Iused to think I wasn’t attractive enough to drive a Ferrari. I still think that, but you reach an age, like Lester Burnham in American Beauty , when you don’t care any more, and in that despair you can pull off anything.

I am now exactly that age: the same age as the man driving the nervous-breakdown orange Lamborghini on the prom in Penzance. When I see him, I have to stop myself screaming the betrayed wife’s words to her adulterous husband in Moonstruck : ‘Cosmo, I just want you to know, no matter what you do, you’re gonna die. Just like everybody else.’ (‘Thank you, Rose.’ ‘You’re welcome.’)

After swanking in the Ferrari 296 GTS to the local Conservative club – my husband drove it to their death-throes summer barbecue, but they did not call it that – my review is this. Civilisati

See Full Page