It’s a month since I was in a delivery room at the local hospital. I’d spent the previous three weeks watching the Tour de France on Eurosport, even getting namechecked for a tweet about cake. And I’d bought the bedside TV package when I was admitted to the RD&E. I have vague memories of the yellow jersey being surprisingly closely run on the Saturday, but there’d been a lot of gas/air and other confusions that day. On the Sunday I was very distracted what with the whole giving birth thing. But the TV was on in the background and the pelaton was looping around the Champs Elyssees. I’ve just checked and Mark Cavendish must have won whilst Georgina was snuggling on my chest. This will in no way be a formative experience for her.