We’re ready to go. Carefully. The driver before me spun it twice, doubtless due to the failure of its Michelin Cup 2 tyres to interact with the wet surface, and I will share with you that I did exit turn one at something of an unorthodox angle. But thereafter, it was sublime.
With all the rubber removed from the suspension, the immediacy of its response reminded me more of a race car than something that can be used on the road. And as the surface dried until it was merely damp, so I could get a little heat into the Michelins, I could start to use the car properly.
The noise is frankly ridiculous, in richness, complexity and, most of all, volume. It’s not like hearing some old symphonic Ferrari V12: it’s much more aggressive than that. To my ear, it’s most like the engine that Jaguar used to win the Le Mans 24 Hours in 1988 and 1990; and as that was a 7.0-litre V12, I don’t suppose there’s anything too surprising in that.
The Victor is much less of a handful to drive than I expected. Because it’s so immediate, it’s so well tied down and it provides feel that you don’t find in modern cars (road or race), you always know where you are with it. It’s easy to overwhelm the grip of its street tyres and it’s set up to understeer (a bit too much, being honest), but you can always call on that mighty old V12.
A quick stab of throttle removes grip from one end and restores it at the other; and while the back moves fast, it’s so predictable that you can skid it about like an 800bhp Caterham. Almost.