If I were to meet Vasily Jawlensky, Cat muses, coming home from the Guardian office, what on earth would I say to him? Ought I to bow? Curtsey? In his presence, surely major genuflection is highly appropriate. I wish I could speak bloody Russian.

I can’t wait to meet Massimo Lipari, he always kisses everyone three times, regardless of their sex or relationship to him. Remember how last year, Phil Liggett from Channel 4 was given the Lipari smackers live on TV after Massimo won at L’Alpe D’Huez? Liggett looked lovestruck and told the viewers he’d never wash his face again. I’d like some Massimo kisses. But how would I go about getting them? What exactly would I ask him?

I’d love to set Stefano Sassetta off against the inimitable Mario Cipollini. They’re both the most extravagant, over-the-top personalities in the peloton. Stefano tall, dark and handsome; Cipo with blond highlights, a pony-tail and a great line in outrageous one-liners. There’s Stefano banging on about the aesthetic excellence of his thighs, and there’s Cipo saying if he wasn’t a cyclist he’d like to be a porn star. Italian stallions, both.

But.

I suppose it’s not so much what I’d say to them, but whether or not they’d talk to me.

Oh.

BEN YORK AND TEAM MEGAPAC

Ben York, born thirty years ago in Hampshire, studied medicine at Guy’s Hospital, London. It was perfectly reasonable for his mother, his father, his friends and his then-girlfriend Amelia, to assume he’d take the position offered to him by Guy’s, further his career, become as brilliant as everyone had always anticipated, marry Amelia (as she anticipated), afford a very lovely place in Notting Hill and take up golf.

Ben York, however, hates golf.

Ben turned down the job at Guy’s, let down Amelia, appalled her parents and stunned his parents when he announced he was going to downtown Chicago to live and work.

‘Chicago, Ben?’ his father had protested. ‘When you have so much going for you here, why move to America of all places? What about the lovely Amelia? And Guy’s? Have you really thought this through?’

I’ve thought of little else. Upsetting women is what I seem to do effortlessly if wholly unintentionally. This isn’t about the Ben you all want me to be, but about the one I know I am. I’m not a Guy’s man, and I can’t be Amelia’s man because, lovely as indeed she is, she isn’t Ben’s woman.

‘But sweetie,’ Amelia sobbed, ‘what about our life in London? Notting Hill, for heaven’s sake. Marriage and babies? And a brilliant career at Guy’s? How could you do this to me?’

I’m not doing this ‘to’ you, I’m doing this for us – because of me. I don’t want a place with you in Notting Hill – I don’t even like Notting Hill. Marriage and babies? Maybe one day. With you? No. We’re young. You’re staggeringly beautiful. You’ll be OK.

That was five years ago. Amelia married Charlie three years ago and has just given birth to baby James. The nursery at their place in Notting Hill is exquisite. She’s idyllically happy. Ben spent three years in Chicago, another in Denver and was then head-hunted by Team US Megapac who made it worth his while to embark on a new and unusual career based in Boulder, Colorado.