I have been walking around all day grinning like a nutcase. Big Al came round last night, and he, Ian and myself went out in the Maserati.
NEVER have I experienced anything to come even close to the power, acceleration and refinement. It goes and just keeps on accelerating, snarling and rumbling like a captive storm. As we drove around Dartford town centre, the tingling rumble of the cars' 390 horse power Ferrari built V8 engine turned the local chavs into (semi) human Meercats - rubber necks all looking in our direction. we came out of Dartford and headed down into Hawley Road and the Kentish countryside; Alan pushed the throttle and the horizon became here NOW. I cannot believe the controlled insane power of the beast - yet the interior is cultured - hand stitched leather and a beautiful sculpted instrument binnacle with backlit colour LCD displays and muted lights (yet Maserati still fit the cheesy analogue clock that would be better suited to Liberace's bedside cabinet!)
He's absolutely bonkers; the thing must cost a fortune to run; the computer was indicating an average of 15 miles to the gallon, though he was being a tad on the heavy footed - mainly for the benefit of his captive audience I suspect. I got him to switch off the stereo, and we wound down the windows - find a narrow street with flat fronted buildings, or better still a tunnel - WOW! The sound of a petrol fuelled angel singing Ronnie James Dio's back catalogue accompanied by a formula one panzer division. Majestic.
The local Chavs in their hair dryer powered Citroen Saxos with spoilers and neon under lighting were impressed - at one set of lights a couple in a Barried up Fiesta started revving up, then thought the better of it; Al then sedately drove off, keeping to the speed limit - what is there to prove after all? My favourite poster car from my youth, the Ferrari Testarossa would lose out in a road race against the awesome Maserati 4200 GT CambioCorsa.