The Ferrari F12 versus... a train

DR: We hit the stoppers in Euston, and a little tea spills over my cup. So I gather my bags, reach through the window to undo the door handle and step off... to be greeted by a shiny F12 and a ruined Piers, already on the platform, grinning like a tired loon.

PW: Still keen on your train, Read? I want to do a victory dance, but my feet are apparently made of concrete. The same stuff as my eyelids. We got here at 7:20, a good hour before the train. The car won. And in style.