I have a couple of friends who are car enthusiasts in the most brilliantly simple of ways. They’re knowledgable blokes who both own kit cars that gather more receipts than miles, and spend a lot of time talking about the Porsche 911 GT3 RSs that they plan to buy when they miraculously become very wealthy.
If you mention the excellent value and fun driving dynamics of the Mazda 2, or the fun but economical BMW 118d Coupe, then you will be laughed at and instead an argument about something powerful and rear-wheel drive will ensue.
Now, I understand why so many enthusiasts like the aforementioned pub buddies have such a fascination with the 911, but it’s never been quite the same for me. I always valued rarity in performance cars and so I thought the 911 was far too prevalent to really appeal, even though I appreciated its status as a great driver’s car.
And yet, everything changes from behind the wheel of a 911, no matter what model it is. It suddenly doesn’t matter that your Uncle and his best mate both have one. There is something ultimately enchanting about the noise, handling and general character that always has me calculating how many decades I’ll have to wait until I might be able to afford one.