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Not only does cycling stop the bad knee clicking but it also seems to have stopped my trainers squeaking. I now need to find a method of silencing the people in the flat underneath who had their back door open this afternoon so that the smell of millions of fags and the semi-incomprehensible gibberish spouted by the barking wifey drifted up to me as I (sitting in the relatively cramped space outside the door rather than in the garden where the noise and smell would have been too loud) undertook the battle that is any attempt to fit a new and unstretched tyre of reasonable puncture-resistance to a wheel rim without resorting to trying to push it in with tyre levers at the risk of buggering the tube and necessitating repetition. For the best part of an hour the only words I could pick out were expletives apart from a few peaceful moments when the sound of a large flock of seagulls fighting noisily over the contents of a bin around the corner just drowned out the screeching beneath. I must one day record the sound for playing back the next time I need to mask the whines of neighbours.