Having wittered on about the value of data for the past five years I am now going to strop about cyclists measuring their performance on the streets of London.

I am a bumbling Boris Biker and I my top speed is about 12mph. The lycra brigade can travel twice as fast as me and do, and despite the roads being empty, they still use the same cycle lanes as me, meaning they whizz past my shoulder distributing germs from very close range.

Until recently I supposed that they were in such a hurry to beat the one hour curfew or perform some socially useful function like couriers do. But I’ve now clocked what’s going on and the giveaway is the sight of clumps of these cyclo-warriors gawping at their iphones determining average speeds, reps per minute , calories burned and so on.

These poor souls have been tied to their metrics like Ixion to his wheel. They cannot slow down and cannot let me get in the way of their ceaseless quest for Wiggins style metrics.

We must turn the cycle tracks of Stratford and Herne Hill over to these people so that they can hurtle around like demented dervishes  in isolation.

For sure as hell-fire they will be the infection of me if I am to continue on my unhurried way. And I suspect that they will worry themselves to death in the process.

Take time to admire the glories of London guys (and it is guys).

Take time to appreciate your incredible fitness by giving social distance to other cyclists (you will travel much further with the odd parabola in your course).

Take time to think what total arses everyone but you – think you are. In your mad pursuit of personal bests , realise PBs have no value to anyone but you.