The Ferrari F12 versus... a train

DR: Ah, but this isn't just any old train. This is the Caledonian Sleeper, a quarter of a kilometre of rolling stock plus a diesel-electric motor up front. One of two remaining sleeper services in Britain, it usually dispatches the 915-kilometres journey in under 12 hours through sheer, grinding monotony. We have toilets on board and a dining car. No traffic to concern myself with. Which should give the car something to worry about if it has to wiggle its way down the country through speed camera and traffic-infested A-roads and motorways. Unless Piers does something risky.

PW: A ridiculous thought. This is going to be like relieving a toddler of his favourite brand of biscuits. Quick jaunt down the motorway, job done. The seats are comfy, we're well stocked with food and water, and the aircon is set to an unsteamy 20°C. I'm already enjoying this. As Dan and the Caledonian ease out of the station with a gentle burr of diesel power, I fire up the satnav and find a route that promises 1050 kilometres of motorway. Ouch. Immediately, I see a shortcut across country. At least, it looks like a shortcut. Still, that train is already nearly entirely gone, so I need to get a shift on. A quick twist of the key and a prod of the wheel-mounted engine-start button and, wham, the F12 fires up with the ambiguity of a modest nuclear warhead. Dan - your train is boring me already. It's 20.27, and we're off....