We went for a day's kayaking in Abel Tasman. Now that Brian is a fully fledged born again evangelical kayaking convert it's been rather hard to keep him away from anything resembling a canoe for the last few days. He booked us on a nice and easy gentle introduction day - kayaking for softies he said, but as no-one else has booked it we get upgraded to the intermediate level. After a punishing few hours of rowing and a break for lunch I'm hoping for an early finish so I can fit in a little light shopping therapy in recompense for all my hard effort when our guide informs us it's time to tackle 'Mad Mile' - apparently named for it's choppy waters and underlying rocks; not the outrageous bargains to be found at what I had mis-heard as the Mad Mall. At the end of our super-human effort, our guide urges us on for one last unscheduled push around an island that's home to some more sun-bathing seals and we finally sight dry land and row for home collapsed over the front of our kayak like Steve Redgrave and Matthew Pinsent (although I'm feeling more like Vanessa Redgrave, about 102).

On our return to our Motel, Brian was concerned to notice some worrying brown spots on his feet and immediately leapt to the conclusion that he was in the initial stages of foot cancer, or worse. Hobbling to a sofa to lie down and contemplate his once lovely toes, now desiccated and dappled, he whimpered slightly as he urged me to not worry about him and to carry on regardless whilst he slowly, but bravely, expired from fungal foot rot perhaps brought on by over-kayaking. After an early night and dinner on a tray he made a medical breakthrough the next morning - he is suffering from an acute case of croc-foot, the sun is only hitting his skin through the holes in his mock-crocs and giving him little circles of suntan. He lives to kayak another day. Hooray.