'I drove supercar at 140mph around Goodwood race track and didn't die'

Like most men my age, I'm convinced had the opportunities fallen my way, I could have been a Formula One driver or, at worst, Top Gear presenter. How difficult can driving at 200mph once every couple of weeks for a few months a year really be?

I finally stopped being all talk and took the chance to live out my fantasy and put the pedal to the metal on a track day at the iconic Goodwood Motor Circuit nestled in the rolling hills of West Sussex.

Famous for the Festival of Speed being held this week (July 10th-13th), Goodwood is also home to one of the fastest tracks in the UK, notorious for its fabled flowing corners and generous straights which allow for sustained high speeds of around 160mph. I'm following in the tyre prints of legends like Stirling Moss and Jackie Stewart who have made dancing cars around its sweeping bends look all so easy over the years.

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But as the day arrives, I have to admit, I'm starting to sport a little less bravado as the reality sets in during a pre-race safety briefing by chief instructor Jack Layton. He talks us through what each of the flag colours I might see various frantic stewards waving at me around the track mean - I need to be alert, he explains, to anything from a pile-up to a pheasant on the track.

There’s talk of racing lines, braking points and how not to spin off into the grass. Everyone else seems to be nodding knowingly while I'm beginning to wonder how I'm going to remember which pedal does what when we’re flat out down the Lavant Straight at 140mph.

I can't say I felt more ressured at this point, it would be safe to say I was vaguely terrified. It was clear I neeeded to keep my wits about me, so I asked Jack to take me for a spin in a BMW M340d to familiarise myself with the ciruit before I ventured about myself. "I stopped counting how many times I have been round here at 50,000 laps," he cooly explained as I tried not to vomit. "It's all about driving into the apex," he added, as I tried to imagine what Google result I would get for the word 'apex' if I could unclench my grip from the passenger door handle to reach my phone.

It turns out that nothing quite prepares you for the sheer gut-twisting thrill of actually being thrown around a race track by a professional driver. It suddenly dawned on me that I am little better than an average driver with no racing experience beyond surviving the daily commute into work on the London North Circular - and that this was serious business.

But there was no time to question my life choices as I climbed into a race-prepped Honda Type R (0-60mph in 5.4 secs). There’s something deliciously empowering about clambering into a race car in a helmet when you are still basically a nervous amateur. But pulling on the helmet, you do feel transformed - a bit less Mr Bean and suddenly a bit more Lewis Hamilton.

There’s also a moment - just as you ease your foot off the brake, squeeze the throttle and feel the zipped up engine surge beneath you - when you realise this is a lot harder than it looks on TV... but by that point you are away and it's far too late to worry.

I had a list of priorities in my head, number one was trying not to embarrass myself by spinning off the track or worse, into one of the walls. The truth is, I didn't really have any time to think as my first instructor of the day, Brad - who at first seemed calm and patient as he reminded me that the car will do what I tell it to - started screaming in my ear various instructions as I tried to survive my first lap.

First lap, I’m tentative - the car feels so sharp, so willing to change direction, that my usual cautious road manners feel totally out of place. Brad shouts instructions over the radio: “Brake now! Turn in! Feed the power in..!”

"Not bad, you broke 120mph," he said after it, possibly sensing that I was wondering 'was that any good or did I look like a twat?' "Let's go again," he said as I that inital thought was quickly replaced in my head with 'try not to die again, Stephen.' But by the third lap, I’m no longer apologising for my driving, I’m grinning like an idiot.

Next up was a spin in a Lotus sports car, powered by a supercharged 3.5-litre V6 engine (0-60mph in 4.3 secs) with my next instructor, John, and I could tell things were getting more serious because he was shouting more loudly. "You are too stiff, gripping on to the steering wheel like that, relax," he said. I couldn't argue, not least because I didn't want to explain I was holding on for both of our dear lives.

But also, I surprised myself with how I was starting to get a hang of it. It's not that difficult to steer into an apex and accelerate out and hitting 130mph, it turns out, it's just a challenge to remember 'what do I do next?' and where you should be on the racing line in that nanosecond that comes after you breathe that sigh of relief you're still breathing.

My final drive of the day was in the big one, the McLaren 750s supercar which, powered by a twin turbo-charged V8, does 0-60mph in 2.8 seconds with a top speed of 206mph. By now I’m feeling brave, maybe too brave? You wouldn't get much change from a £300,000 for one of these, and god knows what a scratch might cost to repair.

But again I have no time to worry, I just put my foot down, listen to my instructor and pray. I have driven one of these on the road before and it's a joy, but on the race track the McLaren is pure theatre, the steering is razor sharp and the throttle so sensitive that a sneeze might send you into a barrier... but when you get it right, it sings. The engine howls, the gearbox snaps through the gears and on the straights, it’s brutally quick - and oddly, that’s the easy bit. The real trick is staying calm when you fling it into the double apex Madgwick Corner at speeds that would earn you an instant ban on any normal road.

There was a moment on the Lavant Straight when I glance at the speedo and see we are nudging 140mph - and for a fleeting second, I feel like I understand what makes these cars so addictive. It’s not just the speed, it’s the noise, the smell, the sense that you’re dancing on a knife edge between control and chaos. My instructor sounds more full of praise than relief as he explains 'you just need to relax more." I'm just keen to do it again, and again.

After I park up in the paddock, relieved I have survived, and elated I haven't crashed any of the cars, I realise my heart is hammering and my face is aching from grinning. I was buzzing, and that's the magic of it, really.

A Goodwood track day isn’t about pretending you’re a racing god, though you’ll certainly feel like one for a few glorious seconds. It’s about stepping into a dream that, for most of us, lives on YouTube clips and Sunday night Top Gear reruns.

By the end of the day, I’m sweaty, slightly deaf and wondering if I can sell a kidney to pay for my own super car to do this every other weekend. There’s an addictive quality to that rush, once you’ve tasted it, your sensible family saloon will never feel the same again.

As I peel off my helmet, I catch one last look at the cars lined up in the pit lane, engines ticking as they cool. They’re not just machines, they’re invitations to live out every boy-racer fantasy you’ve ever had. For a few heart-stopping laps round Goodwood, they’re yours.

Would I do it again? In a beat of my heart, which I left somewhere near the chicane after bend seven.

* Goodwood Festival of Speed runs from July 10-13th 2025. The Motor Circuit runs a variety of track days and driving experiences in a range of cars all year round. Full details: https://www.goodwood.com/