Reminds me of a time about 15 years ago when I was working at a prestige/sports car company. Only one salesman was around when a guy came in and wanted a test drive in an M3 that had been breathed upon. Rather than leave the showroom empty the salesman asked me to go out with Mr McCarthy. I directed the guy to a nice area with some good quiet roads to experience the performance a little. He seemed OK at the wheel and all was fine until he floored it as we headed towards a series of bends. He had the back end hanging out on every bend whilst my finger nails dug into my palms. With my heart beating in time with the engine we headed back to the showroom and the relief of the 30 limit. Perry was impressed with the car and after some discussion with our salesman he bought it. When I later told the salesman about the customer's driving he told me that he was a racing driver. It was only a couple of years later that we found out that Perry McCarthy was the original Stig, the job he had when he scared the brown stuff out of me.