Standing on the headland at the mouth of Little Catalina Bay, heather and lichens underfoot clinging to mammoth lodes of shale, the rock crazily tilted off level and edges shredding away looking like blown-down straw.

The wind has eased, and it carries the sound of the GT40 over from town, 2 km away, as the Ford hurtles along the sea road. You see the blue splash gain speed, then the howl of the Gurney-Westlake V8’s open intake stacks follows in a few seconds.