I zorb, therefore I am...

One of my more unusual pastimes is zorbing... and no, this first picture isn't of me... more a way of giving you an idea of how it works (describing it to people is quite difficult).

I discovered zorbing nearly three years ago after Rachelle and I separated, and it was a key part in my recovery from the trauma that preceded it, an exploration of things that weren't wholly 'safe'.

The first place in the world where you could zorb was in Rotorua, New Zealand, famous for its hot springs, volcanic mud and Maori culture, although you can now take part in this sport in a number of other places, including Swanage.

Zorbing in Rotorua comes in a number of varieties, the first two being 'wet' and 'dry'. In 'dry' zorbing, you're strapped into the zorb by means of a harness, and they push you done the hill on the left. I've never done it myself, but for those who've done it, it's apparently quite interesting.

In 'wet' zorbing, you aren't harnessed in. Instead, they pump in about two buckets of water (cold in summer, warm in winter) to avoid friction burns, and then push you down the hill. Apparently, the idea is to try to run down the hill in your zorb, staying on your feet throughout. Last I heard, only nine people had managed to do so. It sounds like awfully hard work.

Instead, if you're interested in something a little more exciting, there is the slalom course, the option which I prefer. The experience is very much like being in a washing machine and it's certainly a wild ride. That's actually me in the third picture (can't you tell by the way I roll?).

I can tell that you don't believe me, so here I am in my zorb...

And now that plans are afoot for a return to the Bay of Plenty Region, I can do it all over again, and spend the afternoon relaxing in the thermal pools as part of a really good day out.

Maybe Jessica will come along for the ride...