This morning's conversation, as I do some bike-furtling outside my
room:[Them] Hello. Nice bike.
[Me] Hello. Yup. You're British, aren't you?
[Them] Yup. Driving around Oz. Flying back home tomorrow. Where are you
from?
[Me] Near Newbury.
[Them] So are we. Woolton Hill.
[Me] Thatcham.
etc.Turns out we all drink at the farm as well. Unbloodybelievable. So not only are they taking my next parcel back with them to drop off at Don and Pauline's, they've done a video of me to show to the chaps at the farm as well. As you've probably gathered, I have the bike back.

Quarantine is murder. I spent most of yesterday at the docks, and had two inspections. I knew up front that it was going to be vicious, but I didn't expect having to strip every piece of gaffer tape off the bike, retrieving dead leaves from the bottom of the toolbox, scraping sand out of the ends of my tent poles, junking of the paper air filter I was keeping 'just in case', complete emptying of all the luggage, removal of back wheel to jetwash the brake drum (I could go on but you'd lose the will to live).

Anyway, all sorted now, new gaffer tape applied, panniers repacked, and ready to set off for Alice tomorrow. And it's pissing with rain (absolute heaven).