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My favourite method of filming was by helicopter; it offered so much perspective at speed and could follow the action almost wherever it led.

I flew out to Valencia to film Sauber’s new Formula 1 car. Felipe Massa was driving and it was the first time I’d caught up with him since Formula 3. He was still down to earth and smiling at a world of opportunity that was opening up for him.

I was driving a BMW that had been hurriedly modified with a ton of scaffolding to act as a tracking vehicle. The camera was rigged too close to the exhaust, which blew condensation over the camera lens. Also Iain’s camera operating console was malfunctioning, so we kept getting fixed shots of either sky or tarmac.

By the time an F1 engine was switched on it cost the team around £50,000, so every lap counted. I had to drive the BMW flat out just to prevent Massa’s engine overheating. And the track was damp.

Iain rode in the back cursing the equipment, and I had Phil directing from the passenger seat. It was his first time on track with me. To communicate with Massa he had to relay everything via the team, so they could pass it on through Massa’s earpieces. Phil was having a shocker getting his shots and our allotted laps were counting down.

‘Can you get alongside the F1 coming out of this next corner?’

‘Yep, but he’s not making it easy,’ I replied. ‘He keeps pulling up on the way out …’

The BMW sank low on its wheel arches as it struggled through the turns under the burden of the metal cage and camera. It was an embarrassing contrast with the thoroughbred F1 bird trundling alongside on idle.

Determined to drive out of the corner ahead of Massa, I had the traction control off and squeezed hard on the gas. The tyres spun and I ended up sideways on the slippery painted exit kerbs, just as he popped up alongside for a close-up. The rear snapped back into line and the Sauber promptly romped away.

‘Phil, this camera is shit,’ Iain chimed, oblivious to everything else. Phil turned slowly towards me as I chased after Massa and said, ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yeah, no problem.’

‘You sure? Do you need to pull over for a minute? Because from where I’m sitting, we nearly just hit a Formula 1 car.’ The colour had drained from his face.

‘No, we’re fine, I had options.’ I fought to keep a straight face. ‘Phil, this camera’s shit. I can’t pan or focus; all I’m getting is sky,’ Iain said.

We took a five-minute break which turned into two hours of watching the local technicians try in vain to resolve the camera system. I explained to Massa the track positioning we were trying to achieve, and we managed another sketchy run with more footage of sky, tarmac and glimpses of Sauber.

Phil hopped into a helicopter to shoot from the air. As it crabbed sideways down the pit straight, all eyes were on the Formula 1 car as it exited the last corner and sped into view.

Phil sensed something was wrong, glanced up from his viewer and felt the air sucked out of his lungs by what he saw.

‘BRIIIIIIIIDGE …’

The pilot swivelled his head to the right and clocked the walkway over the middle of the pit straight, now metres away from the airframe and only feet below the spinning blades. His wrist snapped at the cyclic stick and he cranked the collective to gain altitude, hopping the bridge just in time.

‘Thank you, Señor.’

Most helicopter shots were achieved using a stabilised head operated by an onboard specialist or by a guy hanging his ass out of the door with the recorder on his shoulder. It required a combination of skill and balls to sit in the fresh air with both hands on the camera, with a false view of the horizon, and still manage to keep the target in focus.

Iain May lived for these occasions. He was da man when it came to reading oncoming traffic so that I could overtake with impunity and scythe through the countryside.

One of the finest scenic drives in the world was the Flüelapass from Davos to Susch in Switzerland, a 17-mile stretch of stunning alpine road.