Now on his second GT, David’s car spent approximately 5 minutes in his possession before he transported it off to Roush for a power hike and straight through exhaust system.

Did I want to meet him at a service station on the way back from picking it up? Internet LOL!!

So, after a 2 hour wait in the car park (I’m sure he’s getting me back for another earlier misdemeanor), sat in the “HGV’s only” car park (safer from Joe Idiot), it’s the incredible noise that awakens me from my near comatose slumber whilst on the mobile to a friend. Sleek, feline, almost certainly predatory, David’s Ford GT is as blunt a statement in arriving as anybody can make. Resplendent in Blue with white stripes, I am certifiable in my excitement as anyone who has an interest in not only cars, but modern art too, should be.

As he reverses next to me, he cannot resist an exagerated blip of the throttle. I have always been steadfast in my opinion that the best sounding car is a Gallardo V10 with a straight through Tubi. However, an imminent sound off is innevitable – now that David has a backbox free from obstruction, his V8 is as vocal and loud as pragmatically possible. I get a veritable rush of goosebumps and involuntarily yell down my phone to the person I was speaking to, “Er, I gotta go….BEEEEEEEP”

Although blue is not my first choice for a Ford GT, you cannot deny the presence the car forces upon its near vicinity, regardless of colour. It has beautiful haunches to cover the massive rear wheels, an fascinating drop in the bonnet cleverly designed to hide the cooling fans and classic wedge in the nose that defines this timeless profile. The designer needs to be congratulated as the car has incredibly close ties with its ancestor without losing its modern statement.

As a passenger, the car feels large. And it is, huge. Even the seats are epic in size and design, down to the space age switch gear and hi-tech floor mats. Unfortunate that there is quite literally ZERO compartmental space. No glove box, boot, luggage storage area – nothing. In fact, it suits my needs perfect as I enjoy travelling solo, using up the passenger seat as a litter bin for all my Red Bulls and malteser wrappers. Strange it is, also, to be sitting in a car where the rear haunches are taller than your head.

As we pull away, windows up are no longer an option – in fact I’ll go as far as to suggest the windows go down automatically as the engine starts – rain or shine.
Driving around on mostly A roads and dual carriageways, the car has appears to have a forgiving demeanour about itself and does not seem to intimidate as a supercar of 600BHP normally could. Apart from the obvious width disadvantage, of which David appeared to have master, the car was a pussy cat.

Dropping the hammer is always eventful. However, it’s always hard to concentrate on the, naturally vivid, performance, when you have 5.4ltrs through eight vertically opposed cylinders attempting to make you bleed from the ears. It’s also a car with a 220 MPH potential, so this should give you a suggestion of the rapid accelleration, but it’s smooth and useable – not in the least frantic or chaotic. Just clean, sure fired, brutal power.

Later, as he follows me, I find it hard to judge how much bigger his car is than my GT3. This is apparent as a major fuck up later, my sat nav has led us into perhaps the narrowest farm track B road ever – it’s quite embarassing, but amusing all the same.

Also, some may know that South Mimms service station is very close to the Hatfield tunnel. Yes, you know what comes next. I pulled over and opened my window. As I was about to indicate for him to pull past, he’d already begun to do so, requiring no encouragement whatsoever – a petrol head at heart eh? As he drove past me, full throttle, in a tunnel, with my windows open, I believe, for a short moment, I was transported to an alternate plane of existence as he ripped the fabric of space time continuum. I then woke up 2 weeks later in a padded room reciting a mantra that went something like “Fuck me, my ears”

Erotic stuff.