Rotorua.

In the local brogue, the past two days in Rotorua have been sweet as. Having met my bus (I was the only unmarried boy on it - oh the shame!) Proceeded down to Waitomo where we did some black water rafting (imagine mid 80's Atari game Toobin - in the dark). They also told us about the Maori myth of the Tunnifar which the way our Dutch guides were saying it kept sounding like 'Fanny fart'.

Then yesterday I went zorbing. Awesome. I've got a vid of me basically going 'off piste' despite my recent extreme weightloss which I will post to Farcebook before Chrimbo I promise.

Oh and last night I went to a maori dinner. I was made an honorary chief purely on account of the fact that I played rugby. I didn't mention I'm shite.

Today I'm off to Taupo and weather permitting in the next two days will throw myself out of a perfectly good airplane from 12,000 ft.

Oh and I've discovered the words 'Richie McCaw crying' effectively end any argument. Admittedly they end by you getting punched but its funny nonetheless.