Brian Rogers Rogers Rabbits www.sunlive.co.nz

As you alert readers will already know, there's been a huge response, nationwide, to our suggestion that Tauranga needs a slogan. The campaign went viral over the weekend and we came back to inboxes full of suggestions.

So we're holding off dishing out prizes till all the ideas have been aired. Keep an eye on SunLive for the latest.
It's been an odd week, starting with a fuss over Phil Goff's dyed hair. If I was Phil, I'd be less worried about the hair and more concerned with keeping the scalp.
'Get a haircut and get a real job.”
Then everyone's hairdo got messed up with a second big summer storm knocking the region around.
While some of you braved the weather and went to the Hollies concert at Mills, some of us decided to outrun the cyclone, heading east, to hear Joe Cocker and George Thorogood at a Napier winery.

On the green
Despite the storm, the travelling was easy; the highways between Rotorua and Napier a reminder of how short-changed the Bay of Plenty has been in terms of highway reconstruction progress over the decades. Light traffic, huge passing lanes and the miles just fly by.
At Church Road Winery for ‘A Day on the Green,' we arrived in time to catch a few numbers from the Thomas Oliver Band, a blues/roots/rock outfit of mostly former Hawke's Bay lads, making it big in Wellington. They were pretty darn good. Their tight, energetic sets would be hard to follow.
Then poor old George did his best, but he's really starting to look a bit wizened up.
I've never been to a karaoke session at a rest home, but I can now imagine what it must be like.
He trotted out a formulaic, but respectable (if rock can be), line up of oldies. Even the predictable ‘one bourbon one scotch one beer' dragged out longer than a stretched limo. We thought the roadies might have rushed on and administered oxygen – but he made it.
Good on ya George.
It's been a while since we bothered with an outdoor event such as a concert (or a test match, for that matter) and after floundering around in ankle-deep mud and putting up with idiots who insist on standing up in front of 10,000 people who have paid for seats, it was a reminder why it has been so long.
Plus, with all the recent rain the ‘Green' was rapidly turning to the ‘Brown' and the concert goers were wearing quite a lot of it.
I can see why Dad prefers to watch the rugby at home in the comfort of the armchair with a hundred different screen angles, zoom, instant replays, live commentary, match statistics on screen and no travel hassles. Live concerts aren't much better. I think my next concert will not be on the Green but ‘A Day on the Screen' courtesy of DVD, with a cat on the lap and the fridge in close proximity.
Still, mud and idiots are all part of the atmosphere of a live show. And of course, the ubiquitous portable toilets.
The portaloos were particularly thrilling. Highlight of the night was the woman who found out the door lock didn't work. I'm not sure who had the most startled expression – her having the door flung open… or me opening the door that said ‘vacant' to find a squatter.
Meanwhile, all hell broke loose when the police and the winery decided the crowd was too drunk and violent – and closed the bar. Interesting that this seemed to promote more violence and abuse than when it was open.
Being responsible drinkers, like most of the crowd, we'd only had one or two and Claire hadn't even started. She was not impressed.
A black market situation immediately developed with those sitting on full bottles demanding exorbitant prices from the unfortunates who had missed out. Unfortunately she wasn't prepared to meet my demands for the remains of my sauv blanc, so went without.
(A microcosm of what I suspect would happen in society if there were harsher controls on alcohol)
Few were serious about it, but still a bit irritating when you've paid big money for a ticket to a show at a winery – you don't expect to be told you can't drink; especially when you haven't even started.

Hello Joe
Finally it was Joe's turn, to the delight of his (some now thirsty) fans.
He was all class and well worth the trip. The depth and tone of his vocal chords hasn't lost any quality over the decades and the backing band was stunning.
During a slow number, some of the crowd tried to get a ciggy lighter wave going, only to find that only about three people responded – it seems all the smokers have died off.
Cellphones are apparently the ‘new' lighter, but after a few of those had nose-dived into the mud, that plan was abandoned too.
It was all over by 10pm (way past most of the greying crowd's bedtimes) and the long trudge by a thousand mud-dwellers in the dark ensured that any wet grass we'd missed on the way in was turned into a bog.
Anyway, mustn't grumble. It's one of those real ‘mud-between-your-toes' experiences that adds to the rich tapestry of life; even if the tapestry will need drycleaning afterwards.
The camaraderie was fantastic, thanks to my friends Chris and Keith for the great company and the amazing picnic feast. I hope you work out how to get mud out of wicker.
Must go now, and practice a few numbers for open mic night at Althorpe.