We finally make it to the southernmost tip of the South Island and record the event by having our photos taken at a marker showing the distances to the Equator and the South Pole while being assaulted by a wind so fierce that it threatens to blow us to one of those destinations if we don't hang on to the sign tightly enough.

Dunedin is very pleasant. It's a remote city, far far away from the rest of New Zealand and with some of the most English-like weather. It's very similar to Edinburgh - the architecture and the steepness of the hills, one of which I christen 'heart-attack hill' because I'm surprised not to have had one by the time I've climbed to the top of it. It was originally settled by the Scots and called New Edinburgh, and there's a large statue of Robert Burns in the main town square with, as the locals gleefully like to point out, his back to the church. He also normally has a gull perched on top of his head, which has done nothing for his gravitas over the years, as he now looks as if he is wearing a white oddly-shapen wig.

Dunedin contains the World's Steepest Street, (according to the Guinness Book of Records) so of course we go there and Brian staggers up and runs down for posterity. Near Dunedin is the Otago Peninsula, a picturesque promontory full of wooden holiday homes, boat houses, windy roads and, at the end, penguins, seals and an albatross colony. We took a loopy drive up there and spent an evening watching gulls, gannets and the odd albatross swooping overhead enjoying the early evening thermals. Then we found a couple of lazy fat old seals lolling around on the beach seemingly oblivious to the odd tourist sneaking around them taking photos. Occasionally they may grunt and roll over or open a quizzical eye as if to say 'you still here? You're boring me now' as if they're some sort of celebrity seal and we are the seal colony paparazzi. The penguins are only visible at dusk, so we sat patiently waiting for them, along with about a hundred other eager penguin-lovers as night fell. But they are so well protected that we had to stand about 50 feet away behind a fence straining our eyes to see anything in the half-light. There was a slightly self-conscious jostling for pole penguin position against the fence about 10 p.m. - I can't be sure but I think it was the Germans who started it. Unfortunately the birds were so tiny (they should have been reclassified as midget penguins) that in the deepening gloom it was only possible to see the odd formless shape shuffle out of the water and scurry to a hole in the bank. I'm sure David Attenborough doesn't have to put up with this sort of inconvenience.