As I mentioned the other week, I was unable to travel home to Britain for Christmas.

True to the same great American spirit of welcoming strangers (I'm talking about the spirit of the nation, not the current administration, here), also seen at Thanksgiving, my friends in Denver rallied around and made sure I didn't have a moment to think about my predicament.

I shalln't go into the everyday details of my Christmas. You all know what goes on, breakfast, presents, friends, dinner, drink, etc.

On Christmas Eve afternoon, Miles excitedly jumped into the truck, an eager look in his eye, as he faced the prospect of going somewhere exciting with me. Sure enough, within minutes, he found himself at an off-leash dog park.

A few of his regular doggie friends were there, and he lost no time in convincing the nearest owner of a frisbee, that he was a far better retriever of such toys, than their own dog would ever be.

After a quick play, he eagerly leapt back into the truck, convinced that we were no doubt going on to an even more exciting venue. Maybe we'd be going to a dog-food tasting or a Milk Bone and butt-sniffing party.

Sadly for him, his joy was short-lived. He managed still to look eager, as he leapt out of the truck, but in his heart, he knew the smells and sounds all too well. It may have been a different place to our usual one, but it was nonetheless, a laundromutt.

Laundromutts are a great idea. On the face of it, paying someone to allow you to wash your own dog, sounds like a dumb idea, but in reality, it makes a lot of sense. Certainly, if you've ever tried to bathe a 100lb dog in your own bath, you'll know what I mean.

The facilities at laundromutt include baths that are at waist-height, a series of short leashes - to keep your pooch still, and leave you both hands free - and a trigger-released shower.

At this new place, the assistant questioned me about Miles, and what kind of scent would suit him best. What she really meant was, what kind of scent would suit me best. If it were left up to Miles, he'd be picking beef-in-gravy scented bath oil, with cat-shit conditioner.

Miles, despite being born in America, always exhibits a very "British stiff upper lip" when facing such adversity as having a bath. He stands there, stoically as he's lathered up with shampoo, and then later on, conditioner, looking off into the middle distance, like Montgomery surveying the troops in El Alamein. There's no way he's going to let on his true feelings about being covered in sweet-smelling suds show through.

Once the bathing is done, comes the bit he really isn't keen on. the hairdryer. Laundromutts all seem to be equipped with hairdryers manufactured by Lockheed Martin.

To visualise what I'm talking about, imagine a small jet engine, bolted to a bench, with a vacuum cleaner hose attached to the exhaust.

Miles' stiff upper-lip quivered as he heard the dryer powering up. He hopes above all hope, that it's just a nearby jet fighter, on its way to bomb the people who invented baths for dogs, but in his heart, he knows what's coming.

At the end of it all though, he both looked and smelt fabulous. This was just as well, as that very evening, we had a joint invite to dinner.

It was all part of the concerted effort by friends and acquaintances to keep me busy over the Christmas period. A great evening was had, eating, drinking, and talking. Miles made friends with the two beagles there, and a visiting Jack Russell - appropriately, the Jack Russell was called Mini.

I'm still not sure whether it was my dancing or the beagles' howling, later in the evening, that caused Miles to go nutso, running around in circles, jumping on, off, and over the sofa. For a second I worried about him, but our eyes met as he whizzed around the room, and the look said, "Dad, this is fun!". A great evening was had by all.