The six-speed gearbox no longer has a dogleg first to second pattern and the shift itself is surprisingly effortless considering all the inertia at work down there at the flywheel. Into second, then third at no more than 2500rpm, and the V12 feels and sounds much more tractable than I remember. Much more polished.

Into the first chicane and the steering also feels more honest, and sharper. The assistance is quite subtle and it still feels like there’s a lot of car behind you when switching from one direction to the next. But there’s a precision and a sense of balance present that the Diablo never had. Bascially the Murcielago already feels lighter, nimbler and crisper in its reactions - a good 30-40 percent more so than the Diablo.

Through the second chicane, which is faster, the nose dives towards the apex when I turn in. Yet there isn’t a corresponding reaction from the tail when I realise I’ve gone in a little bit too quick and brush some speed away with the brakes. The back just stays planted and there’s a teeny bit of safe understeer. Right from the word go this car displays a lovely sense of balance.

For the first three laps of this odd little circuit I deliberately don’t go full throttle. Because the moment you experience a Lamborghini V12 under load at 7500rpm is the moment you lose all logical judgement about the rest of the car. Before that moment arrives I realise several things about the Murcielago’s chassis. Not simply that it rides better, but that it is also far more composed than the Diablo’s.

In terms of actual grip on offer I doubt there’s a huge difference between the two, even though the Murcielago wears tyres that were specifically developed for the car by Pirelli and are, apparently, vastly superior to the Diablo’s regular P-Zeros. The engine also sits some 5cm lower in the chassis than before and the springs and dampers have been uprated all round, to improve the dynamics.

The big difference, however, is not how fast you can go through corners in this car, but how composed it feels while doing so. It’s now so agile and immediate in its reactions that, for the first time ever, I’d actually go so far as to call it a sports car. In the same way that I’d call a 360 Modena a sports car. Whereas the Diablo was never anything other than a big old barge which, if you started to throw it around at all, would simply ask you very politely to cut it out. Or just throw you off the road entirely.

But, of course, it’s still the engine that ultimately calls the shots. When finally my discipline snaps and I plant the accelerator in second gear and hold it on the floor until the limiter arrives at 7800rpm.

But it’s some finale. Lamborghini claims the Murcielago will accelerate to 100kph in 3.8sec and get to 160kph in about 8.0sec. Not quite into McLaren F1 territory, then, but not far off. It’s actually difficult to avoid spouting cliches about what the engine sounds like between 4000 and 5500rpm and then again between 6500 and 7800 when the sensations that come at you are so visceral, so raw. As for the acceleration, well let’s just say it makes the Diablo feel old and slow. Very old and very slow.

Which is astonishing in itself. But the most important thing about the Murcielago, for me, is not that it’s so much quicker than its already quite brisk predecessor, it’s that, fundamentally, it hasn’t changed in personality one bit. The fact that it’s now easier to drive, more friendly on the limit, less thirsty and much more comfortable is great, of course, but the key thing is: it’s still the ballsiest supercar on the planet.

In an era when most other car makers are obsessed with protecting us from ourselves, the Murcielago is a gale of fresh air blasting you up both nostrils. If Audi can do this with the Diablo, just think how good the smaller, all-new car could be in two years’ time. I’d imagine one or two people at Ferrari might just be wondering, too. And if not, they should be.