The circuit is today a work of art. The old 'Paul Ricard' logo still sits atop the main pit complex; everything else is state-of-the-art ·a five-star tribute to F1 test technology. There are no grandstands at the HTTT; instead, hundreds of metres of painted, manicured run-off area invite you to drive this circuit to its limit, and perhaps beyond. The place is immaculate ·spotless in every detail. I felt like removing my shoes before I walked into the Toyota garage.

Former Toyota GP driver Olivier Panis kindly showed me the details of the track in a Land Cruiser. I had been driven around Ricard before ·by Didier Pironi and by Nigel Mansell ·so it was fairly familiar. A new chicane would be used on the back straight, but otherwise it would be more or less the same. I would be using the configuration ·one of over 30 ·on which they last raced the French GP.

I tried a basic seat shell, and it was fine. I tried the cockpit, and it, too, was comfortable. I would use Olivier's HANS collar and steering wheel. The pedals were exactly right. I felt as if I was sitting too low, and I worried about general visibility, but J·g Faust, 'my' number one mechanic for the day, assured me that my height was about right.

Gianvito Amico, a Toyota test team engineer whom I remembered from his days with Minardi, spoke calmly into my radio: "OK Peter. We have about 30 minutes. It's quite cold ·five degrees ·so it may take a little time to heat up the brakes and tyres. Be careful. We have taped up the brake ducts, and we have given you quite a high traction control setting. When J·g gives you the signal, switch on the ignition and then wait for us to start the engine."

"Okay, copy." At least I sounded professional.

The signal came. I flicked down the switch sited near my left thigh. A few seconds later, the V10 engine barked into life ·a low rumble at first, and then, very quickly, a high-pitched scream that shakes the garage. The thought occurred that all this noise, all this vibration, was merely to enable me to travel unnaturally fast.

I remembered Olivier's instructions: "Just ease the hand clutch out gently. You won't need to give it any right foot. And remember to use the left-hand clutch paddle because you are going to be turning right out of the garage!"

The boys loosened the tyre warmers, and then lowered the car to the garage floor. J·g raised his hand, foot on the nose of the car. Then, with a twirl of his hand, the tyre covers were whisked away, and suddenly he was stepping backwards out of the garage and waving me out, checking the pitlane for traffic.

I gently begin to release the clutch. Nothing... nothing... yes, now! I feel the car begin to edge forwards. I keep up the rate of release. It picks up a little pace, and I turn the wheel, feeling cramped in the cockpit and worried that I won't be able to get enough lock. Now my arms are crossed and I'm still holding the clutch. We're up and running, though, so I follow J·g's signals. The front wing clears the concrete wall. I am in the pitlane!

"Pitlane speed limiter, Pete, pitlane speed limiter," Gianvito reminds me to press the 'SL' button on the steering wheel. I do so. Automation takes over. I am a passenger at 80km/h (50mph).

And then I am heading towards a green light, and starting to press my right foot on the accelerator. I feel a kick in the back as the Toyota jerks forwards. First, second, third ·already the car is jumping around from bump to bump, and the first corner is looming. I press lightly on the brakes ·and then firmer, hoping suddenly to feel them bite. Nothing. They feel soft and spongy. They are, of course, as cold as ice.

I tiptoe round that opening lap. Spots of rain hit my visor. I accelerate and brake, accelerate and brake, trying to warm things up. Still there is nothing from the brakes. I know I should by now be travelling perhaps 150km/h (93mph) faster everywhere, and that by now the brakes should be alive, but at my tentative pace, the carbon discs and pads have no chance.