BLOOD SPORT

You walk up to the MC20. Of course you do – you’ve seen it from a distance so you want a closer look. It’s a rare beast, hasn’t suffered Instagram overexposure, so there’s lots for your eyes to dwell on. But there’s a catch: next you’re going to drive it.

Hardly a catch, you’re thinking. But as you take in the Perspex rear screen, peer in at the dark, bare cabin, swing a door up to reveal a cutaway carbon sill, realise there’s something of the Group C racer about this new Maserati and remember the next three hours are not going to be spent spanking around Dunsfold but in crushing motorway monotony… the sparkle dulls. You think, “Well, I know what to expect: noise, vibration, road chatter and a stiffness that’ll be reflected in my skeleton when I have to get out after 150 miles as the tank will be dry.”

This, then, was the thought process I went through. With a certain trepidation I left Slough in this carbon tubbed, rear-drive, twin-turbo V6 supercar. For the first 40 miles I was too occupied to give the MC20 much thought. I was just trying to get it as I wanted, figure out the wheel, screens, those Fiat stalks, phone connectivity. It wasn’t until around Swindon that it suddenly