THE LONG ROAD TO THE LAND OF THE LONG WHITE CLOUD
So, away we go.

Never having been outside these islands until six years ago, off I hop to New Zealand for the Lions Tour.

As my taxi driver said this morning, I couldn't go much further.

Flying into London was like being right in the middle of the opening credits for Match of the Day, as our pilot swooped over the new Wembley, Stamford Bridge, Craven Cottage and even Brentford's Griffin Park.

I'm not sure if this is part of some UK tourism deal with Aer Lingus, as they also flew low directly over the London Eye, Houses of Parliament and Buckingham Palace.

Two arduous flights await, both ten hours, one after the other - first London-Bangkok, then Bangkok-Sydney, and if that weren't enough, how's about a nice three-hour haul from Sydney to Christchurch.

With all the time zones being crossed, the longest day of the year becomes my shortest.

All three flights have virtually the same passenger list, so by the end, virtually everybody's on first name terms. That's the good news.

The bad news is that by the end, everybody's also on first-name terms with the entire cast of Will Smith chick-flick Hitch, which must have played at least six times on the three different flights.

I can also tell you that Meet The Fockers is hilariously funny (but you probably already knew that), Assault on Precinct 13 is surprisingly good, The Ring 2 is unsurprisingly bad, and The Aquatic Life with Steve Zissou is... ummm... quirky.

Despite the fact that the flights were mainly manned by English fans, the conscensus from the travelling hordes heading down under is that there any too many Englishmen on the squad.

"We have an urgent message for Mrs Thompson," starts a personal message over the tannoy on the flight from Sydney.

"Yeah, her son's been dropped!" comes the swift reply from the England fan sitting alongside me.

But all he can do, like me, when we're flying directly west-to-east across New Zealand towards Christchurch is gasp at the beauty of the Southern Alps.

For half an hour, it's like flying over a postcard.