We’re ambling south through New South Wales and I decide to visit the Mudgee museum. I meet a charming old gent who proudly shows me their collection of wedding gowns and flat irons, but I’m a girl who is more interested in the sheep washer. I’ve never seen anything like it. Apparently in the old days they had no way of washing the shorn fleeces so the poor old sheep was put into a box, with its head poking through a hole, while water was poured in then he copped a jolly good scrubbing before being lifted out for drying.