IT WAS a cold and frosty 7am start as I set off for Oxford station. This is a rare occurrence as I am not a commuter and I am generally not an early riser either, but this day was different. I had been invited to the Brompton factory in Brentford for a day of all things...folding.

As I jumped off my Brompton at the entrance, so too did many other Brompton owners, but (and it’s a big ‘but’) as they were jumping on the train, I was still there doing my “fold” (MENTAL NOTE TO SELF: practice, practice, practice to avoid this embarrassment again).

The factory location was not pretty, but as we swung our Bromptons into the industrial estate shared with the likes of Mercedes, my mind was on other things – the fold.

The last on the train and the last into the meeting room, I was starting to feel like I would never achieve my Brompton ‘wings’ (or ‘wheels’ to be more appropriate).

As there were a few of us from different bike shops, we were split into groups; my group being first to look round the factory where the magic happens.

At first sight it looks cosy and relaxed, guys with jigs hand-brazing the frames together alongside a Radio 2 background soundtrack and general banter, but as the complexity and dedication was explained to us, I began to wonder that they even get one bike out a day.

You see, a Brompton is not an ordinary bike; it comprises some 1,200 parts, many of which are unique just like the tools and machinery needed to assemble them.

The few parts that are made for Brompton elsewhere are put through rigorous checks, x-rayed even before they are used and I don’t just mean the first out the box – no, every single one.

Nearing the end of the factory tour we were accosted by the managing director, Will Butler-Adams, and not content with the information we’d already accrued on quality checks, he then introduced us to the computers and people that do the actual testing.

He sternly advised that one in 50 frames are checked for alignment; that they can quickly pinpoint the jig that has produced the incorrect frame and even the brazier that hand welded the frame. So yes, we got the point – everyone at Brompton is accountable and every bike produced has a paper trail as long as Route 66.

With heads overflowing, we rallied round for the final folding contest, and with heart in mouth, I waited for the stopwatch to start.

Although I forgot to fold my pedal, I managed 34 seconds, with which I felt satisfied (although the big question of course is, was I last?).

Well no.

Thankfully I beat a guy from London and on that high, whizzed back to Oxford, folding my Brompton with pride.