WE LIMEYS CAN DO WILD HORSEPOWER TOO

And, to put it into even better perspective, the majority of cars on our roads struggle to produce 200bhp at all, so this orange mass of Mustang muscle is a very rare monstrosity.

Only Bugatti's 250mph Veyron can boast a near-identical figure, though at 1.25m pounds it is 15 times more expensive than the 'Stang.

I'm no virgin when it comes to power. Over the years I've been in a Jaguar jet fighter plane and driven an F1 car, experiencing their phenomenal g-forces and neck-snapping twists and turns. But nothing I've experienced comes close to the thrill of burying the throttle of this Mustang.

The company behind its fabulous fiendishness is Ultimate Bad Boy. It's based in America but is owned by Tim Porter, a Brit, who wanted to show the likes of Shelby and Saleen that a Limey can beef up motors just as well as a Yank. Heck, even the joint forces of Ford and Shelby can muster only 500bhp with their offering of the same car.

Porter reckons his creation is the world's fastest street-legal Mustang. At the heart is an aluminium 5.4-litre engine from Ford's GT supercar, but with one of the biggest superchargers you can buy this side of a drag strip. It furnishes a vast amount of torque as well as power - 825 lb ft of the stuff. A Lamborghini Murci lago can manage a mere 487 lb ft.

The Mustang has a 0-60mph time of an eye-watering 3.8sec and its exhaust note is sonorous enough to make a nun blaspheme. If you don't fit extra silencers, it'll snarl its way to 124 decibels at full chat, which, the experts say, poses the risk of permanent hearing loss if you are regularly exposed to it for more than a minute.

Unbelievably, the engine would cope with a further 500bhp but the chassis wouldn't. As it is, the 1,000bhp has to be fed to the rear wheels in three parts. From a standstill you get 500bhp until you snatch second gear, when you're given some more, before you get access to the whole juicy lot in third gear, once the accelerator's wide open.

When parked, and silent, this car still manages to look predatory. The 18-inch magnesium wheels, which have been tested to destruction, are wrapped in rubber with so few grooves cut into it that they'd be at home on a racetrack. The bonnet clips actually are from a race car, and then there's the hole in the bonnet for the supercharger to poke through (a Perspex cover is being designed).

Round the back are twin tailpipes and a boot spoiler, and the whole car sits just four inches from the ground. Then there's the orange paint job, the most stealth-like of five wild colours on offer.

Fluorescent green? It's yours. With a quickening pulse, I opened the door (a right-handdrive conversion costs 5,000 pounds), slid into the seat and was reassured to see a bog-standard Mustang interior with no intimidating switches or gauges to navigate. There's just the addition of three small dials on top of the dash, displaying delights such as the supercharger boost level.

Firing the car up involves nothing more sophisticated than a turn of a key and a push of a button, but then it becomes quite special.

First, there's the thunderous start-up from the engine, and then the whole car vibrates just enough to get the adrenaline pumping. Because this car is seriously conspicuous, your pride can't afford a stall at this moment. My preconceived idea was that it would need a heavy right foot and a slipping clutch to get it to move, but that's absolutely not the case. It's easier than a Porsche 911.

The gearbox was another surprise. I'd expected to stir a big stick and use a fair bit of muscle to guide it into each sloppy cog, but the lever is palm-sized and goes through all six gears in just a few inches.

Knowing I'd need a straight road for my first taste of 1,000bhp, I took it steady for a few miles of country lanes en route to the nearest dual carriageway. The Mustang gurgled its way up to top gear and to the speed limit, where it remained with revs barely higher than at tickover. Over the potholes and ruts, the ride was not as smooth as that of a BMW 5-series, but it wasn't hideously wide of the mark.

The big leather and suede seats are comfy and more practical than they are pretty - no delicately designed Ferrari carbon fibre structures in here. Of course it's not going to handle with the poise and purpose of an F430 either, but don't let its macho physique deceive you.

It does take up a little more of the road than your average Euro machine, but it changes direction quickly and with little body roll.

The suspension is adjustable and can be stiffened to optimise the handling for a track day, but be warned that the only form of traction control will be your right foot. I honestly don't think there's a system in the world that's strong enough to rein in what I unleashed once I found the dual carriageway.

The Ultimate Bad Boy lived up to its name. And some. From a virtual standstill, bursting with anticipation, I hit the throttle, the revs rose to 4,500rpm and I snatched my foot off the clutch. The back end squatted down to the tarmac with such violence, I thought a planet had landed on it. The V8 gave a war cry that could be heard a mile away, and the car leapt forward. I stopped breathing.

Within a nanosecond the revs hit 6,000rpm and on reflex alone I grabbed second gear. My brain was of no use because I'd left it 50ft back. Vibration coursed through the pedals, the seat and the wheel, and the supercharger delivered its goods.

As the tarmac ahead was gobbled up, there was a fair amount of snaking as the back end started to slide. I knew I would hit the jackpot in third gear so I grabbed it, stamped on the throttle - and suddenly understood what it must feel like in a capsule on top of a Saturn V rocket.

I swore. A lot.

I could hear and feel the prop shaft spinning underneath and the quick release racing brake pads rattling with each wheel rotation; the vibrations through my seat shook weight off me. Addictive stuff.

Somehow, in this blur of speed, I was aware that anyone attached to a police uniform could hear such antics, and there were still three gears I hadn't even touched. Porter tells me his Mustang will hit 221mph, whereupon it becomes 'a bit twitchy'. All this from a car with the profile of a house brick. Fabulous.

I took his word for it, and, with my licence still safe in my handbag, I clambered out, only to suffer the automotive equivalent of seasickness. The car had left an imprint on my eardrum, my body and my soul (once I'd retrieved it), and I needed half an hour for my senses to return to their normal settings. I've still got the grin on my face, though.

The UBB 1000 is a wondrous monster of a machine. And, if you care about these things, it's quite practical too. It's got rear seats and a big boot, is cheaper to service than a Mini and is quite tame around town.

On the flip side, it costs about 78,000 pounds and does 8mpg at worst. This is, though, a car that I'll never forget. The ultimate bad boy indeed.

Vicki Butler-Henderson is planning to attend The Sunday Times track day on Tuesday. Go to ingear-driversclub.com for more details.