Arriving in Christchurch almost felt like my worst nightmare. I broke out in a cold sweat. Shivers raced down my spine - i was back in the UK!! The sky was grey, there was a market in the city square, buildings were adorned with grafitti, Hungry Jacks was called Burger King again, people were punting down a river lined with willow trees, there were fish and chip shops everywhere...

It took a bus journey from the city centre to my hostel to quell my fears. Arguably the most entertaining and certainly the friendliest journey i've ever had ensued... joined on the bus by a man with a homemade double-necked guitar (and a shop bought ukelele), a guy with Downs Syndrome who thought Rachel was beautiful, a man with learning difficulties (who also took a shine to Rachel) and a wisecracking bus-driver who actually dropped people at their door rather than at the bus-stop we laughed from one end of Christchurch to another. A brilliant introduction to New Zealand.

From here, we took possession of our home for the next 12 days. A Toyota campervan adorned with images of Roadrunner and Wile E Coyote. And with the minimum of fuss we set off for our North Island adventure.

As we made our way north to the ferry which would carry us to Wellington we could scarcely believe what we were seeing. The most spectacular scenery greeted our every turn. Undulating hills rolled by the windows, trees of every imaginable shade of green covered the hilltops and valleys. We passed forests which had drowned and died in rivers which had cut new paths through the landscape. We witnessed woodlands so densely packed that it's difficult to believe any living creature could squeeze between the tree trunks. Mountains that were swathed in grey gave way to cobalt blue skies as the sun burned the clouds away. Crevasses and gorges dotted the landscape. As the road dissected and cut through the countryside we rose high above the grazing sheep only to wind our way quickly back to ground level. Every twist in the road elicited a new gasp. Treacherous, torrential downpours quickened the pulse but slowed the wheels - but never dulled our anticipation of the next stunning vista. Manicured vineyards, hills which looked like they'd been thatched. And then, as we turned our final corner, the ocean magically appeared, as if it had been following us all along.

Our first stop was at Kaikoura. This ancient settlement grew up around the whaling and fishing industry, and following the deserved end of the former has revelled in its role as the latter - in Maori 'kai' means food and 'koura' means crayfish. There's not a restaurant in town that doesn't sell it. On our limited budget, however, we settled for instant noodles and went into town to see where the action was.

It's not unusual to encounter 'Irish' bars anywhere in the world. Everyone wants to lay claim to Irish ancestory, it seems. But in Kaikoura, the Irishness of a bar is not measured by the Guinness paraphernalia behind the bar or the Pogues songs on the jukebox. Here, the people were Irish. Almost everyone spoke in a thick brogue, made even more incomprehensible through the lashings of Kilkenny being administered by the (Irish) barmaid. It seemed preposterous that such a community existed in such a place. And things only got worse when the compere began the pub quiz - he combined stereotypical blarney with downright incompetence in such a staggering way that it had to be seen to be believed.

The next day was spent admiring the scenery and meeting the local fur seal population. We were feet away from the blubbery monsters and certainly didn't want to get any closer to their sharp teeth.

As always, i'm having camera problems. I now seem to have acquired a virus on my memory card which is preventing me from accessing the photos on it. But pictures will follow, including plenty of Bob familiarising himself with Maori culture and Rachel and I at a wine tasting!

Hasta la vista, babies.