Snett wasn’t on my pre-season to-do list, I wasn’t too bothered about going, Bear wasn’t free anyway, and Snett’s all about power to weight anyway, right? But we missed much of the first half of the season, and after our issues in the dry at Brands we had changes to make that needed testing, so Snett it is. Well, why not, I’ve never actually driven the Snetterton 300 before.

No, really, last time I did Snett was the last race of 2010, and that was the old circuit, before they totally screwed up Coram. Seriously, what the hell have they done to Coram? It’s now rubbish. I did actually like the old Snett, it wasn’t thrilling, but turn 1 is a serious corner and the essess/Bomb Hole section is a laugh. So a test day was in order, find out where the bends are now.

What went awry at Brands, and I’m aware that pole position and a race win might not seem like a bad weekend to some, but it was, was the brake balance. There was none. All these years and I’ve managed with standard master cylinder, no bias valve, balance bar, restrictor etc, but it is no longer working for me. I’m now brave enough on the pedal to try to push it late enough that I can end up in a lot of trouble/gravel.

So, the Bear made a balance bar setup to fit the standard Jaguar servo, thus retaining pedal box etc. An adjuster cable and dash-mounted knob allows for on-the-fly adjustment. Cable run makes it a bit stiff, but in the rush of combat it’s no obstacle. An idiot sticker on the steering wheel to remind me which way to turn it would confusingly present with an anti-clockwise arrow and the letter “R” but at least I know what it meant, even if window-licking paddock wanderers didn’t.

With Bear working a 12 hour shift and then driving us to Snetterton, it was a long day for the furry one, but he had sufficient energy to inhale beer on arrival, so that was alright. The trick to his early mornings is that his body clock is such a mess now that he still gets up early the following day, and therefore we’re unloaded, signed on and ready to roll for 9am.

A curious sighting lap, but it was oddly easy to learn the layout. When I started out in ’07 I needed a dozen laps to learn what corners came next at any circuit, but experience has some advantages, even if fear, responsibility, and having more stuff to lose now blunts my early-lap speed these days. I prefer to think of it as being circumspect.

Lap 2, however, brought a misfire even as I played with my knob. Bugger. Back to base. Check and replace the obvious fuel-related bits like filter, try again. Same deal, one clean lap, then a misfire. Shit and damnation. You lose an entire test session like this. Swift repairs on the ignition side would include a coil. The first coil didn’t do it, but the second did, so the second test session was finally on. Old A048s, the same 5 year old tyres I keep testing on that have no grip at all, but which I can afford to flat spot in a way I can’t the brand new 888s that await me.

The wooden 48s gave us a 2.18. I was alright with that, to be honest, we know what Howard, and Sam Clarke, have done here, that time on rubbish rubber put us in the window. I was adding more and more front brake balance, and the worry is that, late in the session, the pedal went soft. The only sensible explanation is that either I’m being a big girl, or I’ve overdone it in my enthusiasm to avoid rear locking and need to wind it back a bit. We will find out this afternoon on the new 888s.

Or, we won’t, because it’s raining. It’s raining because Nessie has arrived. It’s not going to rain for the rest of the weekend, so why bother going out? Well, because I’ve never driven the 888 in the rain, we’ve left the dampers set to dry, and I want to know what it’s like if it rains mid-way through a dry race. The verdict was swift. I may have been wasting my time on the R1R, the 888 is better. It goes against everything I believed, but unless you’ve got actual puddles, I have been losing grip in my eagerness to gain the advantage. That’ll teach me to be greedy.

It’s an interesting track to learn. Very start/stop, clearly rewards horsepower and traction, but also the ability to stop, hard. I have an intriguing battle coming, Howard and Primett have been joined at the sharp end by the dancing Dolomite of Osbourne, who won outright at Pembrey. The power v agility thing is black and white, and the XJS the grey, better in one aspect than some of the competitors’ machines but inferior in the other, and vice versa. Makes us a jack of all trades but master of none.

But, there are a couple of corners that flow. Turn 3, whatever they call that one, is a great corner, I grew to like that. Slightly later on the apex and power through to get the nose in, great fun. Williams, which I renamed as Arya, and if you get that reference you’re doing well, is a similar bend, both seem critical to a laptime. The essess and Bomb Hole have not been changed, thank the gods, but Coram is a bitch I could only seem to tackle by driving slowly and hugging the inside. That didn’t used to be the case, you used to go through much faster because it didn’t keep tightening, you would judge the run out in time for the braking zone, it’s a real pity we lost that.

The corners that had standing water were a bit scary, and the R1R would be much better at that moment. Those that did not have standing water were plainly faster on 888 than I could have done on the R1R, there was a very stable, planted feel to it, whereas the R1R feels slightly greasy in all conditions. I can’t perhaps phrase the difference better than that. Lesson learned. R1Rs now relegated to “extreme” wets.

Test day done. We have at least learned the track, if not the limits. We’re better prepared than if we had not come, but not by as much as we had hoped, 20 laps to hone the lines and braking points would have been nice. But if wishes were horses, we’d have more lasagne. With the test over, and the rain unhelpfully retiring, time to change the rear hub. But, this time for a new one, which means swapping a driveshaft too. A spool round the paddock suggests no inherent errors, which means it’s time to sit and watch the circus roll in and the alcoholics work on their cirrhosis. We have already enjoyed Dave Howard spending more time positioning his rig than many people spend getting laid, but this paddock jigsaw is a good game and there is joy to be had watching the pieces move.

Some of the big pieces were the trucks. They are vast entertainment. 5.5 tonnes, 1000bhp, trailing smoke like a Victorian steelworks, all oversteer and tyre squeal with a bellow of diesel engine, now sitting quietly in the paddock like slumbering dinosaurs. If you’ve never seen the truck racing, you owe it to your inner child, there is something primeval about it.

Morning brought bright, sunny weather and disposition, and sneaking about early would see us signed on and scrutineered well before we were due. There is a perversity to signing on at 7.30 when you’re not due til 10, because if I were due at 7.30 I’d be swearing and grumbling all the way there. Scrutineering consisted of checking it looked like a car.

And thus to qualifying. You know by now how this goes, get there first, go fast. In the immortal words of Ellen Ripley in that seminal 80’s classic Aliens, punch it Bishop. And Bishop did so. Our green flag lap was going on 20 seconds faster than most. I don’t see why anyone hangs about, to be honest, there isn’t time to mess about.

Brain half in gear, we set off apace, and did our dry weather testing. The brakes went bandy, I played with my knob again, and we came 3^rd. Actually, there is a lot to this track. I have always loved turn 1 here, never ever felt I’ve got it right, and it takes me a long time to get out of the habit of hitting that first apex. The car does still understeer somewhat, and to counter that I’m turning too early, which makes it worse, a later turn might well be better, but you only get 6 goes at this.

A swift trip up the road to a motor factor equipped us with a new coil, and we’re back into the fray. It seems odd that she’s eating coils, it’s not a likely problem to have, so throw a new rotor arm in there whilst we’re at it. I hate electrical issues. You can’t smack them with a hammer. There is some discussion about the old issue we had with Bear’s car back in 2009, and the dodgy ignition switch, but we’re not in that situation yet. All we can do for the mirror is swap it for the passenger side. Which makes no odds really, but I figure I’m more likely to be defending to that side.

We watched a bit of truck racing whilst we waited, and those boys are proper nutters. Knocking lumps off each other at 100mph in a haze of smoke, but the worry to us is watching them blast that cooling fluid all over the track, clouds of the stuff. God help whoever goes after them. Tomorrow we’re the race immediately after, we’re already counting the likely casualties. Today it’s Thunder. What more can you ask than a slippery track and a bunch of 800bhp cars on slicks to clean it for you?

And so to the race. Noting that Howard has placed his car subtly to the left of his box to narrow the gap between himself and Primett, even a demon launch here won’t get between them, I’m going to have to follow, assuming I get away. Green flag lap on a 3 mile track takes half a race, but here’s the grid again, lights on, noise and revs build all around, the traditional calming of the nerves as the moment approaches. Lights out, go.

Not my best ever start, but she sat down and set off after Dave. He does get that V12 away well, never seen him light it up or slewing sideways under power. Rocket ahead of Primett, close on Dave’s bootlid, but I elected to stay there rather than try the outside, because there’s an Escort looking down the inside, and an orange one down the outside. To the hairpin, whatever the hell they’re calling these stupid corners now, it sort of went to plan because Primett didn’t get down the inside, and as I ran wide Winstone had no tarmac for an assault down the outside. More luck than judgement, frankly.

What I didn’t expect was Winstone not needing tarmac. I don’t know how, but his Escort out-accelerated Helen out of the corner on the grass up the inside. You could have used my open mouth to catch flies as he came past. Fortunately Primett and Osbourne are having a fight, so it’s just the tomato ahead to consider. He’s throwing big gobs of petrol out of the offside rear, which is a worry, you have to consider your braking point, but a better run out of Arya and Helen powers past, closing on the brakes back onto Howard’s tail, a run out of the Bomb Hole sees me get a nose up the inside, but the gap isn’t large, in fact it’s bloody close, and I’m not confident I’ve got the grip for this.

As I wuss out of it, the tomato goes back up the inside, does me on the brakes like infant candy theft, but back the Jag goes past down whatever we now call the pit straight, and that was the last we saw of him. Very odd for a car to be going for the lead one lap, then not feature in the race again. That left me chasing Howard again, which is fine, I fancy a go at this, and he’s not exactly escaping. Helen is faster in a few key corners to keep us in contention, but he slows me where I’m faster, he’s fast where I’m slower, and the wolves are nipping at my heels, Escort and Dolomite are on me like wasps at a barbeque. The door mirror was swiftly amputated by the marker at Coram, we now have none, so much for that then!

So it might have continued, Howard putting the car in a safe place lap by lap, Helen defending and using superior power to fend off the assault, but for a Moggie Minor that went sailing off at what we used to call Russell, the last chicane. Yellow flag for that, but as we left the corner Helen threw a sudden paddy and slung the tail on whatever the Moggie had dropped, and past sailed both my pursuers in that heartbeat. Technically under a yellow, but yellows don’t count if the car you’re against is in distress, and it certainly felt like distress from where I was sitting! The Dolomite is smoking hard, looks like he’s broken it, but keeps going, nothing wrong with the power yet.

Back on the power, enough time to re-catch Primett down the straight, but not to pass before the corner. Chased it, another moment of oversteer on that bloody oil at the end of the lap that again only seemed to affect me, but eventually worked back into place.

An assault down his outside on the exit of turn one to sail past him heading into the Montreal hairpin, but momentum is with us, so we also pass the Dolomite, and send it to the leader’s outside, in one of those suicidal moves that you wonder, as it unfolds, if it was actually wise. Knowing there’s no sense hanging tight and trying to outpower XJ12, I elected to try the wide line, which did not work at all. Dolly nips back ahead, but we get the inside at turn 3 and power down to Agostini, where he can brake so late we’re in different time zones, and closes the door. But not a slam, a gentle push, and Helen has enough grip to hang on inside, taking ever-more kerb and her wide-eyed pilot peering at the awfully-close paintwork of a shiny black Triumph just outside the window, jittering about like it’s had too much coffee.

Can’t quite get him back on the exit without a lunge, but there’s a straight coming, job done. But as we go into Oggies the middle pedal goes long, and I know the brakes have just died. Which is an issue, but there’s the Dolly off the nose. Be a shame not to pass it back while we’re here, here comes the Bentley straight, so we pop back past up his inside as raw horsepower comes into play, and there is a discussion in my cockpit.

And then, miraculously, having dropped over ten seconds in the lap, the brakes return as we enter the last lap. The smoking Dolomite is marking its position with a heavy streamer of dense grey, and he seems to be slowing. Helen has enough to get him back before the Bomb Hole, three corners from home, to regain 3^rd place. Back where we started. It’s not a win, it’s not even a gain, but it was still good fun. I enjoyed that, despite the mechanical fubar. We’ll look into the brakes, but I can’t be dismayed. The television lot line us up for interviews, which consist of the usual bland reports of the race because you can’t say what you were really thinking, and some vague optimism about certain victory at a future date.

The commentator then grilled us further, and was lucky to be left alive, because he renamed me. Andy Harrison is a well-known Mini pilot, and wasn’t in this race. Thick of skin, commentator ignored my snarl of dismay, and with cameras about could not be gutted like a fish for this travesty.

Foot nailed to the floor, and a small voice pipes up even as the Dolly slides backwards past the door. It reminds me that at the end of this straight we’ll be doing 7000rpm in 4^th gear, and that’s 147mph. It reminds me that, though I’ve just regained 2^nd place, I do know the brakes have now failed. It then asks me a short, but important question. “What’s the plan here, exactly?” In truth, I don’t know. There is no way around this, I need to stop, a lot, and can only stop a bit.

Reluctantly, the guy with the small voice of reason prises his big foot off the power and onto the brake, watching with dismay as the Dolomite skips past. Helen slows, but not sharply, no power to the retardation. She needs a cooldown lap, but how do you do that in a race? Primett skitters by through turn one, and Helen solves the problem for me, dragging badly as if the brakes are stuck on. That’s very strange, never had this before, but she’s flat out and barely moving. The small voice comes back, tells me to retire it. But it’s a 29 car grid, and it’s not going to rain, starting last would be a real problem this time. Coast it home, minimise the damage

Go. Better launch today, right up the XJ12’s trumpet, out wide and trying for the outside. Nervous here, I should have gone for this harder, but not sure how much grip Dave’s got or if he’s going to slide out and leave me grass-tracking. Should have grabbed third and made more of a fight of this at the hairpin. Shoulda woulda coulda, right?

On him like a cheap suit into Agostini, but the Dolomite is right there, daren’t try and go late and to the outside because Dolly will then have the inside, so I go to the inside and brake early to make sure I don’t splatter Howard by trying too hard, the Dolly dances down the outside, but with Helen stopped and turned and good traction we can steam back in front and hold 2^nd place. Lost a little ground down the back straight despite a decent run out, but it all comes back on the brakes, wiping out a good half dozen markers on the inside for dramatic effect.

Gear packed, car ready, the thunder of trucks sends me scurrying to assembly, to discover a strange secret to this truck racing thing. Parts of the track are off-limits, we can’t get into assembly, for safety reasons. We don’t understand why, as the spectators are standing slap bang next to it, with only a chain-link fence more to protect them, but there must be a reason for it. Marshalls are also notably missing from their posts, taking more robust shelter. 5.5 tonnes takes a lot of stopping. I haven’t done the maths, but is it worse than 1.5 tonnes at 150mph?

To the race. I’d asked Dave if we might have a faster green flag lap to feel out the grip after the deluge of the trucks. “We’ll see” was his mysterious reply, he’s in race mode now and there are no friends in these cockpits from this point. Grid, green flag, and we’re ready to go again. Lights on. Alongside is that flamboyant BMW that out-dragged me down the Senna straight in testing, this could be interesting.