Jeremy Paxman. Very much the embodiment of 21st century man. Civilised, urbane, well read and quick-witted. Yet underneath the polished veneer of sophistication pulsates the brain of a tree shrew. Yup. Underneath that £50 haircut Paxman is no different from the bass guitarist with AC/DC or your dog or even the brontosaurus.

Last week he rolled up at the Top Gear Karting Challenge wearing the sort of disdainful sneer that makes him such a terrifying adversary on Newsnight. “I’ve never even seen a go-kart before,” he drawled before the race.

By rights he should have hated every moment of it. Here, after all, was one of the most respectable and respected men on television all dolled up in a stupid racing suit and squeezed into a noisy, pointless bee of a thing.

But no, he loved it. Karting is cold, uncomfortable and a little bit dangerous. Uncultured, uncouth and yobbish, it is the diametric opposite of University Challenge. But it is guaranteed to send a shiver up the spine of even the most donnish romantic because, sitting down there, close to the ground, it feels fast.

Speed, we’re forever being told, kills. Slow down, say the advertisements on television and the digital boards on motorways. Flash flash go the speed cameras. The message is clear and constant, but I’m afraid you might as well try to teach a lamppost how to tie shoelaces.

We need speed like we need air and food and water.

And I’m not talking about the usefulness of going quickly either. Obviously, the faster you travel the sooner you get to where you’re going. So you can see more and do more and learn more. Speed, as I’ve said many times before, makes you cleverer.

Nor am I being flippant. Though, yes, speed does mean you can now go to see your mother- in-law — but you don’t have to stay the night.

What I’m being is scientific. Thousands of years ago what caused man to come out of his cave and think: “I wonder what’s in the next valley”? The risks of going to find out were immense but obviously he went ahead or we’d all still be living in Ethiopia.

More recently, what caused Christopher Columbus to sail across the Atlantic, or Neil Armstrong to fly to the moon? Why do people bungee jump? Well, it’s simple: we like risk.

Deep at the root of any brain in the animal kingdom is the limbic system, a sort of slug-like sticky thing that controls our instincts.

When we do something dangerous, it dumps a load of dopamine into our heads that makes us euphoric. You see the effects of this on the face of a footballer after he’s scored a goal. He’s taken a chance, got away with it and for a moment or two he is completely out of control, lost in a sea of pure ecstasy.

When you take cocaine, the drug causes dopamine to be released. It’s why people become so addicted, why it’s so moreish. But you don’t need to clog up your nose and become a crashing bore to get exactly the same effect. All you need to do is get out there and put your foot down.

Next weekend is the Festival of Speed, an event where some of the best cars in the world drive past huge crowds of spectators in the grounds of Goodwood House.

If you’re able to pop along, I urge you to go to the start line where you will see all sorts of respectable middle-aged men from the world of rock music and big business. They always say, before they set off, that it’s not a race and that they won’t be trying hard.

But the instant the visor snaps shut on their helmets, the brain screams: “Give me some dopamine,” the red mist comes down and they shoot off in a whirl of smoke and noise.

So what do the spectators get out of it? Well the same deal really. When the car comes roaring toward you, bellowing that V8 bellow, your body is thinking: “Hello”.

And when the unseeing limbic system senses danger it goes berserk. When you hear a noise in the house in the middle of the night you remain stock still, just like a springbok when it thinks it senses a predator. Blood is fed to the muscles, which is why your face goes white.

Next time you see Paxman, then, having a ding-dong on Newsnight, consider this: his outer human brain is thinking of an intelligent response, but his inner tree-shrew brain is thinking, “Where’s the nearest tree?” His blood is a mass of endorphins and adrenaline that make him strong and awake, and so is yours as the Ferrari GTO barrels toward you at 120.

And so was mine the other day when I decided to see how fast I could make the new Koenigsegg go on our test track in Surrey.

Mr Koenigsegg is a completely bald inventor from Sweden who decided one day to make a supercar. Ferrari and Lamborghini should be afraid. Very afraid.

Sweden’s odd like that. Only 172 people live there but when they turn their attention to something, the world tends to notice. Sweden produced one of the greatest Wimbledon champions of all time and one of the biggest-selling pop acts. Sweden is where you go for your self-assembly furniture.

Anything anyone can do, the Swedes can do better. Only a few years after someone failed to assassinate Ronald Reagan someone shot the Swedish prime minister, Olaf Palme. And, unbelievably, they still haven’t caught him.

So, what’s the new car like? Well, it’s almost the same weight as a McLaren F1, it is a little bit more aerodynamically efficient, and with 655bhp in the boot it’s a little bit more powerful. The result is, quite simply, the fastest road car in the world.

They’re talking about a top speed of 240mph and that’s about 30mph faster than Michael Schumacher drives when he’s at work.

My limbic system was impressed. And it was even more impressed when I came back from my first speed run to say the front was feeling a little light. “No problem,” said Mr Koenigsegg. “We will jack up the back of the car a bit. And do you mind if we put some gaffer tape round the windscreen?” Wow. It’s risky enough to drive any car at more than 170mph but to do it in a car that’s been jacked up a bit and has a windscreen held in place with duct tape . . . There were so many chemicals coursing around my arterial route map that if you’d cut me I’d have bled pure acid.

Eventually, I got it up to 174mph, 4mph faster than I’d managed in any other car on the test track. And then the dopamine came. Speed kills? Maybe, but it doesn’t half thrill as well.

So does the Koenigsegg. It’s an absolute beast, as hot as the centre of the Earth and as noisy as a foundry. It’s like working out on the footplate of a steam train but the rewards are huge.

Pile up to a corner, change down on the ridiculously narrow-gated gearbox, brake hard. Already your clutch leg is aching from the effort. Now turn the wheel. There’s power assistance, but not much. Your arms are straining to hold the front in line, so you apply some power to unstick the back end. Grrrrr, goes the 4.7 litre V8. Weeeeeeeeee goes the supercharger. And eeeeeeeee go the tyres are they lose traction.

Whack on some opposite lock to catch the slide. Whoa, it’s still going. More lock needed. More effort. Your arms are really hurting now and you’re desperately trying to balance the throttle, to find the sweet spot that will hold the back end in check.

There. There it is. Smoke is pouring off the tyres now, but the car is powering sideways and under perfect control through the bend. Inside you have sweat in your eyes, you feel like you’ve been arm wrestling a mountain all morning but with the dopamine coming you don’t notice a thing.

Welcome then to the world of the super-fast supercar. They are utterly stupid, of course. Just like the people who drive them. Us.

VITAL STATISTICS
Model Koenigsegg CC
Engine type V8, supercharged, 4723cc
Power 655bhp @ 6500rpm
Torque 553 lb ft @ 5000rpm
Transmission Six-speed manual
Suspension (front and rear) double wishbones, coil springs, anti-roll bar
Dimensions 4,190mm length; 1,990mm width; 1,070mm height
Tyres (front) 245/40 ZR18, (rear) 315/40 ZR18
Top speed 240mph
Acceleration 0 to 62mph: under 3.5sec
Price £354,000
Verdict An absolute beast

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