The Big Off, it's the Tour de France...in England

If you want something done right, do it in Britain.

No matter what your event, it goes better in Britain.  The best Olympics ever?  London.  Best city for a marathon?  London.  Greatest arts festival in the world?  Edinburgh. 

But if you want something done exceptionally do it in Yorkshire.

This is a country with special qualities.  Yorkshire is often described as ‘God’s own country’, especially by Yorkshiremen.

Yorkshiremen are without doubt the lovliest people in the world, who can greet you with a cheery ‘ow do?’ with equal enthusiasm and with their flat cap equally horizontal in sun, sleet, snow or rain…when they are in Yorkshire.

The moment they step outside the County, you truly understand why they refer to it as God’s own country; to hear them endlessly bang on about it you’d think it was the Garden of Eden as they bring a missionary zeal to describing just how bloody great Yorkshire is.  Tirelessly.

So, best stage of the Tour de France ever?  Yorkshire.  Naturally.

It would appear that the simple solution to securing the success of any sporting spectacle is simple; hold it in Britain.

Especially cycling.  And no wonder.  This is a country that loves cycling.  When you’re a lid cycling means freedom, when you’re an adult cycling means being able to purchase loads of cool gear and nod meaningfully when people talk about carbon fibre.  And no wonder we produce such talent.  Every kid with a bike has the capacity to become a world champion.  And plenty of them have a training regime from an early age, up at an early hour summer and winder, putting in the miles.  They’d go even faster if they didn’t have to stop every few yeards and put newspapers through people’s doors.

But it’s not just children.  The sight of men in lycra thundering along Britain’s roads is not at all an unusual one.  Or a pretty one.  The sight of athletes, who actually look good in lycra, thundering along Britain’s roads, is a little rarer.  And a lot prettier, if you like thighs.

Usually the sort of chap to be seen of a weekend, top to toe cycling gear, looks like he is racing towards a pub or pie shop rather than a yellow jersey and a drugs test.  Middle aged, but like many middle-aged men not old enough to know better, men who wander into cycle shops appear to suffer from the same condition that grips the type of man who purchases an insanely powerful motor cycle, or lots of Lego.  They are trying to recapture their youth, which is something of a challenge no matter how hard one peddles.

The Tour de France traditionally starts with a stage called ‘The Big Off’, which takes place outside France.  Usually this takes place in a country so near France that it is indistinguishable from France, like Belgium, which is either a country or a beer and mussels theme park, I’ve never been sure.

In truth, the nation is right to be excited about hosting the Big Off.  It’s actually right to be over-excited about hosting the Big Off.  This is a big deal.

Because the Tour de France is impressive, the race footage tends to be swooping helicopter shots of idyllic villages, castles and monasteries.  It should really be accompanied by a swirling, stirring orchestral score and a telephone number at the bottom of the screen to ring to get your brochure.

The excitement has been building for some time now, developing into expectation.  This is drama, this is excitement, speed, colour, swooshing along roads, flinging water bottles left and right, the crowds loving it and, of course, the names of the villages being rendered in French on the BBC, something that will especially cheer a certain class of claret-coloured illiberal xenophobe and possibly stimulate UKIP membership.

This is the greatest Big Off ever because it’s taking place in a country that loves cycling, is used to putting up with road closures, is enthusiastic to the point of mania when it comes to cheering and is taking place in a country so beautiful one might be mistaken for thinking some of it is CGI for a fantasy film.