My opposite neighbours, an orderly couple in their sixties, have for the past week been engaged from dawn til dusk in the task of Pressure Washing. It started, innocently enough, with their garden path and front step. Not an activity I would personally have the time or the inclination for, but I was prepared to let it go. Then they started on the driveway. Slowly, painstakingly, they spent hours with their newly purchased Karcher, he on a kitchen bar stool pointing the hose, she casting a watchful eye over his progress and popping in and out of their bungalow with cups of tea. As the electric motor hummed, and a river of water ran down our road, I began to feel irritated. But it didn't stop here. Once he had totally removed any dirt, moss or character from his driveway, he had to pressure wash his car, which had been splashed with dirt by the hose. I sniggered slightly as I wondered where this process might end, and whether he might get caught...