It is called Feel It, an F1 immersion programme run by the ING Renault Formula One team. It uses a car that wears current livery but employs 2006 aerodynamics, an old 3-litre Peugeot V10 and a retired Prost chassis.

Held at the world-class Paul Ricard High Tech Test Track in the south of France, this is the closest mere mortals will ever get to playing F1 driver for a day.

And what a day it is for me. After a power breakfast packed with vitamins A, B, C, D, E and of course F1, I get sized up for my racing suit, helmet and gloves. Turns out my physique is as strong as Fernando Alonso's - when he was a skinny nobody circa 1991.

After suiting up, I stare in the mirror and see Nelson Piquet Junior - rolling on the floor with laughter because I look ridiculous.

This is serious stuff, though. There is a physiotherapy session to determine if you are fit to drive an F1 car. They take your blood pressure, test the strength of your arms, head and neck, and check for recent injury or surgery. They are also trained to sound the alarm if, mentally, you have a screw loose.

I am certified imperfectly normal and ready to roll but before I can give Alonso a run for his money (in theory, at least), I have to earn my stripes in a 2-litre Formula Renault racer.

Essentially a scaled-down F1 car with a fraction of the power, the Formula Renault lets me learn the track and the lines to take, helped by coloured cones placed before every corner.

Red signifies braking, orange is to downshift, yellow is the turning point, blue is the apex and green means go, hard on throttle.

It is quite foolproof, in other words. But behind the wheel in the real deal, I feel like a dumb P-plater. The sounds, the sheer speeds, the physical sensations - they are mind-blowing in the F1 Renault.

The acceleration is absolutely brutal and the turbulence in the cockpit is a mini hurricane. There is no speedometer or tachometer, only a bank of green lights on the small steering wheel to indicate engine revs.

At every opportunity, I keep my foot planted until the right-most red light blinks to signal that the V10 is doing 10,000rpm. At that point, the epic soundtrack right behind me becomes a banshee of colossal proportions.

Paddles, perfect in size and position, make changing gears PlayStation-easy, with every instantaneous gear change rocking me like a controlled explosion.

Not so easy is the braking, with the carbon brakes working as intended only if you stomp on the stop pedal. Brake late and brake hard, that is the trick.

Looking at my telemetry results, I reckon Alonso might have been quicker in a Clio (Renault's supermini). I managed to hit 240kmh, somewhat shy of the 700bhp, 580kg car's full potential.

Never mind, because I still scored every boy-racer's ultimate dream drive.