DOZING in my seat, I was jolted into reality by John making a swift U-turn. “There’s a cattle mart on,” he said excitedly. “Let’s go and have a look.”

I had to allow him this touch of reality on our holiday. We had just spent several days on an isolated peninsular, eight and a half miles from the nearest road. It had been an extreme exercise in luxury, but there are only so many dips you can do in the jacuzzi.

Plus, even though I can explain till I am blue in the face that John is a very plain eater, a meat and potatoes man, the chef here could not resist sending the likes of octopus, scallops and sushi to our table.

So starved of a good steak for a few days, he fancied seeing some meat on the hoof. The set up at this mart was quite different, but again with agents selling the stock rather than a mart auctioneer.

Where the cattle were penned before they entered the sale ring, a series of walkways above the pens allowed the drovers to encourage the stock to move forward without any stockman putting themselves in danger of being crushed. It was a fat market and most cattle were Friesian or Jersey crosses destined for slaughter and straight off the farm after the end of their productive life as milk cows.

Pen after pen of cull ewes sold before the fat lambs and sheltering under a corrugated iron roof, pigs happily dug up the soil of their pens in an optimistic hunt for something edible.

The most fascinating part of our stay on the Akaroa peninsular, however, was a visit to the Okains Bay Museum. Now we have seen quite a few museums on this trip, but John was tempted into this collection as we had heard that it had been collated by a local farmer.

Amidst the fantastic collection of artefacts, homes, businesses, trades of the early settlers and their relationships with local Maori, including the best display of authentic wakas (canoes) we have seen yet, one exhibit drew his close attention.

It reflected the success of cocksfoot, a persistent perennial grass, and its seed in the area. This grass grows well on poorly drained soils and, on our heavy land, was very successful as part of the pasture mix.

Only a livestock farmer could get excited by grass seed I thought to myself, and, today, screech to a halt when there is a whiff of a cattle or sheep mart. New Zealand really is a fantastic farming country.