It was three hours in heaven. Michael McAleer, Motoring Editor, reports on his time with a Ferrari 360 Modena which is being auctioned for charity next Monday night
It's red. But then it has to be. It's gleaming. But then that's the way they always are. It's nerve-tingling. But then I'm about to get to drive it for a few hours. It's spectacular. But then it's a Ferrari.
The 355 was the icon of motoring excellence. It's replacement, the 360 Modena, had a lot to live up to. It did so in style. For me, it's the ultimate symbol of what's great about the prancing horse brand. And I'm behind the wheel.
Inside and the white leather trim is gleaming. Even the dash is swathed in black stitched hide. The pedals are tight, a toe-wag away from one another. So close in fact that we end up driving with our shoes off. It's the sort of thing that undoubtedly sends safety campaigners into apoplexy, but it feels right for a car that offers such a personal touch to the driver. You want to get up close and personal. It's a car you wear.
The 3.5-litre V8 engine roars into our ears from the rear as we tickle the throttle. It's a glorious sound, one that we are too clumsy and inarticulate to recount in words. It's needs a classical music expert rather than a tone deaf motoring hack. Suffice to say it's the acoustic equivalent of the Three Tenors in full voice.
We take off with care, slowly gliding the long metal gearstick through the open metal gates. The great thing about the 360s V8 is that it will allow you potter around town in fourth without a murmur of complaint from the back, but on an open road it will happily hit 8,500 rpm and a top speed of 183 mph, or wind up from start to 62mph in a mere 4.5 seconds. You decide. But be under not illusions - this car just flies.
Through the slit of the rear window the massive engine block dominates. It's the feature through the rear window, a statement in itself of how proud the folks at Ferrari are of their engine. What other car firm puts the engine block on show beneath a Perspex screen?
This is where you learn about the difference between north European engineers and their southern counterparts. The Germans have the engineering excellence to put all the pieces together and get them to work to perfection. They're flawless.
But the Italians can take all these pieces of metal and mould them into something that's ethereal. While car fans glibly refer to Ferrari's hometown, Maranello, as a motoring Mecca, there's a religious quality to the prancing horse. These cars have a soul, and the 360 Modena is among the beatified.
This particular Ferrari has even more reason to make it into the realms of sainthood, for it offers the chance to buy what some truly indulgent motoring with a clear conscience. Now that's surely a miracle.
The car was the gift of a former patient to the cancer unit at St Vincent's Hospital, Ballsbridge, Dublin. He bought the car just as he was diagnosed with the disease. In the first month he owned it he put up 1,000 miles.
Even without its honourable, guilt-free status, this car is a good buy. With a full service history from Charles Hurst in Belfast where it was bought, it has just been rechecked and given a full bill of health by the Ferrari dealership.
Out on the dual carriageway, we found ourselves in a sea of smiling motorists with open-mouthed children hanging out back windows, all of us negotiating the bank holiday tailbacks.
This is what stardom feels like. But really it's only by association. The car is the star. Pull in at the petrol station and the eyes don't follow you, but stay on the car.
Fame is fleeting. Our time with the Ferrari is limited to about three hours - and Eric Luke, our photographer, has his requirements.
We pull up on a piece of rough ground, the hard shoulder of a side road. As we gather at the front of the car to discuss the shots we're looking for, a car pulls up behind us. A woman tentatively walks up, cutting short my ravings on getting a shot of the smooth front contours as they are kissed by the gentle mist.
"Sorry, are you selling strawberries?" she asks quizzically, purse in hand. Eric breaks it to her that we're all sold out of strawberries, but we will sell her a Ferrari if she wants. She looks slightly bemused, racking her brains to remember if Ferraris are not too exotic a fruit to offer guests at a bank holiday barbecue. Besides, how many guests could you successfully entertain on just one Ferrari.
For me, time spent treading it around the Wicklow hills shall sustain me for some time. The lucky eventual owner can feast on its riches at their leisure. Once you've whet your appetite for Ferrari, you can never get enough.