The line between reality and thinly veiled fantasy is one I find myself dancing precariously on quite frequently, especially of late.

I have found red mist an unavoidable toxin when behind the wheel of a car such as the GT3. The exhaust note, for example, has been engineered in such a way that the point of most amusement is hidden high up in the rev range. What does this mean? Well, for a start, I’m finding myself in pursuit of that magical note, the wail, the banshee howl – but hearing it once only beckons the next. So, like a sick, helpless addict, all subsequent upshifts place me back at the base of my predicament, chasing the exhaust note. Before I know it, I am deep into the middle of the speedo and were it not for my inherent fear (both for license and for my life), I’d be blurring that line between reality and fantasy. Anybody who has watched Animatrix – World Record, will understand what I mean, specifically the scene where he discovers the matrix by pure luck, sheer focus and willpower.

Car firmly tucked into its abode, I am struck by thoughts of recklessness, whilst flashbacks of crazy manoeuvres plague my thoughts. I am an avid XBOX 360 player and the correlation between TV and the road can be shockingly indistinguishable during moments of adrenaline.

I have made a silent promise to ensure enthusiastic driving is kept to the track. And France.