An image from the final stage of the Tour of Britain from photographer Julian Claxton. Julian was with the team for the duration of the race and has taken some great shots.

The autumn cycling season is the briefest of them all. The best in my opinion, clear skies, crisp days, to glove up or not to glove up, that is the question. Heady days. For the record, it’s now over. Well and truly done. Yes the calendar might suggest otherwise, but as any cyclist knows when they stick their head out the door, it’s winter.

I’m totally dumbfounded to see people cycling, and looking fairly serious too, in what can only be described as little more than beach wear. “What are you doing? Go and put some more clothes on you’ll freeze!”. But alas I don’t have the guts to charge after these nut jobs and admonish them for their woeful choice of attire. They will no doubt look at me with equal dumbfoundedness, wondering who this twat wearing an arctic parka and legging it after them really thinks he is.

But I tell myself I would be doing them a service. After all, who exactly does wear shorts and a jersey when it’s raining and 5 degrees? They can’t be too warm, otherwise clearly when the sun comes out they would melt and die, so why this refusal to at least put on some leg warmers? There is no place for exposed flesh in this weather unless there’s a number pinned to your back. The caf’ run doesn’t count.

Not only for their safety then, but also my credibility. My none-cycling friends regard my winter wardrobe as thing of constant amusement. What other sport requires “booties” and a “cape”. Aside from bull fighting… So I have to describe to them the perils of wind chill, melt water spraying off the road and just how I need every item and how my life may very well depend on it. But clearly I just look like a big girls blouse, apparently not everyone needs a hat with earflaps.

You never get a second chance to make a first impression.