Mud, mud, glorious mud

A few years back we all got shiny new bikes for Christmas. We used to cycle on Greenham Common, where the Americans stored all their cruise missiles in the 80's. Now it belongs again to the people of Newbury, and the people of Newbury seem to use it mainly as a giant dog toilet. Then, when I bought the holiday home (aka static caravan) in the Cotswolds, the bikes lived there and we had several trips along bridle paths and around the lakes. All of this meant that the bikes were a bit muddy. Had I known we were moving to Australia I would have wrapped the bikes in cling film and left them pristine. Why? Because nothing puts the fear of God into Aussie Customs like mud. Yes mud. Common dirt. Apparently mud represents the greatest threat to the Australian way of life since the arrival of the £10 pom. You would think that a land founded by a bunch of unwashed convicts could cope with a bit of mud - but no.

So the bikes have been jet washed, scrubbed with bicarbonate of soda and then jet washed again. All that's left is for me to moisturise them and their pre-move grooming is complete. And the washing machine is going night and day as we work our way through Gus' trainer collection. Unlike many rap stars (and David Beckham) his trainers are not box fresh. OK - so he needs them for his personal training, but there are trainers drying everywhere. It's like Niketown in here.