I may be about to wave goodbye to my chances of receiving the Legion d’Honneur.
But there you go.
Napoleon created it, and Napoleon was a despotic berk.
It’s only been about three weeks since the highly excitable media circus descended upon Yorkshire to report on the first two stages of the Tour de France.
How quickly all that excitement evaporated, once the leading British contenders fell off.
And how relieved was I.
For the Tour De France is down there at the foot of my list of sporting highlights, to sit alongside the Boat Race, the London Marathon, and anything involving a horse.
It’s not simply that the gear they wear is inelegant and lurid, or that the event appears to have more to do with tourism than sport.
It’s that it doesn’t work as a sporting spectacle either.
What happens is that large numbers of brightly dressed, and alarmingly thin, cyclists, sporting too many logos, set off in a pack, then they thin out over hundreds of miles, then they all come together again for the last half mile, several of them falling over in the process.
In between, various expensively sponsored teams shepherd their designated star rider up and down the valleys in order to deliver him the right colour jersey.
It’s less of a race and more an industrial operation in lycra.
It can’t possibly be an equal contest if Murdoch has a team.
But the malign influence of the Tour (and of competitive cycling in general) goes deeper.
You’re enjoying a pint, or maybe a cream tea, in some far-flung and tranquil hostelry, and all of a sudden a cycle club descends.
Their headgear is like something out of Alien, and their crotch-hugging yellow tights are out of some dodgy B-movie refused a licence.
It’s really not pretty to watch. At least the Hell’s Angels in the other corner are covering themselves up.
Oh, for the far-off days when the Victorian cyclist took to the road in a tweedy version of their everyday attire. And simply popped a jar of embrocation in the pocket.
* Dr Chris Upton is avoiding the velodrome at Newman University in Birmingham