Everything has a limit. Reaching these limits can often have dramatic or, more often than not, disappointing side effects. One of our most human of endeavours is within our ambitions to exceed ourselves. However, by attaining our goals, we are, in effect, removing our raison d’etre. Better to not reach these goals so as to give ourselves permanent hope and ambition.

I can easily become totally absorbed with something I enjoy, to the point of allowing it to consume me. Such is the situation now.

I’ve just returned again from another hopeless trip and for the first time I wished I was in a different car. You can easily get addicted to the Nurburgring. I’ve been 6-7 times this year as it truly is the greatest circuit ever. But it demands commitment of the kind I am simply unable to provide. You cannot learn this circuit in anything less than ten visits. They say it takes 50 laps to start to learn the ring and another 50 to learn the lines. That’s over 2000km of track time. Ouch.

After having returned from the Ring yesterday, the third consecutive failure, I’m beginning to think about my purpose there. It absolutely pissed it down all day and some places had zero visibility. This was also supposed to be a Ring training day with the Scuderia 7 training organisation. After 4 laps of ducks and drapes, it took 3 moments of abject terror in the car for me to accept a warning when I’m given one from him upstairs. That’s it folks, I’m going home.

Even getting home was without doubt one of the most traumatising events I’ve ever experienced in a car. I’ve often waxed lyrical about the wonders of European roads and their total lack of UK traffic (although the amount of roadworks in Germany lately is worrying), but if you’ve ever driven in torrential rain in Europe, you’ll know what I mean. Almost all autobahn’s are made of concrete, which is possibly down to the fact that tarmac melts at high European temperatures. But the problem with concrete is it doesn’t absorb any water and it simply doesn’t know what to do with it, it just sits as a huge 200 mile long puddle. Add to this a Porsche GT3 with Michelin Cups and you’re basically as responsible as a suicide bomber. As you can see from these treads, it was largely impossible to not act like I was having an epileptic fit at the wheel everytime I encountered standing water. I suspect I did the entire return journey sideways. Must be a world record there?

My entire journey home was drenched in contemplation as I was overtaken, ironically, by £1000 cars with less than 90BHP. I simply could not keep up and considered what a joy it would have been to have done the journey in my 2.0TDi Golf, which in real world terms, is A Better Car.

And another thing! If I see another bratwurst or a schnitzel, I’m going to staple my eyeballs through broken glass. There literally is no such thing as German cuisine and, in stereotypical fashion, food appears to be nothing other than a source of energy. A means to an end.

I arrived back at home utterly drained. So much concentration was absorbed in trying to get home at 50MPH, I suffered a neurological meltdown and collapsed at home exhausted. Waste of a 1000 miles. Waste of a £1000.00. Waste of 2 days. I’m all ‘Ringed out now and looking at the web-cam, it looks utterly deadly even now. Credit to the instructors who persevered at the event. For me it was a futile exercise as I cannot learn anything on the ring when the foremost thought in my mind is to not die. By the time I left the Ring at 10.30am, there had already been 3significant car casualties.

I’m bitter. Whilst UK weather was scorching for the first time in god knows how long, I spent it like a loser on my own in a strange German B&B peering out of the window as it was pounded on by horizontal rain drops wondering what the Jesus tap dancing Christ I’m doing here.

Don’t finish the box of chocolates in one go folks.