For the love of speed

2014-05-25 15:00

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Let me start by saying I am no petrolhead. I don’t follow car trends. I don’t drool over the latest mega horsepower engine that growls like an angry wolf and has enough thrust to snap your neck.

I don’t get weak at the knees when I read about ­complex engine bling or independent suspension that only rocket engineers can figure out.

But I do like speed, so if you get offered the opportunity to be driven at breakneck speed by The Stig, why pass it up.

I’m standing at the edge of the Dezzi Raceway track just outside Margate. I have a helmet on and in front of me is a performance car. It’s a Mercedes C63 AMG and it growls like a pride of hungry lions and goes from zero to 100km/h faster than it takes a virgin to ejaculate.

If you don’t know what Top Gear is or who The Stig is, then I’m sorry to break it to you, you’re living under a rock.

It has to be the most successful BBC export in history. Jeremy Clarkson, James May and Richard Hammond have built a huge ­global audience, and they get The Stig to drive their performance cars around their track to see which is fastest.

Some say that The Stig only starts to breathe when he hits 200km/h and that his bed is made of Alfa Romeo pistons. All I know is he drives like a bat out of hell.

It’s my turn to go. The Top Gear producer walks over, asks if I’m ready, tells me to strap in and says The Stig is coming over.

“Don’t ask any questions,” he says.

Stig doesn’t talk.

The iconic, white-suited, helmet-wearing speedster strolls over, slides into the driver’s seat and floors it.

The Merc sucks up the petrol and rockets down the track. I ­haven’t even had the time to absorb the speed when the lunatic flings the car into a right bend then a left bend, then another right and another left, tyres screeching under the force but keeping ­traction, the engine now roaring.

Adrenaline courses through my veins and before I know it, the ride is over.

The Stig gets out, stands patiently next to the car and waits for a slightly wobbly me to sidle up and have my picture taken.

It was a great moment. I wish I’d driven the car myself, but I’m chuffed to have been driven by an icon. The Stig rules!

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