I’m peeping through my crash helmet at a cobalt sky, vision restricted to a rectangular frame, hearing muted — other than the low hum of the intercom that connects me to my co-pilot. And I’m selfcounselling: my therapist would be proud.
Inner me is telling older me that younger me would feel no fear at my current status: awaiting a pit-lane green light in the most super of supercars. That being behind the wheel of a preproduction McLaren Senna — only 500 made, all sold, £750,000 at the kerb — is to be embraced, relished and enjoyed, not feared.