Before the big day, I'd been treated to all kinds of leg-pulling and banter, mostly centred around the fact that what we'd created wasn't going to be the best at turning. But I had a plan, the track was straight – yes there was a 'chicane' to negotiate – but as long as I lined it up I knew I was in with a chance.

So as I sat hunched inside my fibre glass cocoon at the top of the ramp, I watched Paul and the team doing ring-a-roses to a Beach Boys Club Mix in front of me (Paul really needs to up his dancing game by the way) and I began to pick my route down the track.

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The music stopped – and thankfully so did Paul's dancing – then all of a sudden I was being pushed down the ramp... I was on my way. The run down to the first jump gave me a chance to get a feel for the steering, I gave it a little wiggle and found that I was actually getting some response, not something Lewis Hamilton would be happy with, but I had feedback from the wheels. This was great news and I quickly turned my attention to the ramp that was 'fast' approaching...

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Within literally minutes, I could see the huge, 18-inch ramp of death looming up in front of me, I adjusted the PAS (Paul Assisted Steering), held my breath and whoosh...! I was airborne. Time stood still for a few seconds, I could no longer hear the crowd, the rustling of the wind through the trees, or Paul screaming words of encouragement like a proud father behind me ... just the beating of my heart. It was so peaceful. The next thing I knew I was lunging forwards, I thought I was going to be thrown out of the front of the bus so I mentally prepared myself for the cold, hard tarmac that I was about to kiss, but no, this little bus of awesomeness bounced on its front wheels and then the back wheels followed – I had to make a split second steering adjustment to stop myself careering though the crowd and into one of the burger vans, but I'd made it!

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The 'chicane' was up next but posed me no problems, I swerved through it as if it wasn't even there, then the track seemed to flatten out a little, and my speed subsequently decreased, but I had just enough momentum to negotiate the final jump then crawl flat out to the finish line!

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I'd survived my first Soapbox Derby run. I'd suffered a couple of bruised elbows and I don't think I'll be populating the world with any more children, but I was in one piece.