w.atching the w.orld unw.ind

We received Number One Son's first CD of photos at the weekend.

He's met up with his best mate (fortunately, because at least he has a full licence) and they've been touring New Zealand's North and South islands in a hired camper van.

Actually, not the "rent-a-wreck" we were expecting, but quite a chipper beastie. There's an unsavoury interior shot (God help the valetters) with a bottle of gin juxtaposed next to a tomato ketchup bottle. Students' version of a Bloody Mary, perhaps?

So far, he's hunted down and caught his first coconut breakfast, got wrecked at a Maori dance (it so reminded us of the Polynesian lu'au we saw in Hawai'i), been towed back in when they got caught in a tidal rip while learning to surf, watched a pod of killer whales cruise by, kayaked back down through a forest they'd trekked up through and are probably at this moment on a glacier walk.

Oh yes, and a tandem parachute jump.

There's a great picture of the two of them in the worst-fitting wetsuits I've ever seen on a human body. But as they're both 6' and barely weigh 16 stone between them, it's hardly surprising that the "Mr Average" hire suits weren't quite the picture of sartorial elegance they expected. There must have been more water sloshing around inside than flesh!

And here I am, sat at my desk.

There's no justice...