AT last the weather is on the turn and the apparent myth that we are visiting New Zealand in their summer dispelled.

It’s a long way away. Our journey fell over three days before touching down in Auckland to a rapturous welcome from friends Jane and Geoff, who emigrated nearly 20 years ago.

But before we could get to see them we had to go through passport and immigration control. And, as we had had to state our farming background, had been warned to expect a more rigorous entry procedure.

Accordingly, before we left I had virtually steam cleaned all our footwear and double, triple and quadruple checked that we were not bringing any food stuffs in. We even decided not pack any fishing gear as they pose a risk.

I was in panic mode when we reached the final immigration checks and a possible $400 fine if we had messed up. Which was why after confidently stating I was not carrying any of the prohibited items, I pressed the wrong button and admitted to a criminal conviction. Instantly an immigration official appeared and whisked me out of the queue, leaving a bemused John.

Meanwhile John, totally bemused as to why I had disappeared, also pressed all the wrong buttons and said he had not got a ticket to leave New Zealand, which as visitors, we had to.

So there were the two of us quaking in our shoes. We had come so far and at this late stage might have to turn round and fly back home. Not a bit of it. The immigration officer was charming and we were through. Smiles all the way.

So what do we do when we go anywhere different on holiday. Find a sheep sale or cattle mart, of course. We soon realised not to spill too many beans about our farming background.

Where we had had at the most about 400 ewes and lambs, these guys ran into the teens of thousands with their flocks. The sheep dogs moving the stock about were Huntaways, a bigger and stronger breed than the Border Collies, such as our own Fizz, used on English sheep farms.

They were rangy, strong dogs, with a loud bark that cowed the sheep into submission; and virtually worked independently of the mart shepherds. The Huntaways had the sheep moving from pen to pen without any given commands that I could see. Those dogs knew their job. Pity Fizz hadn’t accompanied us for a quick refresher course.