It’s true, I drive a 1999 Ford Fiesta. It doesn’t look like much, but it hardly ever breaks down. This is because when you lift the bonnet (is that what it’s called?) you discover that there’s pretty much just an engine and an oil thing in it. When I’m cruising down the High Street though, I feel like Rubens Barrichello (some say I even look like him). I imagine I’m going as fast as he does, even when I’m clearly stopped at a red light. I can feel like this because I’ve invested in some wicked F1 Merchandise. Hat, racing jacket, boots – you name it.

And yes, it’s true, I’ve spray painted my car red, and my mate Brian hand painted a logo for a certain brand of American cigarettes on the sides. It doesn’t fool anyone, but at least we’ve tried.

I’ve pretended I’m an F1 driver all over the UK. I even went on a road trip around Scotland with it once. It never broke down and it never broke the 65 mile an hour mark. Plockton, John O’ Groats, Edinburgh – you name it, and my car has held up traffic in it.