But when there’s 800 horsepower under your toe, a very ordinary prod of the accelerator can easily cue up an angry downshift, a loud flare of revs, and rather more forward thrust than you intended.
But while the dynamic mission of a supercar can be a contributing factor in all of this, the very image of one can in fact corrupt perceptions all by itself. I once took a Ferrari SF90 Spider to a certain popular ‘cars and coffee’ venue in the English Midlands.
The one where a mantra is displayed opposite the car park exit to remind visitors to leave considerately – in amusingly anatomical terms.
Well, I can assure you, I did. And yet, because I was driving a yellow Ferrari, whoever was running the social media feed for the aforementioned venue on the day in question used a photo of the car next to the ‘Don’t Be A Dick’ sign, to imply that its owner hadn’t been so responsible.
Comments were soon made to confirm how quickly I’d driven away and how others should be more careful.
As it happened, my young daughter, who had ridden in another car on our outbound journey, was with me in the Ferrari on that return leg. She had been a bit nervous of the car, so I’d spent a while reassuring her that all would be well, that cars are just cars and needn’t be scary.
I vividly remember tiptoeing out of the gate and down the road as gingerly as I could. I think the SF90 was in electric mode, so no yobby V8 noise at all. But it didn’t matter a jot. People simply saw – or, rather, remembered – exactly what suited them.
How many of those same people might have thronged and cheered at the start line of the Goodwood hill a few months ago, I wonder.
And how many would be willing to consider the idea that, if they didn’t lavish so much attention on supercars wherever they’re found, the drivers of those supercars might not so often ‘revert to type’?
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