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The 4.7-litre V8 engine was locked into the rear bulkhead, in a similar layout to a Le Mans car, with the springs and dampers clearly visible over the double wishbone suspension. The all-carbon air scoop snaked across the top of the engine like the taut neck of a body-builder.

I lifted the door up, not out, towards the sky, and was surprised to find my helmet wedged into the upholstered ceiling when I sat inside. I squidged around to find a less claustrophobic position and strapped myself into the belts.

I gunned the engine and felt the brawn of the cylinders rumbling behind the seat.

I gave Jim the thumbs up. He grinned. ‘Be careful out there!’

‘Never.’

‘Stand by to roll, everyone, track is going live in 3, 2, 1 …’

I dropped the clutch at just over 4,000 revs and shot off with the rear bouncing. Aboard the Koenigsegg you actually felt the spinning wheels patting the tarmac. The engine barked a raw note as the revs peaked and fell each time the wheels broke traction. In just over three seconds the car reached 60mph, and a few seconds after that it was running at 120 into the first corner. I squeezed the brake pedal and felt the weight swing across the rear axle. With minimal downforce to keep it in check, the rear twitched and my world started rocking.

Changing gears required the dexterity of a brain surgeon to avoid crossing the gate and grabbing the wrong gear. A fumbled down-change would lock the rear wheels in an instant and could spit the car off the track. On the up-change, it might over-rev and blow the engine to bits.

As I exited the first corner I short-shifted a gear to reduce the wheel-spin and make life easier. There was so much grunt that she still let loose and I strained into the belts as the back swung away.

The steering wheel felt as small as a beer mat when I whipped it over and struggled to find the return point, the moment in the slide when the grip came back and required me to straighten the front wheels. Leave it too late and the slide would go into transition and spit me off. The CCX had a slow steering rack, which meant I had to work the wheel twice as much as normal. I was aware of the flurry of my white gloves and suffered the added indignity of accidentally setting off the horn buttons on the wheel handles.

I stroked her up to about 145 on the back straight towards the heavy braking area for Hammerhead. I pressed the pedal and it moved towards the floor, but the car didn’t slow down. Tyre wall, landing lights, field, trees ahead.

I had to lift my foot and apply it again twice to build fluid pressure and slow the car in time for the corner. I straight-lined the chicane and took a close-up of the catch net they used to put up for snagging greedy jets that gobbled up too much runway.

I motored on towards the Follow Through, checked the brakes and turned in. The car felt very light at the rear as I powered through and towards the tyre wall corner. I gave a big lift and then floored it on to the main straight towards the final corners. As we straightened up it felt like the main body was still leaning from the previous corner. The bodywork was acting like an aerofoil as the speed built up over 160. It was so light on downforce that nothing prevented it from squirming around.

I needed to speak to Jim.

‘It sounds amazing; what’s it like?’

‘It’s … amazing all right. It’s got a braking problem; the pedal is going long at the Hammerhead chicane. Feels like I might lose them completely. Also, there’s something wrong with the power steering; it suddenly goes heavy when I’m sliding.’

Jim translated this into Koenigsegg and came back with his response.

‘They say that their driver, well, their engineer, warmed the car up this morning and it was fine. It’s up to you. If it’s not safe, obviously don’t drive it.’

I stared at the dashboard for an answer. It would be a major blow to Koenigsegg if I refused to drive. Then again, I didn’t fancy brake failure and being flat-packed at the Hammerhead tyre wall.

‘It’s cool. Let’s crack on, but if it gets worse we might have to stop.