The Stig versus the Mercedes SLS Black
There is no entrance gate as such – you drive straight into the midst of smart factory buildings. A thousand people are employed here, but I’m only interested in finding one: Sunday Jonathan. The man whose name adorns ‘my’ engine. Sunday’s done a fine job, I reflect, as we park by a likely looking security hut. The V8 has run faultlessly, failed to flash a single warning light and been beyond addictive, so, well done, Sunday. Funny name, mind you.