Cherry Popped!

You never forget the first time. Never. The first time you drive a scarlet Ferrari is always special. Always!

- Aninda Sardar

I WAS EIGHT AND ROOTED TO THE spot. I knew that my brother thought she was special. I was still short enough to have to look up at her. But in spite of it all, I was in love. Her form, her beauty excited me. Like my brother, I wanted her in my life. In my bedroom. Dressed in an exotic shade of red, she fired my imagination like nothing else before had. I didn’t even know her name, and wouldn’t for many years. The only thing I knew was I had to have her if it was the last thing I ever did. Years later, I would know the poster was that of a Ferrari F40. As exotic as only an Italian could be, she was a legend. With the knowledge would also come the realisation of what the name Ferrari meant and how out of reach each pedigreeladen model was, and would forever be. Little did I know that life, in her own inexplicable ways, would prove me utterly wrong.

Nearly thirty years later, I find myself grinning like a complete idiot as her sexy rear steps out of line before she steps back in. The way the Ferrari 812 Superfast corners if you push her harder than your pay grade allows you to, is so thrilling and exciting that you’ll forget numbers and all you’ll see on the register is a jackpot. The feral sound of that 788bhp free breathing six and a half litre V12 is a drug that makes other contraband sound tame. And then there is the sheer sensation of that monstrous acceleration born of a giant 718Nm of shove arriving at 7000rpm.