‘Ach,’ Jesper shrugged with equanimity, ‘I had it last year – but I believe I will win it for the Vipers next year.’

How the words hung, loaded and huge, as if physically there, on vast placards suspended from the clouds, emphatically and unavoidably legible. Jesus, the relief. Suddenly Jesper knew unequivocally where he would be on this day next year, even what he’d be wearing. It was as if he’d been granted some divine flash of the future and to abuse it, to do anything other than travel towards it, would be a sacrilegious travesty. And suddenly Anya knew exactly where her husband of today would be this time next year. And there was nothing she was going to do about it because there was nothing she actually wanted to do about it. She had no idea where she’d be in 365 days hence, but she knew that she would not be here, in a village of the Tour de France.

And so Jesper Lomers stands silent and still and solitary in the centre of the village while around him, journalists and guests and officials and a host of Disney characters mill about in high spirits. He watches Anya, his soon-to-be-ex-wife, walk away, her Mickey Mouse ears still in place, as are his. It is the penultimate day of this year’s Tour de France. He has lost the maillot vert and he has lost his marriage. And yet, he has his health, his sanity and the priceless aptitude of knowing exactly what he wants to do with his life. What he lacks in happiness at this stage, he gains in a sense of peace.

Fabian Ducasse feels calm in that his thoughts are collected. He is not at peace though. His body is surging with anticipatory determination, adrenalin is pumping through his system. He is 1 minute 33 seconds from Vasily Jawlensky’s yellow jersey. Both he and his rival are very strong Time Trialists; Fabian will ride with the extra spurt that ruthless desire and extreme ambition can instil, Vasily has the extra strength exuded by his golden fleece. Fabian Ducasse is capable of wiping minutes off other riders on today’s Time Trial course. Vasily Jawlensky is capable of not losing a second.

Cat, Josh and Alex drove the course in a convoy of four press cars following the team car, hollering, ‘Allez! Allez! Allez!’ at the Cofidis rider David Millar. The young Brit stormed the course and took the lead which he was still holding with only two men left to ride. Unfortunately, the men in question were Fabian Ducasse and Vasily Jawlensky; dressed for action in their skinsuits, equipped for battle on their aerodynamic machines, prepared to plunder every ounce of their physical and emotional reserves.

Minnie Mouse McCabe was an exception to the rule amongst the press corps, today slogging out the words in an overheated room in a Disneyland hotel. With her hair washed regularly and skin bathed daily over the past three weeks, she looked nearly as fresh today as when the Tour started. The majority of hacks, however, had now resigned themselves to items of clothing which, whilst far from clean, at least were not amongst those fermenting at the bottoms of suitcases. The accumulation of three weeks of strong salami and Seize virtually on tap could be seen in expanded girths and heard in copious belching. Nicotine had stained fingers and teeth. Chins looked grimy – most razor blades having been well blunted since around Stage 16. Though noticeably weary over the past few Stages, today the salle de pressé sat riveted by the action of the Time Trial relayed to them on the screens.