A year or so ago, I was involved in a car crash. I was unhurt but my car was written off (and before you start, it wasn't my fault!). For a while, I had the pleasure of driving a brand new courtesy car but that soon had to be returned once the insurance firm had paid up. As Mrs Top Hat is one of those cack-handed clowns that are only permitted to drive automatic transmission cars, I decided to invest the money in an automatic car. That way, she would be able to do some of the driving instead of poncing around like Lady Penelope. Anyway, it was tough finding an automatic in my price range so for a while I cycled to work. It was a torturous few weeks, made all the worse by the members of the Coventry Driving Like a **** Association taking to the roads in their masses, and the onset of miserable New Year weather.Every day, I would arrive at work drenched in sweat and splashed with mud and would arrive home at the end of the day in a similar state. Mrs Top Hat would tell me how I didn't need a car at all, and she persisted with this long after I had invested in some new wheels.

She changed her tune after Day 9.

We started the day early as per usual and prepared ourselves for a scenic flight over Lake Takapo and up over Mount Cook. With my newfound fear of flying, I was none too keen on the idea of taking to the skies in a glorified hair dryer, but Mrs Top Hat had already blown a fortune on booking it so I couldn't say no.

Within minutes of arriving at the small airstrip, we were on board with another English couple and off up into the skies. Surprisingly, the take off was much smoother than in a large plane; I only ruined my underpants instead of destroying my pants, trousers, and the plane's seat cover as I usually do.

For thirty-five minutes, we soared above the mountains, taking in the fantastic views of snowy peaks through sick splashed windows. The plane bobbed up and down frantically on the air currents like a hooker with hiccups, making me feel slightly nauseous and causing me to smack the video camera lens into the perspex window. Something the pilots had warned us not to do.

Mrs Top Hat snapped away with her swanky new camera, complaining about the lighting and composition as if she had been at it for years. To be fair to her, she captured some astounding images whereas my footage looked like it had been taken by a pissed up epiliptic during an earthquake.

When we got back to the hotel, Mrs Top Hat had the bright idea of hiring some mountain bikes. "It'll be a change from walking." she said, "And we'll be able to get around the lake quicker."

Shortly after, we were on two wheels and ready to go. Some confused soul had knotted up the straps on my helmet so I decided to leave it behind. I figured a cracked skull just might get me out of some of the driving in the days to come. Not really a serious enough injury for a driving pardon though, not in Mrs Top Hat's book.

Mrs Top Hat looked strange on her bike. She'd recovered from the embarassment of putting her helmet on backwards and waddling around like a chrome parrot, but still looked awkward. I presumed it was because of her long term balance problems, but as I studied her and saw her legs jutting out at right angles like chicken wings, I realised there was nothing wrong...it was just her general day-to-day tittery. Fortunately, she soon co-ordinated herself and managed to continue cycling in a fashion that you would expect from a normal human being.

We had only cycled a short way when Mrs Top Hat started peddling backwards. She'd been fannying about with the gears and had come to a complete standstill.

"This is shit! These gears are shit!" she barked, all red faced with frustration.

I told her which gears to put it in (not that I had much of a clue...I just told her the same numbers that my bike was in), and then she was off, zooming away up the gravel path.

"This is good. I didn't think it would be this much fun." she called as she vanished into a dust cloud. Very fickle my mrs.

Now it was my turn to ride like an invertebrate. I peddled hard and fast but wasn't getting anywhere. The tyres weren't flat and there didn't appear to be anything obvious wrong, but there was a strange klunking sound. I looked down to check if the chain had come off and then I saw it...the back wheel was pressing against the frame. I feared the worst. If I had inadvertently taken a bike with a buckled wheel, Mrs Top Hat would crucify me for days. Even worse if I had buckled it and now had to face a repair charge. I quickly disassembled the rear wheel and put it back on. Thankfully, it seemed fine, but there was another problem  - Mrs Top Hat was miles in front, beaming back at me with that sarcastic smile of hers.

"Not got much stamina have you?" she called back as she filled her greedy gob with a hefty sandwich. Oh balls I thought, here we go - she's going to start taking the piss.

She must have been tired or drugged up or something because when I eventually caught up with her, she didn't mention it. We just sat and ate our food then set off cycling again. Nae bother as the Scots say.

We had travelled almost an inch from our picnic site when Mrs Top Hat stopped for a rest. Half an hour later, we were a good foot and a half further down the trail and Mrs Top Hat was complaining about being saddle sore. I had only one thing to say:

"Not got much stamina have you?"

We spent the rest of the day cycling around the beautiful lake and watched a woman in a canoe gliding majestically across the water. I asked Mrs Top Hat if we could try that somewhere later on in the holiday. She said maybe, if I was a good boy and ate my greens.

As the late afternoon sun fell upon us, Mrs Top Hat pulled her shorts up to reveal a rather tame looking welt from her saddle. "Is this normal with biking?" she asked. I looked down at the sore area and remembered those winter days of cycling to work. "I don't really need a car." I said. It took a few minutes to sink in, but I think she got my point.

That evening, we were really struggling to find somewhere to eat. I absolutely HATE lamb and can't eat fish because of a fat digestion problem, and there seemed to be little else available near Lake Takapo. In the end, we risked a little Italian bar come restaurant and I bit the bullet and tried another pizza (I'm not that keen on Italian food either). I was half expecting them to serve up a piece of cardboard with tomatoes, cheese, dogshit and tarantulas on top, but to my surprise I was served a really tasty pizza. Not too fatty and completely free from hospital waste...take note, Stellar of Wanganui!

As we made our way back to our room, we saw a Japanese family moving in to the room next door. I was quite pleased about that as the stereotype of a Japanese family is a quiet, respectful unit. And it proved to be true...I didn't hear a peep or a parp out of them all night.