How I hit the big time in little China

It was bad news for Barclays when the bicycle hire scheme they had sponsored in London became rebranded and known as Boris bikes, with the minimal effort on Boris's part. It was a spring afternoon a couple of years ago when I decided on a whim to try one out in Westminster near the Houses of Parliament.

No sooner had I paid for the bicycle and  unlocked it than I was approached by a Chinese man in a white t-shirt. Behind him there where several other men, one with a large camera. They explained that they wanted to interview me for Chinese TV. I agreed.

The man produced a fluffy microphone and asked me several questions such as how often I used these bikes and where I was going to. Then they wanted to film me riding off on the bike. I did so and waved jauntily to a potential audience of over a billion men, women and children.

I headed off down Great College Street towards the choir school. I had not ridden a bike for several years and was a little wobbly on it trying to balance my bag. I was not sure where I was going or where the next bike drop-off point was. I looked over my shoulder at the lights and saw another person on a Boris bike behind me, coincidentally Chinese and not one of the men I had met earlier. I thought nothing more of it.

The days passed. The early promise of spring receded into cold and wet days. I was to meet my friend for a birthday party in Chinatown. I walked down a damp Shaftesbury Avenue and onto Gerrard Place. Glazed poultry hung in the windows of the restaurant. I turned the handle and walked in.

Instantly, I was met with looks of recognition by the waiters as if I was their most valued customer and I imagined I heard the phrase 'Boris bike' project from somewhere in the room. The meal passed uneventfully, although the waiters did seem to be unusually attentive.

It was only when I had paid my part of the bill and went to leave that I was approached by a small man in a suit, who I recognised as the cyclist behind me on that promising spring day. He proffered a business card, explained he was an entertainment agent and that I had made the big time in China.

The clip of me on the bicycle, first shown on the tea-time news in China, had achieved cult status from Chengdu to Chongqing. The image of myself slowly waving as I rode off into Westminster had touched a nerve of deep hilarity in the People's Republic. The man explained there were t-shirts, branded tea-sets and possible guest appearances to be made. Boris Bike Man was huge in the East and I needed people on the ground to mediate for me.

I walked home clutching the edges of the business card in my pocket. The next morning I rang its mobile number. My first engagement was in front of a large blue screen in Docklands. They had acquired an outsize version of a Boris bike on which I had to ride while a number of backgrounds were digitally created on the screen behind. I also wore a t-shirt that said Boris Bike Man. After going round in circles for a while, I was always lovingly filmed waving slowly at the camera.

Mr. Wui-Lei, the agent, explained that I was to be paid in something called Bitcoin. After a few days, I received some bad news, however. The Chinese government was blocking searches for Boris Bike Man on Google and was confiscating my earnings for use in their space programme. As I lay on my bed in my small room, I could see the moon through the window. This was to be used by the Chinese as a base on their eventual destination of Mars. I imagined my pedalling motions powering their rockets for a few metres along their way. Having failed to make it in the city of my birth, I had briefly fancied I had conquered Cathay. And, let's face it, you're no-one until you've made it in China.

The phone rang. It was Mr. Wui-Lei. He wanted to know if I was interested in an alternative business opportunity involving electronic cigarettes. I politely declined. After one Chinese banquet, I did not immediately want another one.