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It's a big 'if', though. Microjoule bears about as much resemblance to a production car as it does to a Toblerone bar. The reason the Shell car posts comparatively poor economy figures is due to a few extra safety concessions (bumping off a seven-time world F1 champion wouldn't go down well), but it'd require a special blend of idiocy and disregard for traffic laws to ever make it to the road.

For a car that barely tops 25mph, it's scary enough on the track. The driving technique is simple enough: open the throttle as wide as it'll go for a few seconds, get up to cruising speed and then shut all the systems down until friction catches up and it's time for another burst.

But with the little Honda strimmer motor buzzing a inch behind my head, nothing but flimsy plastic between flesh and tarmac, a hefty crosswind and every steering movement requiring an action not dissimilar to a self-examination for testicular cancer, the reality is bloody terrifying.

And that's before the rains come. Predictably, windscreen wipers have been dispensed with in the quest for economy, so a flash shower rapidly reduces visibility from minimal to utterly nonexistent. The second half on my lap is conducted on guesswork alone, in fear of shunting into a dawdling 11-year-old in a washing up bottle. Think of the negative impact on fuel consumption.

The challenge of eking out ever-more-economical laps is addictive. If you've ever played the 'Fuel Gauge Red Light Challenge' to make your last few drops of petrol last all the way home - slipping into neutral on downhill stretches, tailgating tractors - you'll know it's a technical task, but the Eco-Marathon takes frugality to a whole new level.

A second longer than necessary on the throttle is sinful; having take the long route round a slower car is a waste of valuable fuel. Braking, obviously, is a big no-no, and the course has to be completed at an average speed of 15mpg so every lap is timed assiduously.

In short, it's not easy. Spare a thought for the poor kids wedged into the driver's seat by competitive parents and teachers: being pedalled alongside by stopwatch-wielding technicians, debriefed and peppered with statistics at the end of each test run. Never has Competitive Dad Syndrome been more in evidence.

But despite the mild child exploitation, the environmental benefits that spring from the Eco-Marathon are obvious. This year Shell has introduced a competition class for petrol and diesel alternative fuels, as well as a solar-powered category.

But far more importantly than its role as a test bed for green technologies, as a tool for indoctrinating our children (because, ladies and gentlemen, our children are the future) about the importance of eco-awareness, as an exercise in teamwork and all that malarkey, the Eco-Marathon has given me the chance to say this: I am twice as good as Schumacher.

The gauntlet has been lain down, Michael. See you next year. And go easy the sandwiches at all those corporate lunches. It's tight in that cabin.