If I may digress slightly for a moment, in the late 90s, I went to the French GP at Magny Cours with a couple of mates. Both had TVR Griffiths. Much fun was had on the way down, and even more at the race track campsite, where many interested European petrolheads came to look at the strange British sports cars, and for the opportunity to sit behind the wheel and rev the burbling V8s, would gladly ply us with beers. The day after the race, we packed up and headed back to Dear Old Blighty. On one of the autoroutes, we were making steady progress when some buffoon in a Porsche 911 thought he fancied a go. The guy driving me backed out at 130 at which point the Beetle on Steroids slowly came past. My other friend in the second TVR decided that the UK's honour needed restoring and mashed his right foot into the carpet unleashing the full majestic force of the V8. The sound as he shot by, was rather special. It's a shame I could not have seen the look on the Porsche driver's face as he was forced to move over. Blackpool 1, Stuttgart 0.
Then there was the story from the next year's trip of a Mustang which tried to keep up disappearing in a cloud of smoke behind us....