I spent the first half of this week driving around in Europe at reasonably decent speeds in a Nissan GT-R. It is not the most soothing of cars in which to cover big distances, it must be said.

I drove through France, Belgium, Italy, Austria and Germany, accruing a total of just over 3000 miles in four fairly manic days, and yet the entire time I kept thinking how wrong I’d been about the Nissan’s ride.

In Europe, on a mixture of motorways, the equivalent of some A and B-roads and the occasional Z-road such as the insane Stelvio Pass, the GT-R was the perfect weapon. As is often the case on epic long journeys such as this, I fell right back in love with it as a result.

And yet the moment I drove off the ferry in it at Dover and started driving again on English roads, the GT-R felt, relatively speaking, like an absolute shed. Its ride became instantly dreadful again, and all the noises from the transaxle and the rear brakes all came flooding right back.

But it wasn’t the car that was the problem; it was our roads. And the further I drove the GT-R back in England, the worse they – and it – seemed.

So why is it that our roads are so very rubbish here in dear old Blighty? Why do we put up with such appalling road surfaces, and how come there are so many badly repaired bits and road works all over the place nowadays?