The roads themselves are a strange mix. In the centre of the town the surface is beautifully smooth, and certainly well maintained. A perfect cycling surface, all except for the giant potholes where every manhole cover lies. It’s as if they try desperately to maintain the road by constantly tarring it to keep it billiard table smooth, but never raise the manhole covers, so that over time they seem to sink beneath the tarmac.

The side streets, shooting off up steep hills, are either pitted tarmac, or ridiculously uneven cobbles, though this would open up opportunities for some rather exciting urban downhill mountain biking.

The thing to keep in mind, of course, is that Georgia simply isn’t a rich country. Cycling facilities would be so far down the list of priorities of any administrative body that they have virtually no chance of ever seeing the light of day. Some little pockets of resistance do hang on, with a couple of cycling clubs, and even an old velodrome (presumably a relic of the Soviet era). But simple, practical, day-to-day cycling would surely be a pipe dream.

Returning to the UK I’d never had such a good impression of the driving on our roads. I had space and time. The horn is hardly ever heard. The drivers are courteous and (in general) obey the markings on the tarmac over which they are conveyed.

Of course, these feelings didn’t last long, but the next time I find myself wistfully thinking of how things are done on the continent I’ll let my mind wander a little further, reach for Georgia, and fight off the cold sweat that appears on my brow even just thinking about cycling in Tbilisi.

.there are a few brave souls in Tbilisi, such as the Georgian Street Cycling Club