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Forget pâté de fois gras to the sound of trumpets, sitting outside the beer tent by the heavy haulage ring on a beautiful summerʼs day, with a halfway decent pint in one hand watching these magnificent machines go through their paces was the nearest thing to heaven that Iʼve experienced.

Perhaps not a vision of heaven that everyone would subscribe to, but the sheer scale of this event would indicate that Iʼm not alone.