Today was a medium mountain Stage, hard but tolerable, with the race traversing the Vercors Alps south to north. The final climb, 50 km from the finish, was the second-category Col de Rousset; the pink flesh of the mountain from where the hairpin bends were gouged contrasting with the dense indigo shrubbery crowning it. Though the gradient is not severe, it is a long slog panning out at the summit to a taxing plateau continually undulating for almost 60 km. A seven-man breakaway stayed clear of the field by 10 minutes, but posed no threat to the leaders. As the ugly outskirts of Grenoble gave way to the elegant boulevards of the city centre, the small group played cat and mouse to the delight of the phenomenal crowds. No one wanted to start the sprint but nor would they tolerate a lone bid for glory. Ultimately, David Millar sneaked away at great speed to take the Stage in 4 hours 31 minutes and 40 seconds, leaving the other six to sprint to a photofinish for second place. Massimo Lipari, Zucca MV’s pin-up climber and last year’s King of the Mountains, scooped more points today to bring him within a hair’s breadth of the polka dot jersey currently with Système Vipère’s Carlos Jesu Velasquez, the diminutive but charismatic Spaniard. Similarly, though the green jersey is with fellow Viper Boy Jesper Lomers, Zucca MV’s Stefano ‘Thunder Thighs’ Sassetta could well claim it by Paris. Fabian, still in the maillot jaune, completes the jersey trilogy for Système Vipère but Vasily’s designs on the hallowed maillot are both realistic and imminent. This year, the three jerseys are not merely the ultimate accolades of the Tour de France, but the trophies of a duel being fought exclusively between Système Vipère and Zucca MV.

<ENDS>

‘And I really don’t know who I’d most like to win,’ Cat smiled, returning to her chair having transmitted her report to London.

‘It’s for you,’ Josh said, handing Cat his mobile phone, ‘it’s Taverner – he says he can’t get through on yours.’ Cat checked her phone and saw there was no signal. She took Josh’s and immediately pleaded, ‘I know you said 350 words but I’m only 26 over!’

‘I let you have “dark duke Sassetta” last week,’ Taverner said, ‘but I’m drawing the line at Stefano “Thunder Thighs” Sassetta.’

‘Why?’ Cat probed. ‘He’d bloody revel in it.’

‘And,’ Taverner continued, ‘will you stop calling the guys by their Christian names? Are you shagging them or something? Luca this, Fabian that, Vasily the other.’

‘But they’re individuals,’ Cat tried to justify, ‘not anonymous pedal turners.’

‘And finally,’ Taverner persisted, ‘enough of the arty-farty bullshit waffle. Cézanne’s one thing, but “pink flesh of a mountain”?’

‘I just get carried away,’ Cat tried to justify.

‘Change it, please,’ Taverner ordered, hanging up.

‘I like pink flesh,’ Cat said somewhat petulantly and inadvertently loudly. A number of press men glanced round at her and enjoyed a little snigger. Though Cat revised her article and spelt names out in full, she defiantly left the Thunder Thighs exactly where she felt they should be.