Cadwell time again, and as ever this is my entire season encapsulated into a single meeting. I don’t think there is a better guide for how fast you and the car are together than this place. Power deficiencies don’t count quite so much, the car can only disguise how poor you are to a limited degree here, and that’s part of why we love it so much. Because we never seem to have any power, so it’s all about the corners.

And when it comes to corners, we love throwing a huge and heavy car round here as hard as we dare, and putting it in an unexpected position on the grid. With the Jags we never missed the front two rows in quali, we were always 4 or so places higher than expected. If we can move that across to the pre 93s we might put her in the top dozen or so in quali, and that would be progress.

But before we can get here, the brakes. God help me did we struggle with the brakes. A replacement master cylinder was fitted, but because of reported quality control issues with RHD versions, we move to LHD. All it means is re-routing the pipes, and as we use cunifer that was no big deal. Getting a pedal, on the other hand, drove me scatty. It took 4 days, and 2 litres of fluid. The servo turned out to be broken – in my Mallory no-brakes panic my size 11s appear to have rammed the pedal not through the floor, but the servo, something in there has collapsed and the pedal wasn’t returning fully.

After that though was what appeared to be an eternal air bubble that we chased round and round the car. Three sets of spare callipers, two of them brand new recon sets, a second new master cylinder, and nothing gave us a proper pedal feeling. We took callipers apart, there was rubber grease in every orifice, and so much fluid that your hands start to go pruny. The new m/c were shifting plenty of fluid, unlike the failed units, but we eventually left for the track baffled and relying upon the mainstay of our “It’s all gone wrong and I give up” solutions, Dermott of Power4Peanuts fame. He fixed the brakes in about ten minutes by changing the pads for a new set, and then a “hot bleed” that consisted of using them. After four days of frustration it was quite a relief, because I was within a hair of pulling out of the meeting and had turned into a full on stroppy diva.

We had also stuffed Vanessa in the back of the truck as a spare car, (what a luxury!) and hunted rabbits down country lanes with the lorry to that blessed green miracle hidden in the middle of nowhere. Cadwell is such a remote, hidden away place for a circuit, but it does seem to mean that nobody cares if you make a few noises. A huddled bbq as the first of the hints of autumn rolled in, and in line with my policy these days, very limited alcohol intake. Not that it helped any, I left the almost-full bottle of wine out, and some other bastard in the paddock drank it. Baffling. No joke, we found the empty bottle. That is a first for me, never seen that before.

Testing commenced bright and early on Friday morning, and with her brakes restored, time to assault the place. Helen’s first time here since the rebuild, and first time on 888s, we had much to learn. In many ways this is her proper debut, Castle Combe a mere warm up, Mallory an embarrassing sideshow.

There was immediate pace, and an early indication that we had work to do. Understeer was back, but that is why we packed a Dermott in the toolbox. Unlike many test sessions, this was not just mumping round all day, but an actual test, with feedback, and measuring things. We haven’t done this since mid 2010, and it takes a while to get back into the mindframe needed to consistently produce laptimes and comment on the changes made. It’s not something that my day job exactly sets you up for. It is a skill I would like to hone.

Tyre pressure changes, damper tweaks, and Helen broke into the 1.44s. That’s not bad for an old girl. Weight, exhaust, and tyres are the key changes, but we are still fighting that understeer, we do not yet have that balanced car I crave. I’ve always tended towards a hint of understeer, but this is a bit much, the car is a bit of a handful in places. That said, it’s Cadwell, and we’re shifting. This place puts me into a rhythm faster than any place we go to, an XJS here is like putting on an old pair of gloves.

They have put me out in the same session as about a thousand Caterham Graduates, and the surprise is that we’re faster than most, I’m swatting them like mosquitos. They out-accelerate me up to about 80mph, and they out-brake us, but top end of course we’re faster, and the amazing thing is that we’re out-cornering most of them. That is something I did not expect. A good number of them are a little peeved. I understand that the sound of the Jag’s twin pipes at full bellow is enough to rattle the brain of a Caterham pilot. Sorry! The one that did give me a run for it proceeded to fall off. Must be their tyres.

After lunch a bit of a breakthrough, a change of ride height offers improvements. We don’t put a clock on this, but the car is better behaved. We have also nearly done for the first 888. A quick calculation says the car has punished the most abused tyre down to the “not enough tread to offer full performance” level in about 5 hours. By way of comparison, that is about double what it takes to murder an R1R. Bear’s record was one hour to slaughter a new R1R. These really are so much better. I now need to try some A048s, reckoned to be better again.

With a session still to go on the day, we call it done. There is no sense using up further tyres, fuel and brakes just for the sake of caning it round and round, I’ve had 5 20-minute sprints, and I have personally improved today, but then if I’ve not started to knock some of the rust off my driving by now there’s not much hope. The laptime we have is faster than the JEC XJS lap record here, the Bear in 2010 holds that, and his stopwatch reports it as no fluke either, we were putting in consistent times. One more second would be nice though, to crack the 1.43s would be faster than David Howard on the Yokohamas, or as fast as Enola Gay in her pomp.

The problem is, as I know full well, we won’t go as fast as this again all weekend. Quali is more reserved than testing, and the race is more reserved than quali. For many people it’s the other way round, but I am almost always fastest in testing.

A successful day, however. We now have to wait a full day for qualifying. The structure of our meeting is such that I will qualify late on Saturday, then race twice on Sunday. I quite like the unusual structure. A relaxed evening examining the odd paddock that has assembled itself offers a few unusual sights. We have Legends out this weekend, and they have erected tent city in the lower paddock. 125 gearbox carts, plus an MG race all on top of the regular CTCRC fare. It’s an eclectic mix. Helen and Vanessa, both unloaded and lined up, attract a substantial amount of attention. So many people have forgotten the XJS ever raced. No-one here has ever heard of the JEC.

We have to accept that the engine is on its last legs. 4 seasons in, it was a good bottom end allied to an skimmed but unflowed head with standard XJS cams in it, no big money spent. It works out at about £5 per week  at this point, which for a racing car isn’t too heinous. But the oil pressure is now very poor, and the bearings are grumbling. She is losing power, the temperatures are starting to get a few degrees higher, internal friction may be becoming a factor. All she has to do is last the weekend, I fully expect to take the engine home in a bucket on Sunday night. But she has enough for one last stand.

The day to wait allows a long spanner check. Just as well, there are issues. A rear hub requiring a shim. The new wheel put on the front appears to be rubbing the track rod end. The brake lines, after the sheer number of components swapped, do not have any supports any longer, and the replacement braided lines do not meet with Mr Dermott’s approval, they could be better. Last week we were at a Jaguar meeting watching a car dump 3 gallons of oil on the circuit because it used jubilee clips on his oil lines, and here I am receiving orders to take what are acceptable and problem-free brake lines and throw them away because they could be a better specification. This is the difference that having a true professional’s input makes. When he says something, listen.

With a lazy day to attend to this, it all gets done without panic, and with all the gang now here there is a definite hint of nostalgia about this, there’s only Stewert and Eleanor missing. The weather’s nice, the tea is plentiful, and there are brightly coloured racing cars of all shapes and sizes chasing the rabbits. Most pleasant.

Scrutineering was late, 4 in the afternoon, so late that showing up at 3pm found a genial scrutineer who would turn out to be a “proper” scrutineer who actually knew what the rules are. It takes mere minutes to check out the Jag, much of which he spent laughing at what was under the bonnet and declaring me certifiable. I suppose after a 2 litre turbocharged Cossie, that 4 litre inline 6 is a bit of a lump.

Quali time, the gay smurf (Bear’s words!) costume on, and time to play the old Kutuka game. Get there first. You can’t play yourself in at Cadwell, you go flat out immediately, and there is no time to adjust settings or come in to do tyres. Dermott volunteers to go for the pitlane and do just that, but that means losing 2 timed laps, and it is so busy here with 26 cars on the grid that I don’t see that we can spare it. It was one of those moments when driver and engineer butt heads, but I’m not good enough to put in two blazing laps, sacrifice laps 3 and 4, and then do it again. I need the whole session, and I need clear air to do it.

The latter is easy. Get there first. Making friends with the nice lady at noise test garnered me instructions as to where to park if I were to come down now. A free noise test is thrown in. A small reversing incident appeared to demonstrate that my diff doesn’t lock, but that’s normal for my poor car, she never gets the good stuff.

The arriving queue behind me is long. 26 cars long. With the other pilots milling about chatting, I must look a little bit antisocial, but there is method to it. The signal to roll down to assembly comes, and Helen freewheels down the hill, bump starting 50 yards away, such that the rest of the grid fail to notice that I’ve gone. The little things amuse me, but this was more about being in the car and ready. I think it must take me longer to focus on what we’re doing than most, I have to be in the seat for a little while before the madness starts.

Finally, as the sun sits low but hot and burns Cadwell a shade of vivid green, the gates open. Immediately astern sits a Gulf-liveried Cossie, and there are a lot of cars here who are faster than us. So it is time for part 2 of the Kutuka qualifying, go like mad right out of the trap. Ignore the cold tyres, punch it.

By the end of Park straight on lap 1 I can’t see another car in the mirrors. My enthusiastic spectators tell me that bedlam erupted behind, as the fast cars fought with each other to be the one to chase. I suppose from their perspective this new guy in a Jag has just simply vanished, and they might think they’re in trouble. There is no understanding here of who or what we are, no reputation or history with them, I could be in 500bhp V12 for all they know.

Quali therefore turned into a full on race. I ran for it, they chased. And we caught traffic after about 4 laps. I’ve never been so rude in quali as I had to be, but there was no time to play nicely, so I took a leaf out of Stewert’s book.and stuck the car into any gap there was. The poor sod in the little Simca got overtaken in the middle of Hall bends, which is rude in anyone’s book.

Traffic slowed us, such that a pair of evil headlights appeared in the mirror, that ex-Tim Harvey SD1 in pursuit. I know that thing’s quick, that’s the car that keeps beating Howard’s XJ12, and because I want to know how fast we are by comparison here, I want to try and run from it. It made for great sport. We were not the sitting duck he, or that Cossie who has now caught up, expected. And Helen was flying. Literally. After years of playing here, we’re now carrying enough speed up the Mountain to get the wheels up.

After quali, parc ferme. Random checks. We approve. And they enforce it. Nobody touches the car, even people’s kids are sent scurrying away, they do mean parc ferme. Nice. The timesheets put us 8^th. On this grid, it feels like we just won the race. Only a flat 1.45, but that’s still decent, we’re 3 seconds shy of pole, and when you look what we’re up against, the old girl has done well. We can, after all, expect at least one of the front cars to break down yet. So it does prove, the pole sitter never took the start.

A single celebratory beer, and a chance to wind up a few competitors as we start to make a few friends in this alien paddock. The big blue Jag is her own icebreaker, the airborne cat draws attention. The BMW mob still think we’re mental.

Only as morning dawns and we sit, bright and early, in assembly, does it dawn on me what we’re up against. Any of the 7 cars ahead would buy you every car I’ve ever owned, the lorry we came in, and Bear. The drivers are not nobody. I recognise the BMW alongside as Busby, a man who lapped me in the 2007 “Victor Meldrew” race that gave birth to the TTRS series. He’s 2/10^th of a second faster in quali. Jesus. Cars astern are also rather more expensive. We’ve dumped a home-brew XJS in the middle of a lot of money, and I might need to take this a bit more seriously. Maybe.

The laughing scrutineer from earlier walks the line of cars, tapping a magnet on the front wings of all the cars. They must be steel. And he is checking. We like this a lot. Simple, obvious, transparent checks.

The race was never going to go as well for me. The Jag’s strength is to carry momentum. With only that wheezy engine to power us, the trick is to not slow down if possible, and that needs a clear space to do it. Add another car in front, and not much I can do with it. The Cadwell grid means little chance of out-starting anyone. We are going to go backwards in this.

Lights out, get the drop on that Gulf-coloured Cossie ahead, but now what? I have to wait for him to get it going, then re-launch myself a second time, by which time a blue M3 and a very yellow Renault 5 Turbo have gone past me like cannonballs. I have another Cossie up my trumpet, and just make turn 1 in p9, grab a small gap, the go defensive. Comprehensively out-powered and into a braking contest at Park, on the inside line, he wins that but leaves the door open for another go as we head for Chris Curve, but he has me now. With hindsight I should have gone harder on the brakes and run him out further, but my racecraft is very, very rusty and you can’t polish that in testing.

A cracking 3-way scrap developed. Cossie vs Renault vs Jag. I don’t hold out much hope on the back end of this one, I’ve had a look round that little car earlier and it says 765kg on the window, I’ve got literally double that, and not much more power. I should have him in the torque department, but that will only take me so far. Same for the Cossie too, I might have more low down pull, but the way that thing moves once it’s spooled up says I am outpowered here.

Somewhere deep in my tiny mind is the concept that maybe I can’t win this. Worth a try though, surely? Cossie and Renault are fighting each other. More power in the Ford, more nip and grip in the Renault, and the big blue barge flattening the scenery behind them. As we’re getting into this, yellow flags for the BMW of Ewings parked in the barriers at Hall Bends, then immediate red flags.

Re-gridded, and a fairly quick restart, now on the right of the grid. Once again, my launch isn’t great with nowhere to go, but I at least hold station to get back onto this 3-way fight. Renault passes Cossie, Cossie powers past Renault, and I appear to be faster than both in 2 key areas, the turn 1 banzai, and the Mountain/Hall Bends complex. The latter isn’t much use unless I plan to ram one, it’s not wide enough for a pass, but it’s worth hassling them there in case one falls off in panic. Plus I know the crowd love to see the vast bulk of the Jag hurl itself through this section of track. If you can’t win, be entertaining.

Turn 1 offers a possibility. And indeed as they fight, they slow each other, and Helen slams up the inside past the Renault onto the back of the understeering Sierra. One place back, time to set about the Cossie. Who buggers off down the back straight. The Renault pulls out from astern and also overtakes, I guarded the inside but he has enough poke not to care. Damn.

Oddly I can go later on the brakes than he does, but it doesn’t help. This is all backwards. We have the big Jag slower down the straights, but better under braking and through the twisty section of the track than the tiny lightweight car. I am confused, but it’s great fun. That moment weaving the car to one side then the other of your opponent in the Hall Bends is great, and I’m carrying a lot of speed up the Mountain in an attempt to land on his boot.

So does the race end, but that was pure entertainment. Started 8^th, finished 9^th. Top 10, I think we said we wanted. The laptime will be slow, held up in the scrap, but who cares, great fun. And there are a few people with a more healthy respect for the old Jag, as we line up in parc ferme again Mr Renault pilot is wearing his eyebrows above his hairline.

A series of people from the crowd wander over, some who love their Jags, some who love their racing, and all in amazement at having seen the speed she can do through the scary part. As I said before, some people have forgotten the XJS ever raced.

Class win for what it matters, another uncontested pot, but this time we’re OK accepting this, we raced hard and we earned our spot on the results sheet. 9^th on this grid isn’t bad going. Reports from watching Kutukans still suspect that we are getting the front wheels fully airborne at the Mountain. If so, that’s brilliant, we’ve wanted that photo for years.

Race 2 was not quite a carbon copy of race 1, because the poor old girl is starting to ail. The overflow from the header tank is connected to the screen wash nozzle, and the first squirt of water was on lap 1 of this race. It never got bad, but it never went away, we are losing coolant, and that means probably the head gasket is letting go. That’s sad. The understeer is no better but no worse, we can’t quite chase the two ahead with the same fervour of race 1, but we still finish close astern, there are enough mad dashes into the trees to worry them.

The one move I did have to pull came on lap 1, the Helen special. Baulked by Cosworth off the line I went left to try and take him with 2 wheels on the grass. Sadly this diff doesn’t lock well enough for that, so having thrown muck at the marshalls I put it back on the tarmac, losing a place to a BMW. Knowing I killed him yesterday I can’t get stuck back here, and though he defends well enough at Park, I have a look going into Chris, and finally move at the Gooseneck, getting inside on the run down the hill, halfway alongside and brake later to slide it up the inside.

Sadly the car isn’t stopping as well as she might, locking the fronts easily, and a chirp from the tyres pushes the nose a little wide, which I round off with an oversteer exit, but we had already made the pass, the BMW runs out wide and we’re through. I feared it was a bit rude, but he felt otherwise in the post-race debrief, I had him cold and he gave it up. Fair play. It is a much different world, this one. Imagine a Jag race where the competitors allow some give and take with each other rather than bulldozing each other into the scenery?

Finished p8, which is pretty decent going. I even managed to fall off on the last lap, the abused fronts cried enough and we spent a happy second bucketing down the grass onto Park straight, but nothing to soil your special racing knickers over. We’re happy with that showing, overall, we’re not humiliated, and there are 18 cars behind us. Not bad. The old girl wants the engine looking at, I have to say that the first spits of coolant she’s showing spell the end of this lump’s life, we’ll retire it whilst there is something to save. We were going 3.6 anyway.

A really good, fun weekend, doing something different, and finding a lot to like here. The lure of returning to the JEC fold, now that I’ve seen it done better, continues to diminish. Irony is, by simply being here we're doing more advertising for the Jaguar series than any of our deliberate attempts to do so, word spreads fast.

Oulton in a fortnight, and this time we’ll field Vanessa. She is hired to a new driver for the Jag race in October, so I’ll put some combat miles on her with the pre-93s to check our repairs. Helen herself, however, can probably put her feet up for a bit, I think on the back of this meeting she’s done me proud.

Judging by the smiles on the faces around me, basking in the still-hot sun of a glorious Cadwell afternoon, this was a good weekend in the park, one for the memory bank.