It was an early start, and I hate early starts. After a sleepy coffee and accidentally waking the dog on the way out of the flat, I pulled myself into my Renault, nipped at by the morning cold. Dawn was breaking over London, and my body sullenly questioned what it was doing. But as I typed a destination into my sat-nav, I felt the first prickle of excitement. My destination was Goodwood Motor Circuit. I was going to my first Breakfast Club. 

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