And so the National Championships came to Wales, the only place in Britain not three feet underwater, presumably owing to the fact that it's the only place in Britain that's actually practiced in receiving quite so much rain.

Wales is a small, proud, violent nation, and so we were more than a little worried when we heard that Geraint Thomas wasn't going to be starting. But it was all very well organised, and everybody was having a good time. Perhaps everybody was reserving their fury so that they could really give a good kicking to the vandals who'd damaged some plant pots the night before. That's the jist of what we heard on the streets.

Phil Liggett and David Duffield approached us, but we managed to make some excuses and escape. So much for secret identities and all of that. Even Hugh Porter gave us a sly mention after he'd referred to the event as the 1977 National Championships. Thanks Hugh, we'll be doubly nice to you next time our paths cross.

Sadly, we were there on work duty, so didn't get to take any photographs or get up to mischief. We did get an ice lolly though, to stave off the time before the riders got to the final finishing circuit. Some Scottish guy won in the end, all slippery with the foul looking white cream he'd plastered all over his body.

6/10 - Could've done with a helicopter, really.