Even when you begin to extract the best from the GT, it feels like you’re dancing on a knife edge

There’s nothing remotely soft-edged about the Carrera GT, as I well know, but it decides to remind me by snapping into evil turn-in oversteer three times during the first warm-up lap. On cold tyres the Porsche takes no prisoners.

Even when sufficient temperature is in the tyres, you don’t attack the lap, rather you methodically, meticulously zero yourself in on the Carrera GT’s limits like a marksman adjusts the sight on his rifle. Only by girding your skill and courage and nudging ever closer to the point where you feel your inputs harmonise with the chassis’ behaviour can you begin to extract the best from the GT, and even then it feels like you’re dancing on a knife edge.

The engine, gearbox and brakes are a sensational combination, the tortured V10 yowl interrupted only momentarily with every punchy up or downshift, the ceramic brakes soaking up the speed without once waking the ABS sensors.

Perhaps it’s the hairy warm-up lap. Perhaps it’s the low track temperature. Perhaps it’s the fact that the tyres, by owner Bailey’s own admission, are past their best. Perhaps I’m just not feeling as brave today. Whatever, the Carrera GT fails to match its previous best, managing a still impressive 1.20.20. The R500 can breathe again.