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At university, there was an extraordinarily tall chap called Gordon who used to insist that the college authorities should purchase an extra-long bed to follow him around the various college rooms he inhabited throughout his degree. Anyway, when I told him I would be visiting New Zealand, he said I should look out for the famous Callendar-Hamilton bridges which his grandfather built along the west coast. Starting the fun bus trip south along this coast, we wound our way along a mountainous road, occasionally having to stop to make way for oncoming traffic to traverse some rickety single-track bridges across crevices in the terrain.

“Don’t worry,” I assured the group, “we’ll soon come across some Callendar-Hamiltons which will be far superior”. We’re now much further south, at Queenstown, and we have passed only cheap-looking bridges all the way down. Some or most of these, I am forced to conclude, must be Grandpa Hamilton’s. I really find it a bit much that someone spends four years demanding oversized bedroom furniture when his own grandfather wouldn’t even build bridges large enough for two-way traffic.

Of course, I’m ignoring the history here, and Mr Hamilton no doubt carved a little-used passage with limited funds and assistance. Now the road he pioneered is overflowing with traffic. I must admit we found his constructions very useful, so I shouldn’t complain.

Queenstown was described as one of the most beautiful places on earth (by the travel agent), and is known as the adventure capital of New Zealand. I was signed up for an early morning skydive today, and was very nervous (that I would miss the alarm clock). Unfortunately, bad weather means it has been postponed until tomorrow, but luckily I was able to arrange it for the afternoon this time.