize for the best T-shirt goes to Owen Bartlett for his understated top featuring a drawing of a Ford Zephyr. And the prize for the best dancing by an engineer? Take a bow, Peter Kortegast - that is, if your back will let you.

Anyone interested in learning about Smithies' future gigs can email soundbwoy@clear.net.nz.

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