Wrong. If you’d told me before the start of Speed Week that, of all the amazing metal on show, the car I’d most enjoy driving on track - the car I’d come back to, time after time - would be the Corvette C7 Stingray, I’d have responded with a phrase not fit for a family magazine. Just look at it. You can tell from no more than a cursory glance that this thing is a) very front-engined, b) very rear-drive and c) just waiting for an excuse to flick you, tiddly-wink-style, into a lump of Armco.

But here’s the thing. It isn’t. The Corvette is as confidence-boosting and accessible a fast car as I’ve driven in years. And that’s not coming from one of those grimacing, pointy-shoe-wearing drivers who steps from a car and says, with an approving nod, “Yeah, feels just like a racecar. Mega.” Because to me, “feels like a racecar” means “hideously hot, noisy, twitchy, impossible to see out of, might catch fire at any moment”. Feeling like a racecar is not generally a good thing. But the Corvette feels like a racecar in the right way rather than the wrong way, communicating to you from each corner, steering true, tapping you into an HDMI feed from the innermost workings of its chassis.