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It required something special not to tear yourself away from the monocle as some lunatic headed towards your kneecaps at ramming speed. Most mortals would be running for cover or asking the director to leave the rig unmanned. TG crews stayed put, because they could pull the image into crisper focus – and the results were there for all to see. We built up a high level of trust and I never felt complacent about the risks they took to get the perfect shot.

On Series 6 of TG the presenters splashed out on three dreadful coupés for less than £1500 a throw. I went to the alpine handling track at Millbrook to test their suspension and handling flaws. The Hill Route was soaking wet, and encompassed every kind of treacherous bend. The fastest machine around a closed loop would be deemed the winner.

The three musketeers duly arrived with three old heaps. Jeremy had a Mitsubishi Starion, James a Jaguar XJS and Richard a BMW 635. I made a cursory inspection of them all. Judging by the amount of rust and gaffer tape not quite holding them together, I reckoned I had a one in six chance of spearing off. I passed this on to the crew: ‘If it sounds or looks wrong, start running.’

James’s XJS was an utter shed. It was all I could do to hold it in a gear and count the minutes as she struggled to make it up the hill. Gravity kindly guided it down the other side.

Clarkson’s clapped-out ball of metal was the fastest and boasted a vague semblance of handling. Hammond’s BMW was a mean old dog that still liked to bite. It was the most powerful of the three, but 300kg heavier and designed back in the days before ABS braking systems. Time had not been kind to it in other ways; she was inclined to turn right even when you spun the steering left.

Millbrook boasted a famous jump where you went airborne and landed at a sharp left-hander. We had a camera located directly ahead, tucked behind the barriers. The man operating it normally worked at Dunsfold, so a location shoot was new territory. He was also pushing seventeen stone.

With the presenters in eager anticipation I wiped the condensation from inside my visor, took the cue to go over the radio and sped up the hill. The BM had the sweet cocktail scent of old air fresheners and wallowed like a Cross-Channel ferry. The engine’s rattle suggested the ignition timing was counting it down to oblivion. I arrived at the presenters’ viewpoint, hit the brakes and nearly joined them when the BM wobbled into its suspension and locked a rear wheel. Clarkson yelled, ‘Run for your lives!’

I turned down the hill and nailed the throttle. As I powered up the jump the BM lurched into the air and started to turn right before I’d even landed. The suspension made a loud groan as its groggy parts stretched out of their sockets. Before the car cleared the crest, our stocky cameraman had his Nikes on and was pegging it into the trees faster than Linford Christie, knees pumping at chest height. I couldn’t eject, I still had to land this disaster.

The BM slewed to 45 degrees in the air and pulled further right as she cannoned into the tarmac. Copious opposite lock countered the slide but the sheer weight of the machine pulled it down the slope at increasing speed towards the recently vacated Armco barrier. I broke the rules of car control and hit the brake pedal to reduce speed mid-slide. The front wheels locked abruptly and the engine spurted oil across the tyres. I wasn’t confident of braking any time soon.

I’d lost count of the steering revolutions, but with plenty of left-hand lock still on, the BM made a brutish swerve and climbed the left-hander. I was in so deep that I resigned myself to swiping the barrier. I waited … and it just missed. The tank-slapper came to an end some 50 metres further on.

Clarkson’s Starion won the contest comfortably.

The next three-way shoot was on the Isle of Man and involved three brand-new speedsters: Aston Martin’s 8 Vantage, BMW’s M6 and Porsche’s Carrera S. You have to take the rough with the smooth.

The stark landscape reminded me of