Pauline Tai's 18-year P addiction - and how she came back from the brink

Pauline Tai used to do whatever it took to get her hit.

If she wasn't using meth, the mum of three and grandmother of six was selling it to fund the habit and get by.

For 18 years.

She still has the same headstrong motivation, still does whatever it takes to get her hit, but now instead of getting a high from the pipe, she gets it from facilitating healing wānanga around the region.

She gets her highs from cheering others on as they celebrate one week, three months, six months, one year, clean.

Not only is she three years clean of using and selling, but she is also one of four people to lead the way in supporting the community out of their addictions, through STOP Mana Enhancing and Whare Rauora Healing from Meth.

Since the first group in 2018, four people attending the groups have celebrated one year clean.

Looking back at herself riddled with addiction, Tai would never be able to do what she does now.

"I would never have thought I'd be sitting in a room with whānau affected by meth. If I was, it would've been to share the pipe."

She has no regrets either - she wouldn't be doing the work she does now without those experiences.

Her first time trying meth was in 2000.

"Oh boy, it was amazing."

That was the high she chased for 18 years.

"But I never got it again. It didn't matter how much I smoked, it didn't matter how much I rested."

While chasing the high, she lost everything.

"I lost my family.''

She went to jail for two years in 2006 and again in 2018; the first time for selling meth, and the second for conspiracy.

After her first stint in jail, she was living in Auckland and enrolled at the University of Auckland to keep her mind busy.

She then moved to Hamilton.

However, being strapped for cash as a student, she fell back into what she knew best. Selling meth, and it was downhill from there.

"I quit my uni, I went back to all I knew, and just got back into that scene."

She believed this was the only way to make money.

"Money isn't everything, I know that now."

She'd stop using for a while, but wouldn't stop selling, and in her eyes at the time, she thought it was fine.

"It was worse because I was creating a lot more destruction in the community."

Quitting the selling, and not seeing as much money come in, was one of the most difficult adjustments, she said.

Tai now works at Te Whare Oranga Ngakau, a Kaupapa Māori rehab facility in Rotorua and while the money is less, she loves it. She knows it's money earned while doing good.

She remembered her second time in prison, which lasted a month, as her lowest point - being away from her grandchildren.

"At that moment, being in a jail cell, I thought 'what am I up to?'"

"I was thinking about how I wasn't there for my kids. I was there, but it was money-love. I thought giving my kids money, and having money all the time, was love.

"But it wasn't. It's time," she said.

"The big thing for me is being a present grandmother today because I wasn't a present mum ... My kids have seen so much of the destruction of meth ... "

She got out, came to Rotorua, and went to rehab at Te Whare Oranga Ngakau.

Kevin Hollingsworth was a former meth addict who turned his life around and is now a fully registered clinical practitioner and addiction counsellor.

Acceptance, acknowledgement and a realisation of unresolved issues is how she began to heal.

"I use to say to [Hollingsworth]- why don't we just make our own group," she laughed.

They did.

"At the start, he was the counsellor, now, he's the brother."

STOP Mana Enhancing was the brainchild of Tai, Hollingsworth, and two others.

The space was created because there was "nothing that was strictly around methamphetamine".

"Methamphetamine is the destruction in our communities, that's where the mamae (pain) is."

It kicked off in November 2018 in Rotorua and has continued to grow, and Tai is the facilitator at the Monday and Wednesday wānanga in Rotorua's St Luke's Church while helping set up spaces across the region.

Everyone is welcome, everyone is whānau - even those who are not Māori: "That's fine, kei te pai," she'll say.

The numbers continue to grow and include those she used to be in addiction with and people referred from Te Whare Oranga Ngakau rehab, where she worked.

The rules: Phones are off because everyone is there to be listened to; no judgment; start on time, confidentiality.

Every second Thursday, there's a wānanga for those indirectly affected at Apumoana Marae - nans, koro, parents, partners.

Everyone has her and her partner's cellphone numbers, as well as the other facilitators in the region.

"A lot of our whānau don't have people to reach out to, so we want them to know we're here."

It was not just those using meth who need the support. Those indirectly affected are the ones who call the most.

"It's heart-wrenching."

Tai texts everyone every week, reminding them about the groups.

"We're the experts, we can tell grandparents and the parents, this is what's going to happen, this is what you need to do."

The group expanded to Whakatāne, and after losing the hall they used, those attending called for it to start up in Tāneatua.

"You find the space, and I'll come and kick it off," she told them.

They did, and now they've been "thriving" for just over a year in a building provided by the local iwi, called Whare Rauora Healing from Meth.

The groups in Tāneatua are facilitated by a married couple who Tai first met at the Whakatāne group.

"When I first met [the husband], he was withdrawing, and I could see that ... whilst we were having the group, he said - I don't even want to be here, I want to smash everyone."

He stayed. He showed up to every group. Now he's a facilitator.

From the first group in 2018, there is now one every Monday in Wednesday in Rotorua, one in Taneatua on Monday and Fridays, and Waikaremoana on Tuesdays, with Te Teko having their first roopu on Monday. Once a week, there is a roopu in Ōpōtiki with Whare Rauora Healing from Meth, which is part of the same movement.

Tai always wanted to go back to Ōpōtiki, a place she grew up, where most of her whānau are, and where she "caused the most destruction".

The community is riddled with meth addiction, she said, with them and people across the country struggling, but unsure where to turn for help.

The idea behind the groups is that they all run under the same principles so facilitators can come together for two months and talk about more ideas.

The principles are mana, mouri, and tapu.

"We allow people to takahi [abuse] our mana, but we also takahi on others'. It's about allowing our whānau who come here to leave with a little bit of mana."

It's about giving them the tools to apply, and the majority of it was around feelings, emotions, acknowledgement and trauma, she said.

Last week, her mother died, and Tai said if she'd still been in her addiction she would've "been a mess".

"My family would've had to try to look for me a month later because I would've been out the gate."

Now in recovery, she was able to be present and participate, which her family noticed, too.

They buried her mum on Friday, and she went to the first wananga in Te Teko that evening, staying there the whole weekend.

"I needed to fill my cup up," she said, and this was it for her.

Te Teko then said they wanted to form a space.

"That filled my cup right up. My mum had passed, but if she was there she would say to keep going."

Tai was now learning te ao Māori, and the more she learned, the more she believed it would be a game-changer in helping heal the people.

One of her next goals is her te reo Māori courses.

Mongrel Mob members using reformed life of crime for a better future

Two Mongrel Mob members are hoping to change gang culture from the inside out after a lifetime of crime.

Karl Goldsbury and "Baldy" have both served plenty of jail time but are now working with Tē Tuinga Whānau Support Services to help reduce gang harm.

They are even working alongside police gang harm reduction co-ordinator Damien White, who said both gangs and police understood that "not every gang member is a criminal".

Young people who didn't have any convictions were often joining gangs — police are now focused on finding ways to "keep them on the straight and narrow".

White said Goldsbury and Baldy were playing a big part in that.

Drugs, firearms and violence saw Goldsbury put behind bars for nearly 20 years of his life.

It's been two years since he left jail — his longest stint of freedom since becoming an adult — and now he's trying to make a difference by reducing gang harm from the inside out.

"We didn't realise the power that we can have over other people, to be role models," Goldsbury said.

"We're active gang members at the end of the day, but we have jobs, working in a space where we're helping other whānau."

He works full-time showing other members and those soon-to-be members there is life outside of the world of crime.

Goldsbury started on his path to serious crime by selling dope but wasn't born into the gang, saying he connected with the Mob boss as a father-figure in a way he didn't connect with his own father at the age of 13.

"Next thing, the meth came along. I used to always hate it."

He tried it once and there was no looking back, he said, and he had hidden his use and manufacturing from the boss.

"I've hurt a lot of people, I've affected huge communities."

His last stint in jail was after he set his P manufacturing site on fire in Katikati: "I ruined that community."

A turning point was reached in the father-of-five's life when he accepted his actions and the impact they had on himself, his family and the community.

Waikeria Prison's Te Tirohanga programme (formerly Māori Focus Unit) also gave him the opportunity to directly connect with his whānau.

Since leaving prison, Goldsbury has completed a social-work course and is using his time to pass his knowledge on to others.

"Everything's hard when you're a gang member coming out of jail," he said.

Finding a job was difficult and there was scrutiny from every direction to fend off.

He was taken in by Tē Tuinga Whānau Support Services director Tommy Wilson to work with youth and other members.

Now, there was pressure - a good pressure - knowing his actions would affect others; from colleagues to families and communities being supported by the trust.

Working alongside police, they knew they needed to toe the line, which was good, he said.

He has made his first mortgage payment on his first house with help from his mum, and also bought a motorbike and car with his own wages.

"When you start to help yourself, people around will start to help when they see you're not full of shit."

On Tuesday, they went to a youth justice facility to begin working with a boy who was going to be a gang member.

They visit him, and others, twice a week, teaching them how to be a "good gang member".

"If he's going to be what he's going to be, he might as well be the best version of it," Goldsbury said.

A good member was someone not causing harm to their families or the community, not involved in crime, someone with morals and manners.

Baldy said that for him, entering the Mob was the result of his environment where his grandfather, father and brother were members, and his sisters had married gang members.

He said gangs themselves were not bad but instead the individuals that "go off and do their own thing".

He said this was his first job, and he could now afford to pay rent and put food on the table, but needed to adjust to having a lower income than when he was offending.

"I went from a V8 to a soccer mum van, it's cool as - I've got my freedom."

Gang involvement is a cycle, he said, and he needed to break it to be a good role model for his sons.

Colliding with authority was not the way to do it.

Baldy got to this point in his journey through Karl's support. Both were in jail at the time, and wrote to him about changing their ways.

"I'm a family man ... I don't consider myself a gangster."

He wanted to come home, and needed positive people around to help him make better decisions and be able to contribute.

And this was now what he was helping pass on to others, steering them away from "poor decisions".

There are three things crucial to helping someone - the person needs to want to change, be vulnerable, and be honest with themselves.

The pair are working with young men in youth justice who will be in the gang and have already started talking to people inside jail.

They were selective about who they chose to work with - the member needed to want to change and be influential.

Police gang harm reduction co-ordinator Damien White has dealt with Goldsbury a lot over the years, but they have now "gone full circle" and work together in gang harm prevention.

Police were coming along on one side, the gangs were coming along on the other, and the two are now meeting in the middle towards a common goal, he said.

He said Bay of Plenty police had supportive leadership within the agency to implement the new prevention approach, which included working alongside good leaders who had changed their life, while still being active gang members.

"Previously, Corrections and police would put all these conditions on them, conditions not to associate with one another, not to live in a certain area."

White said this was "setting them up to fail" as it took them away from their support.

They now work with people in the community who were doing the work in the community and not dictating how it should be, leveraging off the appetite there is now in gangs to change.

"It's understanding that not every gang member is a criminal.

"It's building up resilience in our community to stand on their own two feet ... not to survive on offending or handouts."

White said it was working, and they were now also going into prisons to speak to people before they were released.

Minister for Children Kelvin Davis met with Tē Tuinga Whānau staff yesterday to hear about their work, and said their efforts were an essential part of Oranga Tamariki's strategy to allow youth and their whānau to stay connected to their communities.

He said it's important to consider working with anyone who can potentially make a positive impact on the lives of the young people Oranga Tamariki work with.

He said Oranga Tamariki was often guided by their trusted partners. Many youths have come into contact with gangs and having people to talk about real lived experience could be empowering.

Wilson has put in a request for funding for five houses to accommodate former prisoners who are in gangs and want to reform.

A spokesman for Davis said the first step for the trust is to meet with Corrections.

Inside the walls of the dying Norske Skog paper mill - and what happens now

In a dim warehouse room, a machine that was churning out 1000 metres of paper a minute just a week previously is still.

There is no water or pulp coming in. The conveyor belt has already been taken off.

Two rolls of paper are mere specks in the large, gaping space in the room next door, once home to another machine.

At around 3.40pm on Tuesday, the Tasman Norske Skog Mill just outside Kawerau began to shut down after rolling out the final newsprint of its 66 years.

Fifteen million tonnes of paper have been made in its time.

The closure has been a long time coming as demand for the mill's sole product, newsprint, kept declining, made worse by the Covid-19 pandemic.

Elders from Ngāti Tūwharetoa and Ngāti Awa - who had all previously worked at the Norske Skog mill - said a karakia for the machine.

Soon afterwards, the sombre clean-up began for the 160 staff. It will last until mid-July when staff begin to hang up their hard hats.

The remaining hats will be hung in August and when the mill has been sold.

It was a shocking day for Kawerau, a town built because of the mill.

Kawerau was born after a 1951 government and Fletcher group decision to form the Tasman Pulp & Paper Company Limited as a joint venture.

By October 1953 the first house was built and newsprint production began two years later.

The name Kawerau was chosen for the new town as the result of a competition.

This involves cleaning all the equipment and ensuring everything handed over is safe.

It was strange for Brine to walk in on Wednesday morning when his working life essentially changed overnight.

The daily thoughts of "How many tonnes of paper was produced? Did we fulfil our environmental duties? How did the mill run?" would no longer fill his mind.

"I'm still adjusting."

As the man who oversaw the daily running of the site, the biggest thing for him was losing the family he has gained in his 25 years.

"The whole mill is one big family."

Wendy Rowles is also part of the family, having worked there for 20 years as a business analyst.

"It's a long time coming," she says as she heads into the mill on the first cold day after the mill fell silent.

Contractor Gary Maxwell has been there the same amount of time and described the sombre atmosphere ahead of the looming shutdown.

"You know it's coming, but it's different when you see it actually start to happen."

At around 3.40pm on Tuesday, the mill began to shut down after its final newsprint rolled out.

Speaking of the machine in its now sleeping state, Pulp and Paper Workers Union secretary Tane Phillips says it's "very sad".

"When you look at the machine, it's not just about the machine, it's about the people."

After karakia, memories that spanned decades and generations were shared, with a lot of talk of those that have gone or passed away.

Those there for the final moments of operation were mostly current staff, with a gathering of current and former employees to mark the end of an era.

One man had been there 55 years, another 49 years; many had grandfathers, fathers and sons who had worked there.

Phillips worked at the mill for 27 years before he took on his role in the union, his father working there before him.

He worked on paper machines one and two and moved to his current role when number two shut, a much worse time than now to lose a job, he says.

"This is one of the best times to be unemployed in the last 30 years because there is a lot of work around, and the rates of pay-out are a lot better," he says.

"Even though it's a closure of the mill and it's really sad, there's more employment around than when we shut numbers one and two."

Carter Holt Harvey's sawmill, Oji's pulp mill, and Asaleo Care toilet manufacturing are still within walking distance of Norske, and the Sequel lumber mill is down the road, he says.

"I think it's good that we aren't relying on one employer like we use to.

"If Tasman had shut 30 years ago it would've been devastating, but because there are different employment opportunities and different businesses in town, it's not the same as it once was."

Phillips spent the first 40 years of his life in Kawerau and says while just a few staff currently live in the town, most live within 40 minutes of the mill.

But he's hopeful about the future of the town.

"I don't think Kawerau will die, it's changed a hell of a lot to what it was ... It's much more resilient."

He says staff have been getting support through the budget and financial advisors, CV writing and job placement help, and at least six people have already secured a new job.

The Ministry of Social Development is also working with staff, providing jobseeker support packs as well as contacts for work brokers, Seek and TradeMe Jobs.

The ministry's regional commissioner Mike Bryant says the ministry has been speaking with the mill's HR about staff who want to upskill from Class 2 and Class 4 licences, offering them free courses.

He says they'll keep working with anyone wanting help finding work in this time of uncertainty and stress.

The silver lining

Karl Gradon, the general manager of strategy for the Eastern Bay of Plenty Economic Development Agency, says there's a "real opportunity" to take the town's growth forward, in a new, more sustainable direction.

"The mill has been the best thing for us in terms of setting up an economy, it's been the backbone of us for so long, but people recognised about 10 years ago that was going to change."

Gradon grew up in Tauranga in the 70s and 80s and describes the Eastern Bay vibe as reminiscent of that time.

"The vibe is exactly like Tauranga when it was going through that absolute surge of growth ... people were unsure if they liked the growth."

Kawerau is "tired", he says, but the lack of vibrancy is because the jobs are currently being made.

When Gradon set out on the programme management of the Provincial Growth Fund, the target was to create 7000 jobs by 2030 in the region and this is "absolutely on track".

The Government has pumped more than $28 million of Provincial Growth Fund investment into 16 projects for the Kawerau area since 2018, with more than a third already paid.

A Ministry of Business Innovation and Employment spokeswoman says the funding unlocked potentially $43m of additional investment in Kawerau in the form of co-funding.

None of the projects' money will be reprioritised.

Gradon says the most exciting funding for the region is the container terminal in Kawerau.

"It's creating a whole hub to bolt on to what we have today as the best clean energy in New Zealand."

In February last year, a $19.9m investment from the PGF was announced for the town.

This includes a $9.6m cash injection into the container terminal, which will take 100,000 truck movements off the road a year between Kawerau and the Port of Tauranga.

This, and the funded roading networks, link to the Putauaki Trust Industrial Hub.

The hub is a 113ha block of land, owned by the iwi entity Putauaki Trust, being redeveloped into an industrial zone.

Gradon says if they can double-down on the clean energy coming out of Kawerau, and turn it into transportable clean energy, it would be "the future of New Zealand".

He believes the town is positioned to be one of the key industrial areas in the country for clean energy and industry.

The town also has some of the country's best engineers, involved in the mills, geothermal energy and the skills and processing capacity to create it.

Gradon does acknowledge a lag in the town's economy, which he says comes down to 10 years of ignoring the rise of gangs.

"We need to create something better."

And they're working on it.

Through Kawerau Industrial Symbiosis, there's been a push to work out ways the business community can come together to solve social problems.

He says investment into roading through the Putauaki Trust will attract businesses, like the established Māori-owned Waiū Dairy, to the area.

"You've got New Zealand's timber right on the doorstep, timber mills, paper mills to take the by-product, you've got a railhead that brings materials in and out."

Kawerau District Council chief executive Russell George says the council's main concerns are with those affected, however there is a lot to be excited about in the town.

They see Kawerau as the future of a green economy, he says, with the renewable geothermal energy and the process heat available for industry, as well as the opportunity for the hydrogen-powered industry.

Just this week, an initiative was presented to the council about installing a natural gas pipeline that will eventually transition to hydrogen in the future.

This will help engineering firms complete industry work in Kawerau and throughout the country.

The council immediately offered its support and is now seeking external funding.

Mayor Malcolm Campbell says at this point in time it doesn't look like the town will be hurt by the mill closure, especially with all of the industry in town.

"Kawerau won't shut down, in fact, we're going forward with a hiss and a roar."

Campbell says the town and its people are resilient, and the people will bounce back.

The importance of the sister towns

The success of the towns in the sub-region - Kawerau, Whakatāne and Ōpōtiki - are all directly linked, Gradon says.

He's also the president of the Eastern Bay of Plenty Chamber of Commerce and says there are "heavy investments" in the boat building sector in Whakatāne, which has boat orders up to two years in advance.

A large marine travel lift - which will allow boats to return to be serviced - is being put on the Whakatāne River, and the building of a boat harbour is also hoped to begin in six months.

"They're jobs that fit very, very well with the skills coming out of the Norske mill."

An aquaculture facility in Ōpōtiki was "the big bet for the region" and is the largest consented aquaculture facility in the country.

It is part of a $26m of improvements to the Opotiki River including plans for a mussel farm expansion and a new mussel processing facility.

Gradon says there will be 300 jobs in the area in the next five years, and 100 started yesterday.

The farm and facility need quality, experienced leaders - the kind coming out of the Norske Mill, he says.

The kiwifruit industry will also be booming in the East and Gradon says the Rangitāiki Plains is one of the biggest kiwifruit development areas.

Many of those in the Norske mill are at the age and stage of starting their own civil contracting businesses or purchasing a kiwifruit block.

The way the Whakatāne Mill has been structured "could not be better for our economy," he says - more are being recruited, the plant is being modernised, and the redundancies are still being paid in tranches, although people kept their jobs.

"There's a confidence in the region, money is being spent that otherwise wouldn't be available to the sub-region's economy.

"It's all happening ... That's really exciting."

Rotorua Hospitality Awards 2023: How Atticus Finch owner Sid Saluja went from waiting tables to winning awards

Hamish Gee remembers the first time he heard the band he was in on the radio like it was yesterday.

He was driving his mates - the guys from Op Shop, who were Acoustic Fungi at the time – to one of their gigs in Christchurch in the 90s.

"This is you," they say, and they sit in silence while it plays. "S*** ... that's awesome," he remembers one of them saying.

He grinned and nodded, impressed with the work they had done.

The Feelers formed in Christchurch in 1993 and their first album, Supersystem, went to number one in New Zealand in 1998.

Some of the many accolades they have claimed over the years include five Aotearoa NZ Music Awards and three APRA most played song of the year awards.

Now, with nearly 30 years in the game, the father of two says a lot has changed in how they do things, including the extra passion they bring to their shows.

"You take a lot for granted in your early 20s and, ironically, I think we put more energy into our shows now that we're in our mid to late 40s".

Now, the band has hit the road on their first tour in nearly two years.

It is a celebratory tour marking 21 years since their hit-album Communicate was released and they'll be playing some songs crowds haven't heard live in two decades, he says.

They will play in Mount Maunganui on July 22. The gig was the first of the 17-stop tour to sell out.

Gee, the band's drummer, says the area is one they love and they have a lot of fond memories here.

The last time they played here was last summer at the First We Eat festival alongside Sir Dave Dobbyn.

"We've been anticipating this, wondering if we'll ever play again."

The band toured just about every summer but hasn't been able to properly tour for a couple of years.

"It's been a struggle mentally for us ... Playing is like oxygen for us, we didn't realise how much until we were able to do a show on New Year's Eve."

This past summer they did three shows and the summer before just a handful.

"It's been terrible," he says. Performing is "like our medicine".

Questions about whether they would ever play again started reeling through their minds as it wasn't financially feasible to play shows to fewer than 100 people.

"We're more grateful every year that passes because we're not young anymore," he says. This feeling will be heightened because it was "so scary" for a while.

When they could play again, they realised it was the anniversary year of their favourite album, Communicate, and the perfect time to play songs that hadn't been played in 20 years.

"It's going quite well, it's like riding a bike."

As well as the "touristy punters", Gee is excited to be playing for the veteran fans, some of which they know by name, who will all be able to boogie along to songs they know including five singles from this album.

The "fantastic" fans are to who Gee credits their longevity.

On one occasion, Gee and vocalist James Reid did a duet on a stage set up on the back of a truck on a farm for a combined 100th birthday for a fan turning 40 and her aunt turning 60.

Another woman who had been at the front of the crowds in concerts since the beginning had the pair play at her 70th.

He looks back to when the album was released on CD and remembers heading to Australia as young musicians filming the videos for Astronaut, Communicate, As Good As It Gets and Fishing for Lisa.

By the time it came to the fifth single, Anniversary, the video budget was cut and they ended up filming Gee's favourite video.

"We spent what money was put in by the record company and NZ on Air and set up cameras around our manager's yard, bought a whole lot of kegs, and had a party and filmed it.

"We're playing on the deck and a couple hundred of our mates are just getting trollied and having a dance."

These days though, you won't find a drop of alcohol while touring or on stage - an idea of Gee's.

"Sometimes I regret that because you feel like a beer or two for the nerves, but we decided that we play so much better when it's a dry zone on stage and for the entire tour."

He gets nervous, but they're good nerves, he says.

Gee said the shows were a real workout and sometimes leave them "sore as hell".

"I keep on telling myself prior to each gig that I don't need to go 300 per cent, just play nicely, play well, play in time.

"As soon as I go out there, the adrenaline kicks in and I'm thrashing things as much as I can, as hard as I can. I've set the bar already and I can't lower it, so I'm stuck for an hour and a half," he laughs.

The band is also hoping to drop their new album, Reimagined, by Christmas, which is their greatest hits reimagined. It will include different versions of hit songs with percussions, pianos, and string sections.

It's being mixed by Chris Sheldon who mixed their Communicate album.

While it's been more than two decades since the Communicate album was released, remembering their old songs is like riding a bike. The band has been in the studio a couple of times and Gee said the songs came back quickly.

"We realised we should have been playing these songs for the last 21 years."

The songs he's looking forward to playing include Just Like You with a tune he describes as sounding "like nothing else".

The other is the "epic ballad", Accidental Love. He says he and fellow band member James Reid have been scratching their heads over why they haven't played it all these years.

"It's been so long ... I think we're all going to feed off each other; the band and audience are going to have the time of their life."

"There are so many nice songs on there that we're really looking forward to playing again, and some of them may even stick around."

Quick-fire questions:

Which of your songs is your favourite to perform live and why?

Pressure man. It's a really high-energy song, there's this real sense of camaraderie when we play it because it was a co-write, and all of our influences show up in the song ... but our influences are so vastly different.

It was our first single, so kind of like having your first love. It was the first time I heard us on commercial radio.

What would you tell a young person wanting to be a successful musician?

Practice, practice, practice.

If you're on your own and you're not in a band, play along with bands that you like. Play along at home, and learn as much as you can about your craft.

There's no guarantee, no matter how good you or your band are that you're going to become famous, but certainly the first step is to get good at your craft.

Find like-minded people and form a band, play with other people and play with as many people as possible and do as many genres as possible.

Do all of the things, lots, and make sure that you love it.

You can only fit one album by another artist on your device — what is it?

I've got three favourite albums. Siamese Dream by The Smashing Pumpkins, The Bends
by Radiohead, and Doolittle by The Pixies.

Gil Norton, who produced Doolittle, also produced The Feelers' album Communicate.

What's the biggest difference between playing for audiences around the world and playing to a local crowd?

It depends on the audience. We've done a showcase in Los Angeles and the crowd were record company executives and people like that, and that was very nerve-wracking.

When we go to London, we often play at a place called The Empire, and it's a proper-big venue. We're under no illusion we're famous in the UK, it's mostly ex-pats that come along.

But, a couple of thousand ex-pats on the other side of the world and going absolutely crazy for us. It's quite a good feeling.