Switzerland
A committed Dernyist and a specialist in other forms of motorised sports equipment and part time cultural adviser to lesser well funded governments. Political expert in cross border solution solving. Enjoyed a wonderful time in London 2012 as a consultant to LOCOG coaching the arts of Dernyism on the track before gripping the handlebars once again in a Tokyo comeback. Zamboni trainer in Milano Cortina 2026. Was previously based in Stuttgart running clinics for young Swabians committed to learning the basics of derny pacing complemented with detailed workshops on the siberian wood formations of track cycling surfaces. Also helped with the East European Policy thinktank on urban cycle racks in one of my other guises! Previously was instrumental in redefining the drag coefficient of motor racing cars in the 1970s, along with Emmerson Fittipaldi and Mario Andretti. Indeed even now the sump that surrounds the crankshaft is referred to as 'Le Timpson' by F1 mechanics. Quelle honneur!! My star turn was in the 1975 film Rollerball, where I designed the iconic circular track in a shed in Munich and drove a Honda CB 125 in the film with my good friend James Caan hanging off the back. In the 1980s, I took a sabbatical and spent 3 years filming underwater action sequences for films along with Jacques Cousteau and Cubby Broccoli - even getting to drive the boat in Jaws (when Robert Shaw was 'below decks'). In the 90s I was back on the bike and working at the kart track at Corby. The call of The Derny was irresistible and I went back to my roots - keep tight, keep straight, keep clean and keep your appendages clear of the gears! Am now available for symposia, track consultancy, socio-economic workshops, pro-celebrity badminton events and one-off underwater filming projects.
DRAFT TEXT OF THE "DEREK TIMPSON" NETFLIX TRAILER: In the annals of cycling lore — somewhere between the truth, the track, and a particularly strong cappuccino — there exists a figure whispered about in velodromes from Shrewsbury to Shizuoka. His name drifts through the rafters like the background hum of a two‑stroke engine. They say he was not born but summoned, conjured in a cloud of exhaust and enlightenment when the cycling gods decided mortals required a muse of pacing artistry. Legend holds that Derek’s first sounds were not “mama” or “papa,” but the soft, guttural putter of a derny engine warming at dawn. Before long, he would ride alongside champions, pacing them with a serenity normally reserved for Tibetan monks or high‑end espresso machines. Some say he could hold a perfect line with his eyes closed; others swear he could sense a cyclist’s lactic threshold the way a sommelier senses tannins. As the decades turned, Derek’s legend spilled beyond cycling. There were whispers of other talents: Impeccable blue‑sky thinking Improvisational comedy Mastery of ice resurfacing, mini windmills, French cricket, and possibly battleships. The enigmatic ability to “keep tight to the blue line consistently”. A polymath? An urban myth? An esoteric exaggeration? Perhaps all three. What becomes of a legend like Derek Timpson? Some say he still roams the velodromes of Europe at dusk, derny engine purring like a contented lion. Others say he appears at symposia and workshops, materializing between the smell of chain oil and the distant echo of applause. But true devotees know: Derek Timpson cannot be found. He arrives
Mini golfing entrepreneur and small scale visionary for the intertwining of celebrity excesses with practical sporting applications in out of the way mountain places. Works cheek by jowl with luminaries such as Dino Zoff, Miley Cyrus, Roger Waters and Peter Shilton on our shared vision for mini golf. Currently engaged on the Roger Moore mini golf and vegetarian cafe experience in Valais, Switzerland which promises to be a visual and aural plunge into the life of the number 1 James Bond ever to hit our screens.
Wow. That's all I can say. Wow. My last few years are now at an end, and the highly sensitive secondment to Joe and the team in Washington (on behalf of a few notable European Institutions) is now done and dusted. Many thanks again to Ron Klain and his crew for the hard graft and laughs over a post work game of beer-pong (which they rather inappropriately call Beirut btw!). The ink is currently drying on some soon to be released upcoming federal legislation, including installing a cycle lane on Route 66, pedestrianisation of Manhatten and creation of a fenced off area of western Alabama for paintball enthusiasts and white supremacists. My job is therefore done! Am now back in Europe with a spring in my step to work with the Swiss Government on their ambitious plan to install a revolutionary 3D velodrome in every town in the Swiss Romande. Imagine the Wall of Death that you used to see at fairgrounds fused with Evil Knieval's 1970s loop the loop track (with of course a healthy dose of Ron Webb Siberian Pine hrown in) and you get the picture! All this on a scale to make the CERN Hadron Collider down the road seem like a children's underground play area. Epic!! Speaking of my old mate Evil, have posted a photo of me and him outside the outdoor velodrome in Des Moines in '71. He wanted to try his hand at a bit of derny riding but insisted on using his trusted Triumph Bonneville T100. A bit throaty for that kind of endeavour! 3 races in, the great man could not contain himself, or his speed, any longer. Opened up the throttle on the 2nd lap of the keirin semi final, straight up the banking. Jumped 10 rows of spectators before crash landing on top of a hot dog van. What a man. What a derny race! Peace and Love all!!
Brought in by my old mucker, Michel Barnier, to help with the EU understanding of Brexit from the Perfidious Albion side of the trench! Michel and I go way back as he was my first ever pen pal, and used to stay with me for family holidays in Nailsea. We used to take the pedalo up the coast to Clevedon, before necking a quart of scrumpy each and throwing stones at the seagulls on the beach. Great to be back in tandem with the old fella, and grown quite close now to him and his other 2 musketeers - Donald 'Rhino' Tusk and JC Juncker - aka 'The Prussian'. Now that I'm living just off the high street in Spilsby, Lincolnshire, the 3 amigos often pop over to my bolthole when visiting the UK for a couple of pints of IPA, a lamb rogan josh and a quick game of Risk. The Prussian seems to have a particular penchant for the world domination game, and always heads straight for the Urals. Rhino, prefers a spot of Cluedo and there's often a heated debate about whether he can be Mrs Peacock as that is also Michel's favourite starting point. As ever, I have to intervene and adjudicate and pacify Rhino with a bag of pork scratchings and a bottle of ginger beer and a promise that he can be Professor Plum for the evening. Anyway, enough of my musings. Time to pop down on the bike to the Quilted Baguette pub in Halton Holegate for a shandy, or ein radler as The Prussian likes to refer to it. Can wait to see those guys again for a beetle drive evening down the parish hall next week, if Mrs May lets them out early.
Following my release from prolonged captivity on Easter Island, I have accepted a cultural role on Great Andaman Island. This is focussed on establishing a system of 2 wheel vehicle transportation alongside a programme to translate the works of Charlie & Lola into Jarawan. I am currently living in a 2 storey tree house with my good friend Basil Heyerdahl, and we pass the time in incantation about our imprisonment inside one of the hollowed out large heads on Easter Island at the hands of a group of rogue Polynesian bandits. This trauma followed our ambitious effort to repeat the feats of Basil's uncle, Thor, to sail across the Pacific Ocean on a modified lime green pedalo we purchased for £65 in Paignton. A year later, having only been able to see daylight through the left orbit of the large head, we were rescued by some heavily armed Peruvian ecologists. We were then re-united with our pedalo which the locals had curiously adopted as a local fertility symbol. Boy, had I missed the pedalling action after a year in captivity! To spur us on - Basil and me would imagine we were back on the Siberian pine tracks whistling round the bends. Basil favours a Ralph Schuermann track design so his bends are quick and tight whilst I have a hankering for the sweeping ovals of Ron Webb. Ah, how we cut through the waves relishing the spume on our faces as we pressed onwards. Now ensconced in our tree house, I have staved off a burgeoning addiction to chewing mangrove bark (as well as the outer lining of other woody climbers) and my experiences overcoming this has led me to establish a programme of rehabilitation for the Jarawan locals. There is an endemic problem here for people who listen to a local radio station which is 100% dedicated to re-runs of 'Our Tune' hosted by Simon Bates. The symptoms are horrific and the intellectual degeneration is profound. Plenty of work to do here folks for Basil and me! Happy pedalling and keep pumping up those walnut cracking quadriceps!!