DISTURBING TΗΕ PEACE

It's got numberplates alright, but is the Valk too extreme for the public road? Bring it back in one piece, Ollie

- OLLIE MARRIAGE

THE ASTON MARTIN VALKYRIE PUTS ME TO SLEEP. AT 30M PH.

Surrounded by Manama's nighttime bustle and thrust. Yes, it's been a long day driving probably the planet's most exciting hypercar, but that's not it. Instead - and prepare for a key change here - I want you to imagine that you're an unborn child. There you are, tightly packaged yet perfectly supported. Warm. Safe. Soothed by lub-dub noises, the hum and vibration of unknown everyday life.

Welcome to the Valkyrie. From the neck down every bit of me is supported by various bits of trim and floor, lulling zizzes and vibrations run through the carbon tub, the engine's low-rev drone is a constant, dominant white noise. I didn't expect to liken travelling in the Valkyrie to being in a womb, but that's the effect it has on me and, yeah, it sends me drifting towards the land of Nod. Of all the things I expected to learn about the Valkyrie, its soporific nature was not one of them.

I slap myself round the cheek, hard. The effect is diminished because the first thing my fingers come into contact with is a set of ear defenders. That could be part of the problem. I adjust my aim and go again, harder.

Some 12 hours ago I watched this car being unboxed in a pit garage and was handed a small lozenge-like key. It deserved more ceremony, seeing as we've been waiting for this car since 2016. A seven-year gestation, riven with complications all boiled down to a key in my palm, and a car in front of me.