Twelve-times world trials champion Dougie Lampkin made an incredible tour of Goodwood house on his bike

I may have to shoot the next person who eulogises about the Goodwood Festival of Speed as the ultimate garden party. It may be tea and cucumber sandwiches for some, but the pleasure of eating even the finest chocolate eclair is spoiled when you’re wearing three layers of flameproofs, plus a set of old-fashioned overalls. The pink icing on the fairy cakes complemented my superheated complexion perfectly.

Inevitably I ended up spending a fair amount of the weekend hunched in the cockpit of the Type-D Auto Union. It would be churlish to complain – but, like one of those hard-to-access nightclubs favoured by young royals, it’s surprisingly cramped once you’ve achieved entry.

To be honest, to drive it’s fairly similar to an old London taxicab (‘I ’ad that Auto Union in the back of my motor the other day… 485bhp… ever such a nice engine’) or perhaps the wheelhouse of a pocket battleship. ‘Ten degrees starboard, Mason.’ ‘Aye Aye Sir, that’ll be Molecombe coming up on the port bow…’

Over the last couple of years I’ve become a bit of a specialist on low-speed Auto Union driving. Rain, caution and mechanical problems have ensured a number of fairly stately perambulations up the Goodwood hill, but this year the men from Crosthwaite & Gardiner buckled down; and as I headed for the champagne reception and black-tie dinner, they headed back to headquarters for more bits.

On Sunday morning I was under the impression that the car was not going to run, and I was just polishing my knife and fork in order to do justice to the Cartier lunch when the call came to re-don my flameproofs and head down to the assembly area.

This time the car was sensational. Firing on all its 12 cylinders, with lower ratios than it had for the Kemble test featured in Octane issue 62, and some new tyres, it gave me a ride I won’t forget in a hurry. After a fairly relaxed start in order to avoid any dangers of stalling, it was a charge into the first right-hander.

I just about anticipated the tendency to jump out of first gear (they all do that, Sir…) and, although I never needed anything beyond third gear, it certainly felt like 200mph past the house. By the time we got to the top of the hill the driver was gasping for breath – possibly due to forgetting to breathe – whilst the car felt ready for a bunch of laps around the old Nürburgring.

A really big thank you to Audi for the privilege of driving the car, and all at Crosthwaite & Gardiner for building it, and particular thanks to the two Ians for that late-night fettling. I think everyone is impressed by the way Charles March gathers an incredible roster of drivers and cars from all over the globe for the Festival, but I think I know how he does it now.

I’m fairly certain that he has studied under Paul McKenna. The last thing I remember was Charles swinging that gold fob watch in front of my face and telling me I was feeling sleepy. The next moment I had agreed to get up on stage at the after-dinner show and bang the drums. Thank God I managed to prevail on Kenny Jones and Roger Taylor to share the stress.

Having said that, it might have helped that I was able to offer them the best view of the scantily clad dancers, and they became even more enthusiastic when it was suggested that Dougie Lampkin – 12-times World Trials Champion – would arrive on stage through a flaming hoop directly over my head. This concept was eventually ditched when it was felt that knocking my head off might make his boots dirty.

Dougie still put on the most remarkable show and later made an even more incredible tour of Goodwood House on his bike. If you missed it, check out http://www.goodwood.co.uk/Site/Content/FestivalOfSpeed/Dougie_Lampkin_Video.aspx.

He not only did the garden, hall and library, but also most of the upper floors as well. Given that his dad Martin and uncle Arthur were also bike champs, the real heroine of the family must be his mum. Imagine the chaos when she called the family down to breakfast. The noise of those two-strokes and the oil spots on the stair carpet must have been an endless source of irritation…