Bints in mud

We went for a mud bath on our last morning in Rotorua. Shin had said she was up for it on the first day: "We can roll around like pigs in mud," she said. I misheard her and thought she said: "bints in mud." So this became a point of hilarity for us while we were sitting in the mud bath letting the healing properties bake into our skin.

The guy supervising our experience took some pictures (with my camera, not for his own weird collection) then hosed us down (with freezing cold water from a garden hose). It was strangely pleasurable (I'm getting worried about myself - apparently that starts to happen when you get to my age.)

We were all rejuvenated and ready for our epic 6 hour drive to Wellington.

The road to Wellington is really long. It's called the Thermal Explorer Highway when you first leave Rotorua on account of the waterfalls, sulphur springs and other geothermal activity. Anyway, my solo trip to Waitomo had passed completely without incident so, naturally, the balance had to be restored. This is how it happened:

We were stuck behind a big lorry carrying lots of cows. He was going pretty slow, but every time I pulled out to check the road ahead there was a corner or a dip or a hill. This went on for 15 mins. Finally, I took a look - straight, flat road ahead and a truck way, way in the distance. I went for it - floored Mugabe and pulled out.

I soon realised a number of things: I wasn't really getting anywhere; the livestock transporter was a lot longer than it looked; it now seemed to be going faster; Mugabe wasn't getting any faster; oh and the truck coming towards me was getting much closer.

I decided I didn't much like this situation. I was about halfway along the livestock truck doing 120km/ph and staring down a massive grill plate from the truck speeding towards me. Surprisingly, given the increasing gravity of the situation, Sinead was still reclining in the passenger's seat. "Do you think I can make it?" I asked quite calmly. "I hope so," she answered in a resigned fashion.

I decide I can't make it. I also think I don't have time to slow down and pull back in behind the livestock truck. So I turn right instead and 'fly' off the road at speed, between two posts.

Mugabe drops about 3 feet and travels over a series of grassy dips - I've still got my foot to the floor. "Do you think I should stop for a bit?" "Aye, I think that would be a good idea."

After a moment or two, we get back on the road.

"Mugabe survives an assassination attempt," Shin announces in newsreader style. "By one of his own" I add. "An inside job. Corrupt official." We go quiet for a while and then Sinead bursts out laughing and says: "Bloody Henri Paul."

I apologise and promise the rest of the journey will pass without further incident. And, apart from a little sing-a-long with Sonny&Cher's 'I Got You Babe', it does indeed.