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Shit. I’d get the sack for this.

I climbed out to inspect the damage. It was relatively light, given the circumstances. The most striking feature was a whacking great tyre that had wedged itself into the front air scoop, as though the Koenigsegg was biting a giant doughnut.

Christian von K arrived on the scene and wanted to know what had happened. I apologised profusely. My most earnest expression was totally lost on him behind the visor. As the car was mopped up I prepared for the walk of shame into the production office to face Andy Wilman. He was talking to Clarkson, and as I opened the door he whipped around to face me.

This was the first time I had even dented a car with TG. I had no idea how much of a big deal it was to them. A racing team would understand, but a TV show that borrowed cars from manufacturers based on goodwill was completely different.

‘I am so, so sorry, Andy.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it.’ Jeremy treated me to the mother of all smiles. ‘I told you it’s bloody awful, didn’t I? I’m surprised you held on to it that long.’

You had to love this bloke. A lesser man could have hung me out to dry.

‘Did you get a good time out of it?’ Andy asked.

‘Reasonable. If they stuck a rear wing on it and sorted the brakes it would go about three seconds faster round here.’

‘Three seconds? Bollocks.’

‘Seriously. It’s massively short of downforce; you can feel the body rolling and walking on the straights. If they nail it down with a proper wing and sort the other problems, three seconds.’

Andy shrugged and exchanged glances with Clarkson. These two had known each other since school. Thick as thieves. Andy went straight to Christian von K and booked another run. Several weeks later. They were determined to beat the fastest time set by the Pagani Zonda.

I’d be sad to see the Zonda defeated. It was possibly the most beautiful supercar in the world, from the stunning carbon-weave body to the leather-bound steering wheel.

Mr Pagani took a personal interest in every detail of every car he designed. The Zonda was relentlessly polished and primed prior to filming.

‘Oi, mate, what car’s that, then?’ a besuited spectator had shouted to the man with the duster from behind the track barrier.

The Italian politely upturned his hands. ‘Mi dispiace, che io non parlano Inglese …’

‘What, no speaky English?’ The suit looked left and right for an audience that failed to materialise. The laugh was on him anyway. He was insulting Mr Pagani himself, a gentleman wealthy enough to leave a platinum horse’s head on his pillow.

I made my way to the Koenigsegg, now fitted with its rear wing and some brake fluid. I thought the mechanic would look daggers at the white-suited hooligan pacing towards his baby, but he welcomed me with a smile and a vigorous handshake.

The wing stabilised the car so much under braking that I could carry lots more speed into all the corners. The power steering worked and the brakes were faultless. The car was no less dramatic to drive and had me sweating profusely. As I chipped away at the times I was always relieved to cross the finish line.

Jim Wiseman gave me the thumbs up, we had all been waiting for, and confirmed that the car had ‘gone fastest’. I’m not sure there’s such a thing as a perfect lap in the CCX, but it was the closest I could get that day on 1.17.9.

I parked up whilst Jim gave Christian von K the good news. He practically levitated with joy. His head rocked back and gazed at the sky, thrusting both fists upwards. His crew shook all our hands repeatedly. I was even given a signed copy of the Koenigsegg Storybook and a Koenig-segg bobble hat.

TG had pulled out all the stops to make the run happen, and Christian felt it personally. I changed into civvies and found Jim Wiseman outside the greenroom looking very stressed indeed.

‘Fuck …’ He covered his mouth with a cocked finger.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘You just did 1.17.9, right?’

I nodded. ‘One tenth faster than the Zonda.’

‘That’s the thing. It’s one tenth