I’ve been strapped into this car so tightly I can barely draw breath. My steering wheel is clipped on, and then a pair of mechanics fit the snug cockpit surround in place, banging it fixed with what seems the finality of nails in a coffin lid.
Not that I’m scared, or resigned to an early grave. I’m excited, impatient even. And this moment – punching the start button on an F1 car and feeling its mighty V10 beating menacingly behind me – is something I have dreamed of since I was a kid. Continue reading
Adam Hay-Nicholls 