It’s teeming rain at Brands Hatch as my Volvo 850 Estate revs eagerly on the grid. Framed by a field of far sportier competitors the shiny red station wagon looks slightly absurd. But she’s a true sleeper car; from the outside she looks as if she ought to be packing nought but a cabin full of groceries and a back seat stuffed with squawking, snot-smothered kids but underneath she’s meanness set to music. She’s stripped of every excess kilo, turbocharged, stiffened, lowered, and converted to all-wheel-drive. Not even the fondly remembered 850 Estates of the ’94 British Touring Car Championship I built her in homage to could touch this thing.