Sunday morning, 8:45.

There I am, in my garage, hurriedly squeezing my feet into my tired Shimano bike shoes for another blast around the Surrey Hills on my On-one Inbred. In my haste, I overlook a faint tang in the air as I put on my right shoe.

Out on the trails, occassionally I catch a reminder of that tang – but 21 miles on the Inbred in fine weather has me thinking of other things and thankfully, Dave (the only other Mole out yesterday) seems not to notice even during our cake stop at Box Hill.

Returning home after a hard ride, I start to take off my shoes and socks. And this time it’s inescapable. My right foot, shoe and sock smell of wee. Cat wee to be precise, and we don’t even own a cat!

I waive my sock under my wife’s nose to be sure (she’s un-erring in this sort of thing). Having got violent confirmation that it really is cat wee, I’m now on the look out for the creature that chose to mark ‘its’ territory so distinctly. It had better be warned, I’m out for revenge and I have a few local suspects lined up.

Or maybe I’m in the market for some new shoes?