Dear Simone and Jamie

Thank you for buying us Staying in a s***hole for our wedding gift. We had hoped that we didn't need to use it and we had survived this far but unfortunately failed at the last hurdle in New Zealand. Let me tell you about the Happy Apple hostel in Motueka. We might have got a bit lazy by the time we picked this place because I think we based it purely on that fact that it had a good name. That would explain why we ended up in a twin room in a prefabricated breezeblock monstrosity miles from the actual town or anything of use or interest; paper thin walls, a five minute timer on the showers, filthy carpets and kitchens and a strange and unpleasant smell, which in fairness could have been coming from me because I ran out of clean underwear a few days ago but am trying to hold out until Donna needs to do washing. It had lots of helpful signs up all over the place telling you that this was budget accommodation so don't expect too much. At least, it didn't pretend it was anything other than a s***hole.

But then travelling is all about the people you meet, not the places you stay after all. A good crowd at the hostel can more than make up for the surroundings. Which is why we were lucky enough to be staying in a place whose other occupants seemed to consist of a school trip from an undefined European country. (we couldn't work out their language and they didn't speak any English). Hmm, that certainly helped the atmosphere.

Let's top the whole thing off with two of the least enthusiastic and unhelpful hostel owners in New Zealand who delighted in making us uncomfortable and giving us terrible travel advice and it makes it a grand old stay we had. After a day spent at an uninspiring town we had been recommended, the thought of another night with the school group had us almost at breaking point.

Luckily, everything ended well. Like getting blood out of a stone, we finally got the owner to admit that the Irish pub in town not only had a karaoke night but also ran a courtesy bus and would pick us up in twenty minutes. Let's get out of here we cried, throwing our least smelly and stained clothes on for a good old fashioned Friday night at the pub.

When people talk about seeing New Zealand, they talk about bungee jumping in Queenstown, skydiving in Taupo or climbing a glacier at Franz Josef. They should add hanging out with the locals at the karaoke night in Motueka or Moty as the locals call it, to that list.

There is the courtesy bus driver who looks like a fat version of the fat darts play Andy 'The Viking' Fordham, Lauri the part time opera singer who once sang with someone who was in the Australian production of Phantom of the Opera and who dresses like Johnny Cash, 'British Pete' who was also called 'Spastic Pete' on account of his cerebral palsy, Eddie who dressed like a cowboy, had two wooden legs and six ex-wives and a host of other misfits and oddballs, all of whom welcomed us into the bosom of their strange and motley family with open arms. None of whom could sing (with the exception of the part time opera singer) but all of whom took it in turns to belt out some truly dreadful songs with with all the enthusiasm you can only see in a small backward town with limited entertainment. Eddie with the wooden legs had proudly been going to this kareoke night for forteen years.

After two jagermeisters and several beers, I had enough confidence to repay their friendship with an equally awful version of Petula Clark's Downtown. Donna has a video which she has promised to never show anyone, including me, so that she never spoils the illusion.

With promises to visit again next time we are in New Zealand, we boarded the bus with fat Andy Fordham and headed back to the s***hole. It may be a s***hole but now it felt like it was our s***hole and, possibly because we were leaving the next morning, we could look on it with lovable affection.

Lots of love

Jim and Donna

INTERESTING KIWI FACT OF THE DAY

New Zealand is a friendly and safe place and so hitchhiking is a very common and easy method for travelling round if you are too tightarse to get your own transport. In a fit of altruism, Donna and I picked up our first hitchhiker the other day. Unfortunately, we didn't pick very well and so ended up with a young Swiss Canadian girl, a combination of two countries that couldn't be any worse. When you add the worst accent in the world to the most boring race of people alive, you end up with the person stuck in the back of our car for an hour who we couldn't politely get rid of. We won't be doing that again.