So we rock up at Donington with what's left after Cadwell, which is about enough to race on, but not much use given we're booked on the trackday beforehand. Our only real option here is to throw the old Yokies on. I bought these, used, for no money in 2012 to try a back to back test. They were old then, not intended to be anything other than slave tyres after that initial test. They aren't younger now. But we can get our eye in on these, flat spot them, slide off the road etc, because here's the other issue; I haven't raced here since 2010, and that was my first time, and it was night. We did a night race on Halloween, and it was bloody brilliant, but bugger all use for learning the nuances of the track.

Thursday night brings rain. I mean rain. Noah would have looked outside and given up, it was wetter than an otter's pocket. As Dermott and Jennifer arrived, the heavens simply split, and settled in for the session. And then stopped just as suddenly in the night. Total waste of time, but the quagmire this created would be a feature of the weekend.

Before we start this test session, the plan here was to hone the handling with damper and tyre pressure adjustments. Cadwell was good, this can be better, the car is running well. That's when the shiny new tyre guage comes out, and we all scratch our heads. Investigation shows the guage we've been using for some time now is wrong, it's out by 6psi. No wonder the car feels jellified on the opening lap, there's no wind in them. This means some new data.

So, off we toddle. Set some laps, get the pressure up, we'll use the data as the starting point for the 888s this afternoon. A trackday is a bit of a pain, lots of heroes with a lot of money and no clue, poncing about like their mirrors don't work, and not expecting to be Jaguared. Happily, enough racing folk here to make it sensible, and proper laps can begin. 

Donny, bless it, is lovely. It flows so nicely, and it sort of makes sense. The classic late apex approach works, but there are corners that warrant caution instead of bravery. No point diving into a blind apex corner with tyres smoking when that corner leads onto the longest straight here. Sighter laps show me what the nighttime track of 2010 was trying to tell me. 

Not long into this, and braking into Redgate, there is a bang, and the car starts making a very uncultured racket at the back. The wheels appear attached, something must have collapsed. Wheel bearing? Not one of the new hubs, surely? Sounds quite metallic, and it's definitely rotational, brake pad distintegrating? Back to the pits, slowly, and announce my woes. The Bear sticks his face under the back, and emerges with news. The A048 has a hole in it you could put your fist in. The metallic noise is the tyre carcass wire-brushing the wheelarch. I could not have diagnosed that from the sound alone, I had money on a mechanical component.

Well, damn. Not enough 888 to last, 48s now retired. We have two old 888s that I was too mean to throw away. Toddle off to the Yokohama tyre van, and offer the little Scottish man a drink. Tyres swapped over, back in the game. We'll finish the weekend with a photograph of tread left, but we'll make it. After that, we're probably out of action for the year.

So, back to testing. We do indeed have a subtle twiddle of the settings, but we're in the zone quite early, and the car is good. There is a point at which you are just pounding round. I thought this would take time, but really I'm now mostly playing with the Craner Curves. Everyone talks about these, and with reason. It's a really fun swoop down this hill, and what they call a hairpin at the bottom isn't one, but it's critical, you can win massive time from Redgate on if you hook this sequence up.

Before we came, I read a track guide, not exactly on purpose, and this fella said a Caterham superlight did the curves at 120. Well then, how close can you get an XJS? 114. And probably more, but not in my car you're not. 98 is fast asleep. 109 is about right. 111 works, but you know about it. 114 is actually manageable too, but you have to do that by accident, I cannot persuade my body to do it on purpose. It's one thing to know, intellectually, that it will work, but that is not the same as your brain transferring that command to your feet. In the heat of combat, I suppose I know I can, but here, now, on a trackday, it's not happening.

But the times we are definitely not recording would probably be good. By mid afternoon we cut the day short. I've been metronomically putting in laps which are all very, very similar, essentially imprinting the place on muscle memory. I do think there is a degree of that.  To get quicker I need a set of tyres I can risk, and we just haven't got them, one flat spot and we're knackered. The car is as good as it's ever been. Here, this weekend, it works. The other issue is so many muppets have been off that there is mud everywhere, and if you've ever hit mud with 300 horsepower on racing tyres you will appreciate that it gets your attention. Redgate and the hairpin were favourites, there are pig enclosures with less mess.

Park her up, swap the two worst tyres for the two least worst tyres, unload the wets and hope. Set fire to dead creatures, and watch the circus roll in. Once again, scrutineering came to the car, and if you've ever had to push a Jaguar to scrutineering here due to the noise restrictions set by final instructions you'll appreciate what joy this is. The 747s roaring overhead from the airport slap bang next door remind us to be quiet. Many say that Donington is slippery due to deposited jet fuel. Utter bollocks, if you ask me. I don't know much about planes, but I am pretty sure they don't actively leak kerosene, what with it costing money and all.

Morning brings sun, so forget the wets. It did nothing to dry the grass and trackside swamps, and it faintly reminds me of the Plum Pudding race we went to watch Roger Webster do in the snow one year, put a wheel off the track and you're going skiing. Once again, beaten to qualifying, this time by a pair of what look like identical Peugeots from the 2005 series. Like Cadwell though, not exactly an issue in a straight line, Jag is going to take Redgate first. I quite like Donington's assembly area, we're actually on a piece of the track, and as per Cadwell, we will start a timed lap within seconds of rolling out. Never forget where the session actually begins.

In they all roll. Like before, Primett is the main protagonist, save for one. That dastardly XJ12 is back with a 5.5litre back up it, and Dave Howard will be looking to exert his authority on proceedings, he romped to victory here last season. I think it might be pretty even, as usual we've got these three cars with different strengths. Escort is all lightness and agility, XJ12 is brute sledgehammer, and XJS somewhere between. I think the middle ground is the answer at this track. I've clocked the 255 tyres the bigger Jag sits on, and I'm pretty sure they're a mistake. Get up and go, and slow down and stop, yes, great, but my velocity is in corner speed, and I just don't see it working out as well with 5-inch sidewalls. I imagine we'll find out shortly.

Out we roll. As usual, flat from the outset. It takes three laps for various cars' mistakes to throw mud onto the track, and that's in addition to what the session before had helpfully donated. Even on the opener you couldn't use the kerbs at Redgate or the hairpin, they were slick. This is where practice yesterday comes in, we had the same issue, and I've got the alternate lines in my pocket, you can adjust your entry to pick a fictitious exit kerb and not lose too much. You can commit to the mud if you prefer, but you just spin up if you don't slide wide. 

Cars are off all over the place, there are more yellow lights than a nighttime roadworks, but they're all low-speed, no damage I can see, and so long as you slow it up a shade you don't have to abort the lap. We have the '66 cars, good power but lousy tyres, and the low-powered but agile '05s out, so it's a mix of traffic and grip levels, plus unpredictable tarmac. Lovely. It is a question, this time, of finding a gap, finding a clear bit of road, dodging the mud, and doing the best you can with that opportunity.

The opportunity came late in session, as traffic cleared, people found their rythmn, and the track tidied up a little, our last flying lap was the fastest, and good enough for pole. By a decent margin, 1.4 seconds clear of the Escort. I knew it before I was told, when it has clicked you do know. You can be horribly wrong, of course, which is always funny, but I felt we took that, and the timesheets agreed.  A simple question of finding time and space, the room to put it together. Not as fast as I wanted, of course, but alright for the conditions. Nothing to compare it to, so long since I've been here, and we were on bald R1Rs back then, which, as we all discovered, are shit.

But, here's the thing. Long run to Redgate, and Dave doesn't exactly try in qualifying. He's going to come off the line like a rocket, first into Redgate and then you have to see if a) he's not actually hiding a couple of seconds and b) if not, if you can pass a car that accelerates like a howitzer shell. I have no cunning plan for this. I've seen him overtaken early in the race here, but that was by a rather special XJ6 that went clean round him going up the hill from the hairpin, and I don't think I have the torque for that. I've seen him passed on the brakes here, by a car with discs the size of my wheels. I've seen him run out of tyres and brakes by being pushed hard and long. That's about my best option, but he's not daft, and if I'm held up, at all, there'll be an Escort in front of me. So quali hasn't really done anything but serve notice. Damn.

We watched the 93s race, and craptastic race for our friendly Dolly pilot, whose other car, a Starion, was shortened for him early on. The resumed race appeared to be slick-shod Hondas from the '03s fighting treaded-tyred BMWs, and frankly I struggle a bit with cars that new, I can't quite work out what is in what race because all the little Japanese things look the same to me. The cars I mean, not the people, we're not that primitive.

So rumbles time onwards, and time to race. Here comes the lifesaver. The grid markings appear to have been overpainted, there are so many markings nobody can line us up. We're converting from 2x2 to 1x1 staggered grid. The marshall conveying this info doesn't quite get it, and announces that we're setting off in line astern. I am liking that notion, but what the poor girl means is F1-style. I don't mean daft little engines with a hairdryer and defibrillator attached, but the staggered grid that actually conveys an advantage to pole. That gives me more distance back to Dave, and half a chance if I get it moving properly. Liking this a lot.

Green flag lap says the mud bandits have been back, same two problem corners. Also, something has left a load of oil from the chicane onwards, a thick stripe of cement dust looks to me like a smokescreen in the making. If you've never driven into thick cement dust, let me tell you, it can be bad. Grid, the odd sensation of nobody to your left hand side, red lights on. Rev counter needle bouncing like a kangaroo on meth, because we're using a 30 year old used Jag unit, and we're sitting here at somewhere between 1 and 4000rpm. The moment of deadly stillness as the lights go out but nothing is yet happening. Then, motion.

She sits, squats, and goes. As expected, Dave eats the Escort, but that extra distance means he's alongside, not in front, as we reach Redgate, we held the lead. Splendid. I'm wary of the XJ12's get up and go out of Redgate, I'd expect it to wedge in alongside at the top of the curves and nestle down the inside into the left, but it doesn't come, there's not enough in it, Helen does have good rear grip. Safe for now, he won't bomb me at the hairpin, but that back straight is coming in about 30 seconds, and I'm a sitting duck. As it happens, no we're not, she carries enough corner speed to be just out of range coming into the chicane, but I braked a bit late, went in a bit deep, straight through that pile of cement dust, then got the tail wide on the exit of the left hander, taking too much kerb and a snap of oversteer such that I know I've had it.

Again, amazingly, not the case, our wild antics have not let the brute in the mirror get into the kill zone for Redgate, the mistake hasn't cost me. A bit defensive, but still clear. Lap one over, things should now improve, my opener is always the worst. My tiny brain settled down much faster than at Cadwell, there was no sense of getting flustered here, a much calmer aggression set in, my calculator came out and the actual driving part was almost autopilot. It's what we were practising yesterday afternoon. Lap two gained a gap. I know this is about the corners, and that Craner sequence, and the two fast corners at the back end of the circuit are exactly what Helen does best, she hits an apex with speed on. That gives us the gap, by midway through the lap I don't need to defend, and lap 3 extends it. Already, the brain is considering how to manage this. We are quicker, we know this. We only have to win by a bit. Turn it down a couple of percent maybe?

Except, that's not how you do this. Anything can happen, and although unconsciously you might ease off a bit, you keep your foot down. The truth to this came but moments later as I encountered two squabbling backmarkers at a point that erased my lead in moments, and the big grille was again hanging off the bootlid. Bollocks. Closer now, having to defend more, but to block any attempt rather than to defend a move, and there are still those key corners to grab a bit of space. Too hot on the brakes over the blind crest and the tail slides a little, enough to delay getting on the loud pedal, but as luck as it, it merely lines Helen up for the corner exit a bit sooner and probably gave a straighter, harder squirt of power than the smoother transition, not net loss after all. Not the way I'd have chosen to do it mind you!

A small gap appears, and as we slash through more backmarkers heading up the hill, carving past a red Moggie, it feels like it's come back, we have control again. A yellow Cortina as Helen flashes onto the back straight, and there's something very odd about racing, you know whether the other guy has seen you or not. Even from a way back, the movement of the helmet as he checks mirrors, the car's line, you know if you've been clocked. Pretty sure it was a surprise to him when I went past. It was more of a surprise a few seconds later when he got an XJ12 in the boot at the chicane, having apparently not seen it coming. There would be a healthy debate after the race. Didn't see that, of course, I just found the pursuing headlights now a good way back, and settled down to pound the laps out.

For some healthy variety I've got all shapes and sizes of backmarkers, and you rarely get just one at a time. After seeing my lead erased I am not inclined to slow down, so I was a little incisive in my approach. I decided that there was no time to spare anyone waiting for a chance, they would simply have to be overtaken as and when I dared, and Donny is quite forgiving in that respect if you're packing twice the power and better tyres and bigger brakes and a pilot who wants to win.

The car was, at this point, beautiful. I could find nothing to complain about. This was a better car again than at Cadwell, and she felt right here, she behaved, and she responded, and she obeyed. Rarely do I say such things. We still have the irritation of mud on the track, and it varied from lap to lap according to who had done what, but other than going off line to pass it was not such an issue. One such moment had both rears spinning up exiting Redgate, the little '66 car briefly wondering why this monster had just bombed it under braking, only to go nowhere, until rubber met tarmac and slung us clear. You notice such moments. By and large though, Helen could be put anywhere, and tighten or widen her line almost at will, I never got near her potential, this was a race of simple consistent laps that merely happened to be faster than anyone else. Which is what we all pray for. Unlike many previous encounters, I never got the nagging doubt that I was going to balls this one up and lose it.

Such is the lead that, as we enter the back straight for the last time, once again there is a backmarker ahead, having his own little race, and as at Cadwell, instead of lapping him, I backed it down and followed him across the line, shedding seconds like favours all the way to the flag. Victory at Donington. That's three in a row, far in excess of any previous run. 

To the interview. How you are supposed to eat that big black fuzzy lollipop in the alloted time, when the other guy keeps trying to have a bite, I do not know. Parc ferme, and chance to find out what the hell happened to Dave Howard. He was less than thrilled with the backmarker, and his fibreglass bumpers bear the scars of contact. Hard to comment. I know what I felt when I went past, but what more can you add? To base, to the barbie, and a beer, because I am awarding myself one. The lap charts say I stole fastest lap, and the times are enough to have Howard, in between chances to rip the piss out of me, and to compare wheelbases (not a euphemism for anything else) check the all-time lap records here. The CTCRC keep such records, and the XJS has just taken it. That's three tracks we've now pinched it. I am not unhappy.

Morning is announced by hundreds of thousands of pounds of jet thrust throwing a couple of hundred tonnes of metal and flesh into the sky, to remind us to be quiet and not permit the chap with the Mini see if his broken car will actually start. Probably a rule created by a local council official with a sparse beard, an extra couple of chins, and faecal matter in place of cerebral.

So rolls days two onwards, and we've done the customary prep. Every wheel off, have a good poke at everything, check there are still, you know, brake pads, check for damage, new shiny areas, the usual stuff. The tyre tread situation is grim, but there's 20 minutes left in them, so add the fuel, pack all the stuff, see how many cups of tea you can get Jennifer to make, standard pre-race prep.

Today is different. We have TV crews today, and they require things a little differently. Our assembly area has been stolen, we line up on the other side of the loop. The amount of time available would seem to be affected by advert breaks, it's live. Matters little. What does matter is today we have an XJ12 alongside, and someone has discovered where the grid markings are. No hope of holding him into Redgate today unless Dave cocks up his start, and he never seems to.

Green flag lap again shows the mud faires have been making pies again, lock that away in the noggin, but grid, red lights, go. A good launch, but a hundred yards in and, with a noise like Thor taking a tricky shit, that V12 howls by and slams in front. Well, hello, is it time to play? Look to the outside under braking, but even pretending to look outside is hopeless really, but you have to show willing. It doesn't work. So, we're into a tail chase. We expected this, so plan B, apply pressure. The difference here is that I genuinely believe I have the faster car today, I just have to show it.

Plan B is chase and hope for a cock up. Ideally out-braking into the hairpin, but I'll take anything I can get. If pushed, the heavier car should run out of resources more quickly. Trouble is, attacking will slow us both, and then that Escort will be on us like a tramp on chips. Chasing this XJ12 is familiar, it's corner speed against straight line power, I think we have better rear end because we lack that massive torque, so corner exit nullifies a bit of it, but it's a question of how to get into range on the brakes, and that doesn't mean end of a straight, really, it's got to be corners. Off we hare, looking for weakness, but without getting done by the Eskie.

First lap was not a full assault, we have ten or more to play, and mistakes gave him distance off Redgate, clawed back down the Craners. Closing up and it's clear that Helen can turn inside him at any corner, but how to make that work is more difficult. Running out of the hairpin is sufficiently faster to hold station up the hill through Schwantz to McLeans, but he blocks the braking zone attack, and Helen twitches a little as she is asked to change direction under braking. 

Through Coppice and a little twitch from Helen sees V12 apply the power more smoothly, it sets off own the Dunlop straight and just goes. Catch it back under braking, but the power delivery on exit of the Esses sees a healthy gap pulled along Wheatcroft, and we're back onto another lap. This requires some thought. There is a familiar white shape dancing in the mirror, but he's got the same issue with me as I have with Dave, power deficiency. Worse, I think we've got more grip than he has, simply more traction, he's not the demon that haunted me at Cadwell.

To apply pressure, I have to show the nose, and as the tyres settle in there's a race on. The gap generated by Wheatcroft is erased by the time we get to the hairpin, Dave goes defensive and that puts us close up Schwantz, but there's not enough to get alongside. A better run through McLeans shows to the inside one lap, to the outside the next lap, putting him tight on entry to Coppice and allowing Helen right alongside on the exit as she tightens her line to get a better drive out of the corner.

Not enough though. It puts us close enough that he has to defend the esses, that big brute of a machine hopping the entry kerb and running a bit deep, again Helen can nose partially alongside but I've not got enough get up and go to make anything of it. Having to be careful as I weave to show in both mirrors at Redgate, because I can't be seen to be weaving to block Steve astern, he's right with us.

Another lap of this, and as we exit the esses I can see the little dots ahead at Redgate, backmarkers. Interesting. Where we catch them doesn't matter, whatever happens we need to attack as we get there. Unless it's not actually possible, whatever Dave does, we'll do the opposite. We come across them swiftly, Dave is suddenly slow exiting Hollywood, but I can't see why. Cut to the inside as he's a bit wide, and I can see the two pre-66 cars heading for the hairpin, Dave's edging wide to queue up behind them and block me from the inside line. But the Angle-box is doing the same to the Imp, and that means a queue. What do we know from racing at Brands? We know that if there's a queue at Druids you go round the outside. 

I'm already going inside, there looks like room, and we'll figure the rest out when we get there, so take a brave pill and go for it. There's not only room, it looks to me like we can have all three cars in one go. The Imp comes left, must have checked the mirror and filled his overalls, stops moving over and Jag snorts down his outside, round the yellow roadblock too and fires up the hill, three cars in one move. At which point I felt somewhat guilty about the poor buggers in the pre-66s but allowed myself a rather fierce smirk. I know full well that was a good move. And we're back in the lead.

In front, with the faster car, I now need to drive it suitably. The obstruction from the backmarkers makes the gap large enough, I don't need to defend. Head down and push. The gap grows, and we didn't let up. You just can't. Fleeing from Howard is the classic monster movie pursuit, you run and run and run and stumble for a split second and he's suddenly right there. A couple of clean laps extends that gap to a healthy margin, and Dave's got a Primett problem, we're free and clear.

Backmarkers are now coming up thick and fast, and they are in great, warring clumps. The full beam is getting flashed a lot, lights alone might not be enough and I need to move. Didn't let up here at all, I was pretty brutal, by my standards, to some of these guys. I caught a vast gaggle at the essess, and it was the hairpin before I got the last of them, a great 10-car train 2 and 3 wide as pre-05s assaulted pre-66s. The same poor bugger in the Imp gets a Jag down the outside at Hollywood as the 05s scrap it out on his inside, he can't have had enough eyes to keep track.

But breaking through traffic in efficient fashion gave huge gains, a single lap gave me 5 seconds as Howard and Primett caught the same traffic at a more awkward point, and Helen was long gone. 5 seconds is twenty-two years. As we entered the final lap, a slight reduction in pace, no need for daft risks, and I know there is little rubber left, a single lock up could do some real harm. The esses loom for the last time, it would be utterly humiliating to cock it up here on the last corner with a huge lead. No sooner have I thought it than I locked both fronts for no good reason, and for a moment wondered if I had completely lost my marbles.

But, as dramas go, pretty modest, she flashed to the flag for the win. 4 from 4 this season, two doubles on the bounce. I can't find it within me to be displeased. To the interview, a camera in the face and a girl who wants you to be as lively and expressive as possible giving stage directions over the interviewer's shoulder. Bit odd, but I'll do as I'm told and wave things in the air if that's what they want. Parc ferme, and weighed. As I forewarned the usual amused scrutineer, she'd lost precisely two kilos since Cadwell. Amazingly, the scales agreed. 

Clinging to the fence, David, still pissing himself laughing. He and the Bear had adopted the traditional Donington approach of walking a bit further round each lap, and had made it to the hairpin just as their lunatic pilot launched his outside assault for the lead, and neither appeared to have been able to stop crying for the rest of the race. 

To base, Dave Howard's furiously prepping for the Thunder race, already sitting in assembly, mere moments to thank him for the great duel, we do things like that here, then time to load up and flee. Probably it for the season, sadly, but practicality must take precedence. There is work to do, workshops to build, lives to lead, the truck's out of MOT and Bear thinks it needs work. We'd better take stock. For now though, it might be time for a beer. Maybe two. Donington, I hope to see you again in under 6 years. 

But if we're really taking the rest of 2016 off, think how much time we can spend making everything faster....