It starts early on. You probably got your first toy car as a present before your first birthday. By the age of three you were well versed in the arts and crafts of road and track and ramp construction and you had scored your first plastic trike.

Then, before you know it you are mind-​​driving in the back seat with your dad at the wheel, or you get one of those stick on steering– wheel-​​and-​​dash combos and you spend your time projecting yourself into that far-​​off adult world behind the wheel.

You start watching the Grand Prix, The TT and the Speedway on telly, and then learn how to ride a bike. The gradual process toward wheeled freedom begins. You stay out as late as you’re allowed and swoop and judder up and down through the imaginary gears, all the way to the park and back.

You take the racing line around lampposts, dog turds and bus shelters.

Before your family know it, you’re having driving lessons on a rainy Sunday in the super­market car park. You and your mate sneak out onto the roads with your mum’s mini, handbrake turning and bumping around agog with the illicit fun of it all.

Once you pass your test you’re released from the workaday. You can go anywhere, anytime any place: as long as the car’s serviceable and there’s a full tank of petrol.

Those fleeting feelings are special. Hang on to them. Happy weekend.