"I would like to go the Amazon," said Porky Withers ruminatively this week, down at the Chalk 'n Cue.

There was no immediate response from the rest of the bar. We were all too busy imagining a world in which Porky Withers was in the Amazon basin, rather than hunched over his saucer of gin, scratching his back with a swizzle stick shaped like a miniature golf club. Porky Withers was not deterred by our silence. Porky Withers always takes silence as an invitation to carry on speaking.

"They say that every day in the Amazon jungle a patch of land the size of a football field is cleared. Now that's something I would like to see."

We considered that. Porky Withers had a point. That football field-sized patch of land has long been a source of speculation down at the Chalk 'n Cue. How are they so precise about the football field? Do they mark off the pitch in the jungle, and then just clear everything between the tramlines? Is the football field a kind of quota? Do the clearers clear until they have cleared the football field, and then the union steward blows a whistle and says, "Right, boys, clearing implements down! That's our lot for the day. Who's got the ball? Let's have a kickabout until knocking-off time."

Surely after a while you have all the head you can handle?

You can imagine the annual negotiations between labour and management: "Now lads, I think we've gone as far as we can with the football field. Times are tough in the jungle-clearing business. We would appreciate if you could start clearing, ooh, let's say a cricket pitch a day."

"Well now, it's funny you should be saying that, sir, because we were just agreeing that unless we start getting something for lunch besides tapir kebabs and whatever that other meat is that tastes like chicken, we will be only be clearing a bowling green a day from now on. Some more radical members were pushing for a pool table, but we think we can keep them in check."

We knew what had set Porky Withers thinking about the Amazon. Survivor: Amazon has just started on SABC3 and the Survivor series is always a firm favourite down at the Chalk 'n Cue. We enjoy the idea of a group of American tourists in the middle of the wilderness, deprived of their money, eating grubs, bugs and each other to survive. The only way the show could be improved, we agreed, is if there were no cameras.

"There are head-hunters in the Amazon," mused Sad Henry thoughtfully. "It's a funny sort of thing to hunt, head. What do you do with the head when you have it? Where do you store it? Surely after a while you have all the head you can handle?"

"I don't know about that, matey," objected Hairy Mike from his barstool. "You can always find space for extra head. In the Amazon, head is currency. A head in the Amazon is like a packet of cigarettes in prison."

If you think I am letting a mob of strange women have a party on my car...

There followed a speculative sort of conversation about the exchange rate between heads and cigarettes. How many packets a head? Or, as Porky Withers seemed to be convinced, how much head a packet? Could you pay in head and get some smokes as change? The Amazon, we agreed, is a truly fascinating place.

I am especially interested in all matters Survivor-related, because I recently received an email. I suppose you would call it spam, as it was an unsolicited offer to sell me something, but I am not as vehemently opposed to spam as other people. There is always something interesting to read in the bundle of exhortations that arrive unbidden each day in my in-box. Once I learnt to stop taking personally the advice to purchase a penis-enlarging cream or sexual stamina pills, I now embrace the world of weirdness out there.

(I was, however, obscurely gratified some while back to receive notification that if I acted quickly, I could take advantage of a special offer on penis reductions. In written testimony by a certain Mr N Cowans, he waxed lyrical about the benefits of being a little lighter in the trouser department. Among other benefits, Mr N Cowans feels that the procedure has helped him run faster. "I shaved several minutes off my personal best," claims Mr N Cowans. Not just minutes, mate.)

At any rate, the mail I received offered to sell me the secrets to throwing a Survivor party. For a modest outlay I would receive "a Complete Survivor Party Hosting Package, perfect for family gatherings or friendly get-togethers". We couldn't imagine what the Hosting Package might contain. Skimpy shorts and tops, I suppose, plus a cardboard box of grubs and bugs and some dirt to rub on yourselves.

"Let your guests outwit, outplay and outlast!" urged the email, which sounded dismal. I have never thrown a party, not even underarm, but if I did, the last thing I would want is a lounge full of rotters trying to outwit or - worse - outlast me. There were some merits to the idea though. The thought of a party where you have an opportunity every half-hour to periodically vote for the most objectionable person in the room to go home has some appeal.

So we were idly in favour of the Survivor party until Sad Henry pointed out that, in Survivor: Amazon, the men and women are separated into two distinct camps.

"Perhaps you could make the women at your party stand in the garage," suggested Porky Withers, but I knew that wouldn't work. I don't have a garage, and if I did, my car would be inside it. If you think I am letting a mob of strange women have a party on my car while I stand around in my living room with Porky Withers and Sad Henry, you have another think coming.

But then we remembered we don't know any women anyway, so it was all a moot point.