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Looking for a show that will increase attendances and appeal to both Mums and Dads?

Looking for a show that will increase attendances and appeal to both Mums and Dads?

The Family Show has a Sporting Legend for the Dads, a Parenting/Family Expert and 600+ show MC Comic for the Mum’s (and Dad’s!), and 2 Children’s entertainers to keep the kids happy and let Mum and Dad enjoy a night out!
All this coupled with the fact the show can be geared as a fundraiser with The K Faktor’s well-known $2500+ Cashbacks, Fundraising and Savings means you receive a low cost show that appeals to a wider demographic. A no brainer!

This PG rated show will not only be the usual fun of a Sportie Show but also give Mum’s and Dad’s a chance to listen to experts give advice about how to parent in this ever-changing cyber world our kids live in. The sporting legends, show creator and MC Justin Karcher, and the experts are all parents so there’ll be a healthy discussion on stage with much interaction and questions from the audience. The aim of the show is to create a relaxed and entertaining environment, making sure Mum’s and Dad’s take home some great parenting and relationship tips on top of their Sportie night out.

The Show runs from 6pm to 9pm Friday and Saturday nights, and noon to 3pm Sundays. The price for this show (that includes 5 ‘entertainers’ and their travel) is less than $5000*! That coupled with the fact The K Faktor can provide over $2500 worth of Cashbacks, Savings and Fundraising means the net cost of the show to you will be under $2500! This will let you keep the per ticket price down to attract a big crowd who’ll of course utilise all your facilities.

We suggest you charge $20 for a kids ticket that includes a meal, they’ll have a ball with the 2 entertainers and be nice and worn out in time for the trip home to bed. Two kids tickets will be less than the cost of a babysitter!

Contact Justin today and book this certain room filler – 0410 248 587

*Exact price will be determined upon availability and show roster but we aim to ensure no show costs more than $5000+gst.

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Andrew Joey Johns – should you believe the media?

Andrew Joey Johns – should you believe the media?

This photo was taken at the Lakeside Village Tavern in Raymond Terrace last Friday night where Joey was doing a ‘sportie’ with Justin (me!) from the GC6s and The K Faktor. As far as alcoholic consumption Joey had not touched a drop all day/night. We had performed a lunch at The Albion Hotel  and a dinner in the Terrace. I lost count of the number of photos posed for, autographs given and conversations Joey had with the attendees by 1pm! He was obliging, very funny, spoke openly and honestly, and feedback from the 2 sellout crowds has only been extremely positive. The gent with the tattoo in the photo was over the moon that Joey agreed to pose for this pic, it made the young mans day!

Over the past 17 years I’ve promoted and spoken at more than 1000 of these events and Joey is right up there with the best when it comes to being entertaining, giving and generally just a nice bloke.

I was brought up to judge and treat others as to how they treat me. I’d say there are a few hundred people since last Friday who will think differently of Joey now.

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PNG – where seeing the humour in being robbed became essential

PNG – where seeing the humour in being robbed became essential

No two days were ever the same over the 8 years I lived and worked in PNG. Strap yourselves in for another of my PNG experiences that takes us all out of our comfort zone.

I don’t remember exactly when the PNG tourism board decided to promote the tagline ‘Expect the Unexpected’. But for us long term expat residents, and even the ‘two year tourists’ at the Aussie High Commission residential compound (aka Fort Shit-Scared), Expecting the Unexpected became the norm pretty quickly. Especially when the Unexpected was things like armed robbery and mass prison breakouts!
In retrospect the nickname given to Aussie HC staff is incorrect, because most did little touring or cultural immersion whilst on their 2 year posting. Many came to Port Moresby on the lure of a good wage (danger pay) and free housing, helping them to get ahead with their mortgages back home.
Their daily routine involved being provided transport to and from the High Commission from their home at the compound, Fort Shit-Scared. The ‘Fort’ had everything one would want or need (except Tim Tam’s as they qualified as contraband), so once back behind the very high concrete walls with crushed glass and razor wire on top there was no real need to go outside and experience the people, land and culture. Something many were happy to do for 2 years. ‘Avoiding the Unexpected’ became their tagline.
Security was tight for all AHC staff and even tighter when an ‘incident’ occurred in the capital. An incident included many scenarios, from an AHC daredevil staff member being harassed at the markets on a Sunday morning (looking to haggle a 2 for 1 deal on penis gourds) to the time the Prison’s Chief Warden decided it was a good idea to let 113 prisoners out on day leave so they could march with other ‘public servants’ on parliament to protest the decision by Sir Bill Skate’s (prime minister and self-confessed godfather/overlord) government.
PNG did have the highest number of Knighthoods per capita, but I think Antigua & Barbuda holds this distinction now with Knighthoods bestowed upon 3 cricketers recently. There are more Sir’s is sari skirts than bowler hats!

At the time of the ‘breakout’ the furniture company I worked for was not only renovating all the housing at the Prime Ministers residence Mirigini House, but we had just opened a woodwork shop in the prison. A woodwork shop complete with every tool imaginable that a prison riot or break out gang could ever dream of. I never forget sitting in the wardens office and listening to him recount how he initially decided to let the 113 prisoners have the ‘day off’, only if they verbally promised to be back before sundown! He even supplied a government funded bus to assist with their transport to/from the march. ‘When we opened the front gate and the men started to run I realised that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.‘ Before they could get the gates closed approximately 30 inmates escaped and scurried into the surrounding scrub with hoots of glee and hands full of new shop tools.
This incident, like all incidents, lead to the increased security measure of all staff at Fort Shit-Scared being allocated a personal guard that would radio in all movements to security head office. Basically this meant the departure from the High Commission and then the arrival behind the concrete wall at the ‘Fort’. A 10 minute drive that took in not one set of traffic lights or any obstacle. At the time Port Moresby only had 3 sets of traffic lights, 2 of them within 200m of each other in a very odd location. The bribe on erecting the first was said to be considerable enough to warrant a second nearby. When the first set of lights were erected in the Highlands town of Goroka, families from the mountains walked for days to sit by the side of the road and watch the lights change!

I was held up at gun point 3 times whilst living in Port Moresby. The first two times on the golf course (a location you learnt to expect to be greeted by unexpected guests brandishing bush knives and home-made guns that can blow up at any time making the actual procedure of a hold up dangerous for all parties involved) and the third time in my office. The two times on the golf course are a story for another day.
By this third experience I had become expectant of the unexpected and found the incident somewhat comical. At the time I was the General Manager of the Papuan Rugby League and we had hosted the Australian Kangaroos vs the PNG Kumuls the previous day, a first in many years. An event we had sold out which meant 8000 tickets. But, the official (and trusted) printers had decided the opportunity was too good to pass up and sold/distributed/gave away a further 6000 tickets at a tidy profit we never saw. On game day (Sunday) at 6am I arrived to a Custer-esk welcome at the stadium by a well behaved 2000 ticket holders who happily waited until 10am when we opened the gates for a main game that did not kick off until 3pm. Just under 14,000 attended, but thats another story for another day.
When you host an event of that magnitude you will attract a lot of attention from all elements of society, especially the criminal ones.
Throughout the day I made several armoured truck cash deposits from the gate takings, corporate box and club house bar sales. I could have done one at the end of the day or utilised our onsite safe but I half expected to be visited by rascals during the course of the day. Something most people would consider to be unexpected! Another reason I made several cash deposit runs was to make sure those criminal types who’d be ‘casing the joint’ understood that there would be no money on sight overnight, thereby avoiding a late night/early morning break in.

The next morning I arrived at about 10am cloudy headed after a night celebrating with both teams, a night that included much betel nut chewing and ‘fire water’ drinking (we had a name for the local fire water, it was ‘sh*t-in-a-bottle’), to be greeted by the usual 6-10 males dressed in clothes worn for at least a week without change, leaning up against our front security grill. This was a daily occurrence as I knew these lads were here to hand over a dirty piece of paper (aka resume) and plead for a job working as ground or bar staff. The security guard was nowhere to be seen but that was all too common occurrence. Likely asleep under a tree on the other side of the car park I deduced.
I was a little shocked when I felt the barrel of a home made gun pressed against the side of my ‘sh*t-in-a-bottle’ affected head and a bush knife pushed into my back (familiar feelings by this point!) as I started to unlock the main grill gate. Shocked because I thought I made it very clear the night before that there was no cash left onsite, this action supported by the large sign above the gate and my head stating the same in English and Pidgin (the native tongue).
As I was marched up the stairs by a group of 4 I explained, in my very poor Pidgin, that they were too late for the booty. To which I received a reply in beautifully spoken English ‘Sir, we will make that assessment upon inspection of your office safe’. This caused me to giggle. ‘Whats so funny mate?‘ the head rascal (man with gun) asked to which I replied ‘this is obviously an inside job and whoever your informant is should now be at the end of your barrel!’
Regardless, as requested we made our way to my office and I proceeded to open the safe to prove the point. When the head rascal looked inside and discovered I was not pulling his leg he said ‘Kila, he losem tingting’ (Kila, he’s lost his mind). Kila is the name of my head barman at the time!
The discovery of only 100 Kina ($40) in coins (which I gracefully offered as recompense for their time) upset the bush knife carrying rascal who proceeded to wave his weapon around dangerously and cut the third member of their group across the buttocks. He began to bleed badly which just added another dimension of tension to the already agitated (and I suspected a little high on the local kerosine equivalent home brew spirit – much better tasting than sh*t -in-a-bottle I might add!) group. At this point rascal number four chimed in and demanded my watch. I said no as it was a present from my mother that I had owned for many years. He accepted that refusal and then asked if they may borrow my car to make a getaway and take the injured member of their party to Hospital. The car was insured so I said that would not be an issue.

I must point out that my office is very small (the size of the Doctors Tardis but sadly lacking the spatial interior), and when I’m in there with the safe door open there is normally only enough room for one other person. So to have 5 of us crammed into this small space, one of which is holding a home made gun that could go off/explode any second (as home made guns have a habit of doing due to the trigger having to be held open the whole time) and another who was bleeding badly, urgency and frustration were not welcome to our confines.
The lads took the car and $40 worth of coins. As they made their way out of the building I asked where the car could be collected. The head rascal said they would park it under the big iconic tree in the Hospital car park and leave the keys with an old man resting nearby. I said ‘thanks‘.
As soon as they left I called the local police station, number disconnected. Most likely the bill hadn’t been paid, again. I then rang the security company to come pick me up and take me to the hospital. They arrived at the same time the on duty front gate guard awoke from his slumber and proceeded to disrobe and wash at the garden tap. Only a 2 hour nap to start the day I noted, things were beginning to look up for me!
We arrived at the Hospital tree to find my car and an old man sitting under the tree ‘keeping watch’ over it. I asked if he had the keys, he replied in the affirmative and requested 10 Kina ($4 = 4-5hrs work) for doing such a fine job.
I dutifully paid him, started the car and took it straight home to ask my haus-meri if she had something to get blood stains out of the rear seat upholstery.

Another day in paradise expecting the unexpected.

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PNG – where Drink Driving is a Sport

PNG – where Drink Driving is a Sport

This story is 100% true, those of you who know me can imagine this happening, everyone else please strap yourselves in for an experience that takes us all out of our comfort zone. Drink driving and planes falling out of the sky stuff!

Who loves a drink? And I mean really loves a drink? Well I do, in actual fact I love a beer as much as a fat kid loves cake. But I blame one of my previous jobs for that love/addiction.
I ran a large liquor wholesale company in PNG and part of my job was to fly around the islands selling and drinking booze.

Before I continue, let me provide some insight into our nearest neighbour, Papua New Guinea (PNG). I lived in the capital, Port Moresby, for 8 years from 1998 to 2006. Port Moresby has been voted one of the three most dangerous capital cities in the world for the last 20 years, almost as dangerous as Surfers Paradise during schoolies week. Port Moresby is small, so small that my phone number was 8, but I still managed to be held up at gun point 3 times. Stories for future blogs.

Whilst I was in PNG there were no drink driving laws so drinking and driving was commonplace, even encouraged when you considered the alternative of hailing a cab driven (pushed for 80% of trips) by a local. Being drunk and driving was the least of your worries on the roads of PNG…..seriously……the bigger issue was making sure some naughty rascal didn’t climb in through your drivers window after dark on the way home. Yes, that’s right, climb through your driver’s window! Note – PNG is a tropical land with very warm evenings, this combined with old cars that had unreliable aircon and handles to wind the windows up and down (none of those fancy electric windows!) meant the drive home was normally with the windows down if it wasn’t monsoon season. Those of you who are Seinfeld fans can draw the comparative mental picture of Kramer fighting off the mugger whilst driving the bus and making all the stops! ‘Because they kept ringing the bell!’ Kramer yelled to Jerry and George. Yes, you had to be Batman in Port Moresby.

As I said drink driving was commonplace and the AFP (Australian Federal Police) tried to educate the expats and locals about the consequences of driving under the influence. They would set up RBTs around the city on Friday nights, pull you over and get you to blow in the bag. Their approach was to show a series of unsettling pictures that demonstrated what could happen to you with a reading of over .05 and being behind the wheel, issue no fine or punishment but give you a stern warning. This exercise in driver education produced no results so the AFP decided to ‘up the ante’ and publish the breathalyser readings along with drivers’ names in the paper Monday morning to ‘deter and shame’ those with excessive counts. Once again, no fines or punishment. In true Aussie-Abroad fashion, all this did was start a competition to see who could blow the highest ‘score’. Blokes would drive around all night between bars looking to beat their previous score, top the list on Monday and win the kitty!
The stakes were high but no one I knew ever achieved the top result in the paper, it seemed to be some old guy who kept topping the charts, becoming a local legend of sorts.

PNG is rated one of the toughest countries in the world to be a pilot, and those that do their flight training in PNG are said to be some of the best pilots in the world. We’ve all heard about the Mountain crashes taking groups to walk Kokoda as testament to the difficult flying conditions and terrain.
So when I had to fly up to a remote mining camp for a meeting I wanted to make sure I went with the top airline in PNG and the locals told me who the best bloke for the job was. But I took an experienced bloke called John Smith (name changed of course!) because I couldn’t afford the best.
So off we went – me next to a pilot (an old bloke) in a 2 seater Cessna to Porgera mine camp at 7,000ft – going there to talk booze at a wet camp.

Up in the mountains the fog often comes in quickly and there’s no visibility, but John had a reputation as a good pilot because he’s the only bloke who backed a plane into a cliff! The legend as I was told is that he was flying near the Hindenburg Wall (1km high cliff face next to Tabubil mine camp airstrip) and the bad weather came in very quickly, the cliff suddenly appears in front of him, so he swings the plane around, tails it into the cliff and survives. Begs the question: If he’s a crack pilot, then why didn’t he just miss the cliff?
Any rate, we land at the mining camp on a short strip that has a 6 degree slope from left to right. He keeps the engine running ready to get out of there before the weather closes in (as it can in the space of 20mins up there) and I have my meeting on the airstrip. I could have stayed the night, but who’d want to when you can only have 4 beers max a night and you can’t smuggle any in!
My meeting was a good one but went overtime, so by the time we took off the fog was low and thicker than a German’s Beer Fart which meant John needed to gain altitude quickly to ensure line of sight at all times. He proceeded to spiral up to a cruising altitude of 10,000 ft (his planes max altitude) to be above the mountains (7-9,000ft) but at about 8000ft the altimeter stopped working! Leaving us to guess our altitude whilst bad weather closed in and threw us around the sky like Beyoncé on a bouncy castle. We were both very nervous…..

The higher you go the less oxygen there is and the tireder you become, but I wasn’t tired a bit because I was shitting myself. For reassurance and comfort, I turn to John wanting to hear him say ‘it’s just another day on the job young fella, don’t worry.’
To my dismay and horror I see he’s fast asleep!
I punched his arm to wake him, causing him to jump violently and shove the yoke (steering wheel) forward which sends us into a nose dive. We were going down quicker than a 2 Kina Meri.
It’s true what they say about when you’re staring death in the face your mind becomes very clear and focused, well mine decided at that point to remember who the old guy was who kept topping the drinking charts back in Port Moresby. It was none other than John Smith, the bloke alongside me!
We got lucky and the dive took us between mountains and into a clear patch of sky, a patch clear enough for John to navigate our way to safety, land and a bottle of scotch.
John’s dead now, died a few years ago in a plane crash due to bad weather at Porgera.

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