I, however, am in the enviable position of combining an emotional connection with one of the most powerfully objective arguments for greatness that has ever existed in the automotive universe. Namely, the McLaren F1.

One of the essentials for greatness is a total absence of compromise. So when the F1's genius designer Gordon Murray approached Kenwood to ask them to make a high-end sound system that would weigh next to nothing and be the size of a ham sandwich, they said such an item didn't exist. "Right," said Gordon, "then you better make one." Another example - the best heat-reflective material is gold, so that's what the McLaren's engine bay is lined with. And another - the driver sits dead in the middle of the McLaren with one seat on either side. That's good for bringing friends along, but it also means the driver is equidistant from each front corner of the car, which makes it easier to drive quickly over a twisting road. Just like in a Formula One car.

And the emotional connection? A high, windblown plateau on the north Yorkshire moors more than ten years back, me waiting in a BMW 5-Series Touring with four other friends and colleagues from the magazine I worked on. The McLaren arrived, a factory bloke behind the wheel. As the lowest-ranking road tester, I didn't dream for a second that I'd get anything more than a passenger ride, so I was stunned when the keys were handed to me, and even more so when nobody made to join me in the F1. They drove away in the BMW, all grinning at my stupefaction. They trust me, I thought, they really trust me.

And more. It was aboard the F1 that I first covered ground at more than 200mph whilst not being offered an in-flight meal or duty-free smokes. I was also there when Andy Wallace recorded a world record top speed for a series production car at a test site in Germany, at a gnat's more than 240mph. I drove that record-breaking F1 immediately after its run to 'verify' that it was an unmodified road car. Since you ask, I bottled at 180mph when it began to rain...