Before Moss was understandably drawn in the second half of his career to the winter sun of the Southern Hemisphere – racing in Australia, New Zealand and South Africa – ‘anything, anywhere’ meant tackling European rallies, plugging Derbyshire mud or pounding a French speed bowl in search of another mind-bending record, such as, say, averaging more than 100mph for a week: a true test of Moss’ ‘movement is tranquillity’ mantra.

Check out his 1952 itinerary. For a flat fee of £50 from the Rootes Group, he finished second in January’s snowbound Monte Carlo Rally, missing out on victory by four seconds at the wheel of a three-up Sunbeam-Talbot 90 saloon; he was co-driven by BRDC secretary Desmond Scannell and John A Cooper of Autocar. On his return, Moss contested a trial in a Ford-engined special supplied by ex-racer Cuth Harrison. Then he contested the Lyon-Charbonnières Rally in his own Jaguar XK120 coupé, co-driven by Autosport editor Gregor Grant and finishing second in class. In July, he won his class in the Alpine with a penalty-free run in a Sunbeam navigated by John Cutts. He rounded off this manifold campaign with the aforementioned week-long blat around Montlhéry – in an XK120 coupé shared with Leslie Johnson, Jack Fairman and Bert Hadley – and by driving a Humber Super Snipe through 15 European countries in just four days by way of a publicity stunt. On the latter occasion he was joined again by Johnson, a glutton for punishment clearly, Cutts and mechanic David Humphrey.

The more clement Montes of 1953 and 1954 provided neither the same thrill nor result of his first – Moss finished sixth and 15th in Sunbeams – but the 1954 Alpine Rally more than made up for it, with snow in summer. Moss was endeavouring to become only the second recipient of a Coupe des Alpes en Or, awarded for three consecutive unpenalised runs. He drove so hard at one point that he burst into tears at the conclusion of his exertion. Once again he had left nothing on the table. And that perhaps explains what happened at the finish.

Word had got out that the transmission of his Sunbeam-Talbot Alpine convertible – keeping the crew warm had been a genuine problem – was not functioning as it ought, for which penalties would be accrued. With a scrutineer alongside, Moss did something that he had never done before nor would again: cheated. By making a great show of waggling the columm-mounted change while surreptitiously flicking the overdrive switch he was able to conceal the fact that bottom and top gears had gone AWOL. Félicitations, Monsieur Moss! He reckoned that he had bloody well earned it, too.

Increasing racing opportunities began to impinge on such ‘sidelines’ thereafter – and the lucrative Tours de France Auto of September 1956 and 1957 contained more of a circuit element to them in any case; Moss finishing second and fourth, his Mercedes-Benz 300SL Gullwing outpaced by the latest GT Ferraris. He did, however, agree to gun a (more) streamlined Lotus XI around Monza’s jarring bankings – it broke, unsurprisingly – and to guide MG’s ‘Roaring Raindrop’ EX181 at Bonneville in Utah. Although he was successful in setting several capacity class world records on the famously disorientating salt flats – including 245.64mph for the flying kilo (despite losing third gear) – he did not enjoy the experience. Lying flat on his back in this flying saucer-on-wheels while mechanics fastened down its bubble canopy was too emblematic for his liking. Yet two years later he found himself back at Bonneville with the same car – and slightly at a loss as to why exactly. He was not sorry to have to leave the task to Phil Hill after bad weather ruled out his attempt. His true calling was calling – he had to return to contest the Oulton Park Gold Cup (which he won in a Cooper) – and in truth there was no longer any need for him to leave his comfort zone so far behind in order to access all the competition and diversity that he could wish for or handle.

Moss, more than any other driver, had created this new motor sport world. He was at the peak of his powers and able to call the shots, though perversely often he placed himself at a disadvantage. This top dog was happier being the underdog. That ‘luxury’ might have changed given that he had divined the threat posed by Jim Clark in the works Lotus – but we will never know how his deal with Ferrari might have played out. There is more than plenty here, however, to be sure that Moss was – and remains – the greatest all-rounder.