You'd think that pulling up outside the famous Maranello gates in a Ferrari 599 GTB would cut a little ice with the security guard. But no. Not only could I not take a picture of the 599 in front of the gates, I was told I'd better move it rapidly or I would be in trouble. The warning was issued in Italian, a language in which I sound like a native when asking the location of the nearest bog but that’s it, so I'm assuming that's what the gist of all his pointing and animated chatter was. What is it about putting people in uniforms that makes them lose all sense of their place in the world? Come to think of it, why does anyone in Italy with the slightest whiff of responsibility have a bloody uniform in the first place? And why do they all comprise too-tight riding breeches, military-style caps and sparkly shoulder tassels? And a gun?It's been a decade since I was last here. Back in 1998, my folks came to visit me when I was working in Switzerland and I took them to Venice on a sightseeing jaunt for a few days. On the way back, I diverted to Maranello just so I could see where the most desirable cars in the world came from and I remember passing a new F355 as it rolled out of the factory. Back then, the sight and sound of a genuine Ferrari, let alone a brand new one, was a rare experience for me and I made a vow to myself that some day, somehow, I would find a way to drive one myself. To be back here today while actually driving a Ferrari makes this a very poignant and personal moment for me. I might have even gotten a little misty-eyed had the security Mussolini not ruined my Hallmark moment.Part of me wanted to perform a big, childish, doughnut-shaped burnout in front of the gates but considering I'd only been handed the keys an hour ago I decided against it. After all, I was going to need these tyres for the next 2,000km and the way the weather had been in Italy I was going to need every millimetre of tread I had. Instead, we circled around the block to the new entrance to the factory, on Via Enzo Ferrari, and took a few quick pictures beneath the enormous Ferrari sign before a second set of security guards caught wind of us. It must be the only place on the planet where you can pull up in a V12 Ferrari largely unnoticed but I suppose Maranello isn't your average town, is it? All that mattered to me was that I had recorded our presence in the Mecca of cars and we could now officially commence our trans-continental odyssey.The purpose of the trip is simple. Manufacturers generally agree that there's maybe one more generation of hyper-performance cars left before emission regulations, combined with spiralling fuel costs, force them to back to the drawing board. This isn't like any of the fuel shortages that went before it and what emerges from the other end of this evolutionary period will have very little in common with the cars we drive today. The sociologist in me is fascinated to know how people will adapt to this new technology and how the gradual rejection of oil as a primary energy source will reshape the global political landscape, but my inner car enthusiast is saddened. It's taken the almost four decades since the last oil crisis to reach the obscene levels of over-performance enjoyed by Americans during the muscle-car era and with speculation mounting that carmakers will have to cut CO2 emissions to 95g/km by 2020 it's likely we will never see the kind of power levels we're currently enjoying again. So I've decided to enjoy the fossil-fuelled excess while I still can. I'm using the most expensive, rudest, most extreme car I can lay my hands on and I'm taking the most convoluted, wasteful route possible from Maranello to Slough, near London. Unfortunately, I only have two days to complete the trip so I've no more time to waste trying to get a picture of what really amounts to little more than a narrow alleyway.Before we even reach the city limits, I swap into the passenger seat and let my brother and fellow motoring hack, Brian, take the wheel. This will be his first time behind the wheel of a Ferrari and I don't want to keep him from his lifelong dream any longer than I have to. He's a more restrained driver than I am, rarely breaking the speed limit and generally driving as if in the middle of his driving test (he actually passed his driving test first time, having taken only one lesson). He's more wary of vast power outputs than I am, too, so I figure the long motorway trek up the A9 and A4 from Modena to Verona will give him a chance to settle into the 599 and get a feeling for what 620hp and 608Nm is really like.It didn't take him long get into his groove. The F599 GTB is, like all Ferraris, ergonomically perfect, so it takes no time at all to get comfortable in there. It's also one of those cars that gets better with speed, shrugging off motorway humps and bumps and feeling more and more secure as the rate of velocity increases. With standard carbon ceramic brakes, it has the stopping power to match its impressive performan
ce, which gives the driver an overwhelming sense of confidence in the car's abilities. We hit Verona just before lunch, already ahead of schedule, but with the Alps looming we opted to turn off the motorway and get some fuel (we were already half a tank down) and possibly some lunch overlooking Lago di Garda. How very playboy of us.This proved to be a disastrous move, however, as today is an Italian bank holiday, which means almost everything (and I do mean everything) is closed. Eventually, having wasted an hour crawling around the lake behind a line of sightseers, we found a small, automated petrol station that seemed happy to accept my credit card. As a bonus, a hugely attractive local girl came rushing from her hammered Mitsubishi Space Star when she noticed I was unable to decipher the instructions in Italian and promptly pushed all my buttons for me. Then, as swiftly as she came to my rescue, she jiggled back into her car and left with a flirtatious wave and smile, leaving me standing there somewhat agog, nozzle in hand. Could there be anything better than driving a Ferrari in Italy?It took another half an hour to find somewhere that served food; another fuel station, ironically enough, but with a small delicatessen that served up some impressive toasted sandwiches. I also used this break to wash the Ferrari off quickly (it had been raining on and off most of the morning) and to see if I could program my carefully planned route into the satellite navigation system. Neither my Garmin unit, nor the rather poor Becker system fitted in the 599, made it a very easy task so I eventually gave up and decided to use my internal compass instead. I soon discovered, however, that we weren't on the shores of Lago di Garda at all but at the smaller Lago d'Iseo some 40km west. Satellite navigation is great for negotiating through towns and taking you the most direct route from A to B, but for this kind of a drive you can't beat a good old-fashioned map, which I didn't have. At this point I re-assumed the role of pilot once more and, having given up on digital directions, I somewhat optimistically pointed the Ferrari at the nearest Alp and took off. Thankfully, we soon came upon the northbound 237, a road that would eventually take us back on route, but we were now some two hours behind schedule and because of the poor weather and cluttered scenery we were also playing catch-up in terms of photography. The pressure was on and we needed to make up some time.Few cars are as capable of making up lost time as the Ferrari 599. A couple of clicks of the left-hand gearshift paddle and a whopping 600 horsepower was at our overtaking disposal with massive brakes and nimble handling to help shoehorn us back into the line of traffic again. Although traffic was light, we did encounter sporadic queues that had built up behind bumbling German camper vans, and while our aggressive overtaking antics minimised our delay we did inspire quite a few local test pilots to attempt hanging on to our rear bumper. One particularly memorable exchange involved a Suzuki GSX-R1000 that was simply incapable of sticking with the Ferrari through the tight winding roads approaching Madonna di Campiglio, despite a valiant effort on the rider's part. He would have blitzed most cars along that same stretch, no question, but the Ferrari has more explosive acceleration, incredible brake power and ridiculous grip than the average hot hatch. Another involved a deranged local in a Fiat Multipla whom Brian simply couldn't shake, something that provided endless scope for piss taking over the long hours that followed.Indeed, those next few hours are a blur of unnatural cornering forces and staggering acceleration as we zigzagged our way across the Italian Alps towards Switzerland. It seemed as if each road was more pleasurable than the last, well surfaced (for the most part) lightly trafficked, completely un-policed and packed with every variety of corner and bend imaginable. This gave us both ample opportunity to test the 599 to its fullest and we both concluded that while the 599 GTB was a remarkable machine in almost every way it's not the tingle-fest we had expected. The F430 I drove last year surpassed my expectations in every single conceivable way and while the 599 GTB was arguably even more most impressive than the F430 in its scornful regard for the laws of physics, it's not anything as good as a driver's machine.In retrospect, my disappointment is probably my own fault. I expected the 599 to be like a big 430, which, of course, it can't be. It's got a huge V12 engine between the front wheels and it's been designed for crossing continents rather than ripping up mountain roads. That it can do what it does is to be applauded and respected: Compared to any other GT car on the market, the 599 is an astonishing piece of engineering but it doesn't make the hair on the back of your neck stand erect like the mid-engined F430 does. Indeed, both Brian and I noted how very un-Italian it felt. Sure, it sounds magnificent and the cabin has that unmistakable hand-made Italian-ness (you can decide if that's a good or a bad thing) but styling is a surprisingly tasteful mix of aggression and businesslike restraint and it's amazingly fuss-free to drive. Set the electronic dampers to 'Comfort' and 599 GTB's low-speed and cruising manners improve no end while a switch to 'Sport' tightens everything up to such an extent, it's as if the car has both shrunk and shed half a tonne of weight. It accelerates and brakes with phenomenal consistency, enduring a solid two-hour pounding across the 2,323m high Berninapass without a single hiccup, and then proceeding to gobble up hundreds of kilometres of motorway without breaking stride.But despite this, it lacks that crucial something that makes a great car brilliant. The F430 has it in spades, the 599 doesn't. The 599 felt unflappable and unbreakable but the vocabulary it uses to communicate with the driver is basic and somewhat stilted. The steering doesn't chatter in your hands and the chassis isn't overloading you with information about what the tyres are up to. Simply put, it's out to impress you and get you to your destination faster than anything on wheels, but your input isn't strictly required. It's working for you, not with you, and that wasn't something I was prepared for in a Ferrari.By the time we reach the E43 motorway in Switzerland it's well and truly dark. Behind us, 500km of Alpine heaven, culminating in the glorious, snow-covered Bernina and Fluela passes and the skiing towns of St Moritz, Davos and Klosters. The drive across the Bernina Pass was especially memorable as we raced a snowy cloud across the top of the mountain to avoid losing time by getting stuck in its thick, white haze. By the time we traversed the Fluela pass we'd had enough, though. My neck was actually aching from being thrown around inside the Ferrari and my eyes were exhausted from eight hours of apex clipping. The motorway would soon have us in St. Gallen and there we could take another well-earned break.Between 1995 and 1998 St. Gallen in Switzerland was my home. I lived and worked in an international boarding school that had an impressive reputation but which was really just a dumping ground for millionaire kids. At the time it cost SFr.30,000 to enrol a child in the school, and that's before you factor in the ski trips, the room upgrades, the weekend outings etc. It was a moneymaking machine, pure and simple, and the kids were both the raw materials and finished product. Sadly, the level of workmanship on offer and the tools provided were extremely substandard, which meant that most of the students were in worse shape going out the door than going in.I was the entire primary school, for example. In a single room I taught all grades to kids of all levels, most of who were Russian and Turkish and who didn't have any English at all when they started. Fortunately, there was no curriculum either, so I was free to focus on the basics: English, maths, geography... stuff they might actually use. For the most part, though, I tried to inject a little fun into their miserable lives. Imagine being sent abroad, alone, at six years of age, to a place where you don't even speak the language. After three years I could stand the sadness no more.This is also my first time back to St. Gallen in a decade but I'm rolling into town much later than I would have liked. I remember I used to watch students go nuts when the Ferraris would pull up outside during parent-teacher day and I wanted to be the one to cause a similar stir in my 599 GTB today. It's 11 p.m. now, though, and everyone is in bed. Any chance I had of winding up my old colleagues by fibbing to them about how I invented YouTube was gone. Instead, I'm struck by that strange sense of sadness upon seeing the old school again so I'm actually relieved there's nobody about and I slip away again unnoticed. I guess the past really is best left in the past.By 2 a.m. we've finally made our way from Zurich to Schaffhausen in Germany and across still more winding roads to Freiburg. North of the city we find the A5 autobahn that will take us close to our hotel in Strasbourg but before we rest, there's time to enjoy one more CO2-pumping indulgence while the law still allows. A kilometre or two north of the ring road, a white sign with four white lines across it appears. We're on a de-restricted road now. The 599 GTB finally gets to stretch its long, long legs.The funny thing about most autobahns is that they really don't have the carpet-smooth surfaces required for a proper top-speed run. They're bumpy and covered in ridges, which explains why so many carmakers restrict their cars to 250km/h. Beyond that speed things starts to get very hairy, I find. Even in a car like the Ferrari 599, with downforce-generating aerodynamics and the best brakes of almost any production car, things become unsettling as 300km/h approaches. You pass trucks travelling at 90km/h as if they're stopped on the road, which makes you wonder if they've even actually seen you by the time you've gone by. It's tough to decipher what's up ahead, even with the xenons on high beam, and the car itself gets bucked around alarmingly at these speeds. I make one brave rush at the 599's top speed but once the speedo needle touches the 300km/h mark I bail out. The sat nav tells me later that we actually hit 292km/h, but that’s still 181mph or three miles a minute, so I'm not too upset at my cowardice. I wind the Ferrari back to 200km/h and 'cruise' all the way to our hotel (although, annoyingly, the F599GTB doesn't have cruise control so saintly vigilance is required to maintain the speed limit), finally peeling ourselves out of the Ferrari at 3 a.m. The unusually friendly staff (for a French hotel) led us to our palatial hotel rooms and a magnificent club sandwich and a cold 1664 was dropped off moments later. Even though I was charged a staggering €26 for the mini-meal, it actually felt like good value at the time.Day two was more about the various destinations than the journey. Apart from one brief spell on the autobahn between Saar-Brucken and Luxembourg when Brian went for his top speed run (250km/h was all that was possible in the heavy-ish traffic) the day's drive was largely uneventful, although the city of Luxembourg did charm us with its beautiful architecture and unusual topography while we circled around looking for something memorable to photograph. Brussels, too, proved rather uneventful although I fully expected to be arrested for parking a V12 Ferrari so close to the EU buildings... and leaving it running while I jumped out to take pictures. It's behind these walls we find the elected busybodies who are slowly squeezing the fun out of life by regulating everything and enforcing impossible perimeters. Soon, we will no longer be able to drive just for the fun of it. Driving will become too expensive, too environmentally irresponsible, too illegal. Even Ferrari is feeling the EU's wrath: the press release for the new California talks more about economy and CO2 than it does about performance. It's front/mid-engined but it's powered by a V8, not a V12. The 599 GTB might be one of the last Ferraris of its kind. I really should take a few MEPs for a spin in it, to show them the pleasure they'll be depriving their children of.From Brussels we race to Calais in northern France, where we bed down for the night ahead of an early morning Eurotunnel to Dover. Once off the train, the contrast in driving environments is stark. England is crowded, aggressive and festooned with speed cameras and big-brother surveillance systems. We didn't see a single camera (or police car) in Italy, Switzerland or Germany, with only a handful of urban speed cameras in Luxembourg, France and Belgium. Sadly, we look to the UK for most of our road safety strategies so it's only a matter of time before we find ourselves in an equally oppressive situation. The sandal-wearers at Sustainable Energy Ireland want us to pay every time we use the road, rather than pay an annual road tax, which means someone would have to know exactly where we were and exactly how fast we were going at all times and fine, sorry, charge us accordingly. It's a depressing contrast to the freedom and joy we've just experienced driving one of the world's most desirable cars, the Ferrari F599 GTB, some 1,900km across Europe. You should do something similar yourself at some stage: Fly to Germany, rent yourself a sports car for a few days and go play in the hills before our all the fun gets regulated out of our cars, our rates of speed becomes automated and every corner is bypassed in the name of safety and CO2. This could motoring's golden age. Enjoy it while you still can.
ce, which gives the driver an overwhelming sense of confidence in the car's abilities. We hit Verona just before lunch, already ahead of schedule, but with the Alps looming we opted to turn off the motorway and get some fuel (we were already half a tank down) and possibly some lunch overlooking Lago di Garda. How very playboy of us.This proved to be a disastrous move, however, as today is an Italian bank holiday, which means almost everything (and I do mean everything) is closed. Eventually, having wasted an hour crawling around the lake behind a line of sightseers, we found a small, automated petrol station that seemed happy to accept my credit card. As a bonus, a hugely attractive local girl came rushing from her hammered Mitsubishi Space Star when she noticed I was unable to decipher the instructions in Italian and promptly pushed all my buttons for me. Then, as swiftly as she came to my rescue, she jiggled back into her car and left with a flirtatious wave and smile, leaving me standing there somewhat agog, nozzle in hand. Could there be anything better than driving a Ferrari in Italy?It took another half an hour to find somewhere that served food; another fuel station, ironically enough, but with a small delicatessen that served up some impressive toasted sandwiches. I also used this break to wash the Ferrari off quickly (it had been raining on and off most of the morning) and to see if I could program my carefully planned route into the satellite navigation system. Neither my Garmin unit, nor the rather poor Becker system fitted in the 599, made it a very easy task so I eventually gave up and decided to use my internal compass instead. I soon discovered, however, that we weren't on the shores of Lago di Garda at all but at the smaller Lago d'Iseo some 40km west. Satellite navigation is great for negotiating through towns and taking you the most direct route from A to B, but for this kind of a drive you can't beat a good old-fashioned map, which I didn't have. At this point I re-assumed the role of pilot once more and, having given up on digital directions, I somewhat optimistically pointed the Ferrari at the nearest Alp and took off. Thankfully, we soon came upon the northbound 237, a road that would eventually take us back on route, but we were now some two hours behind schedule and because of the poor weather and cluttered scenery we were also playing catch-up in terms of photography. The pressure was on and we needed to make up some time.Few cars are as capable of making up lost time as the Ferrari 599. A couple of clicks of the left-hand gearshift paddle and a whopping 600 horsepower was at our overtaking disposal with massive brakes and nimble handling to help shoehorn us back into the line of traffic again. Although traffic was light, we did encounter sporadic queues that had built up behind bumbling German camper vans, and while our aggressive overtaking antics minimised our delay we did inspire quite a few local test pilots to attempt hanging on to our rear bumper. One particularly memorable exchange involved a Suzuki GSX-R1000 that was simply incapable of sticking with the Ferrari through the tight winding roads approaching Madonna di Campiglio, despite a valiant effort on the rider's part. He would have blitzed most cars along that same stretch, no question, but the Ferrari has more explosive acceleration, incredible brake power and ridiculous grip than the average hot hatch. Another involved a deranged local in a Fiat Multipla whom Brian simply couldn't shake, something that provided endless scope for piss taking over the long hours that followed.Indeed, those next few hours are a blur of unnatural cornering forces and staggering acceleration as we zigzagged our way across the Italian Alps towards Switzerland. It seemed as if each road was more pleasurable than the last, well surfaced (for the most part) lightly trafficked, completely un-policed and packed with every variety of corner and bend imaginable. This gave us both ample opportunity to test the 599 to its fullest and we both concluded that while the 599 GTB was a remarkable machine in almost every way it's not the tingle-fest we had expected. The F430 I drove last year surpassed my expectations in every single conceivable way and while the 599 GTB was arguably even more most impressive than the F430 in its scornful regard for the laws of physics, it's not anything as good as a driver's machine.In retrospect, my disappointment is probably my own fault. I expected the 599 to be like a big 430, which, of course, it can't be. It's got a huge V12 engine between the front wheels and it's been designed for crossing continents rather than ripping up mountain roads. That it can do what it does is to be applauded and respected: Compared to any other GT car on the market, the 599 is an astonishing piece of engineering but it doesn't make the hair on the back of your neck stand erect like the mid-engined F430 does. Indeed, both Brian and I noted how very un-Italian it felt. Sure, it sounds magnificent and the cabin has that unmistakable hand-made Italian-ness (you can decide if that's a good or a bad thing) but styling is a surprisingly tasteful mix of aggression and businesslike restraint and it's amazingly fuss-free to drive. Set the electronic dampers to 'Comfort' and 599 GTB's low-speed and cruising manners improve no end while a switch to 'Sport' tightens everything up to such an extent, it's as if the car has both shrunk and shed half a tonne of weight. It accelerates and brakes with phenomenal consistency, enduring a solid two-hour pounding across the 2,323m high Berninapass without a single hiccup, and then proceeding to gobble up hundreds of kilometres of motorway without breaking stride.But despite this, it lacks that crucial something that makes a great car brilliant. The F430 has it in spades, the 599 doesn't. The 599 felt unflappable and unbreakable but the vocabulary it uses to communicate with the driver is basic and somewhat stilted. The steering doesn't chatter in your hands and the chassis isn't overloading you with information about what the tyres are up to. Simply put, it's out to impress you and get you to your destination faster than anything on wheels, but your input isn't strictly required. It's working for you, not with you, and that wasn't something I was prepared for in a Ferrari.By the time we reach the E43 motorway in Switzerland it's well and truly dark. Behind us, 500km of Alpine heaven, culminating in the glorious, snow-covered Bernina and Fluela passes and the skiing towns of St Moritz, Davos and Klosters. The drive across the Bernina Pass was especially memorable as we raced a snowy cloud across the top of the mountain to avoid losing time by getting stuck in its thick, white haze. By the time we traversed the Fluela pass we'd had enough, though. My neck was actually aching from being thrown around inside the Ferrari and my eyes were exhausted from eight hours of apex clipping. The motorway would soon have us in St. Gallen and there we could take another well-earned break.Between 1995 and 1998 St. Gallen in Switzerland was my home. I lived and worked in an international boarding school that had an impressive reputation but which was really just a dumping ground for millionaire kids. At the time it cost SFr.30,000 to enrol a child in the school, and that's before you factor in the ski trips, the room upgrades, the weekend outings etc. It was a moneymaking machine, pure and simple, and the kids were both the raw materials and finished product. Sadly, the level of workmanship on offer and the tools provided were extremely substandard, which meant that most of the students were in worse shape going out the door than going in.I was the entire primary school, for example. In a single room I taught all grades to kids of all levels, most of who were Russian and Turkish and who didn't have any English at all when they started. Fortunately, there was no curriculum either, so I was free to focus on the basics: English, maths, geography... stuff they might actually use. For the most part, though, I tried to inject a little fun into their miserable lives. Imagine being sent abroad, alone, at six years of age, to a place where you don't even speak the language. After three years I could stand the sadness no more.This is also my first time back to St. Gallen in a decade but I'm rolling into town much later than I would have liked. I remember I used to watch students go nuts when the Ferraris would pull up outside during parent-teacher day and I wanted to be the one to cause a similar stir in my 599 GTB today. It's 11 p.m. now, though, and everyone is in bed. Any chance I had of winding up my old colleagues by fibbing to them about how I invented YouTube was gone. Instead, I'm struck by that strange sense of sadness upon seeing the old school again so I'm actually relieved there's nobody about and I slip away again unnoticed. I guess the past really is best left in the past.By 2 a.m. we've finally made our way from Zurich to Schaffhausen in Germany and across still more winding roads to Freiburg. North of the city we find the A5 autobahn that will take us close to our hotel in Strasbourg but before we rest, there's time to enjoy one more CO2-pumping indulgence while the law still allows. A kilometre or two north of the ring road, a white sign with four white lines across it appears. We're on a de-restricted road now. The 599 GTB finally gets to stretch its long, long legs.The funny thing about most autobahns is that they really don't have the carpet-smooth surfaces required for a proper top-speed run. They're bumpy and covered in ridges, which explains why so many carmakers restrict their cars to 250km/h. Beyond that speed things starts to get very hairy, I find. Even in a car like the Ferrari 599, with downforce-generating aerodynamics and the best brakes of almost any production car, things become unsettling as 300km/h approaches. You pass trucks travelling at 90km/h as if they're stopped on the road, which makes you wonder if they've even actually seen you by the time you've gone by. It's tough to decipher what's up ahead, even with the xenons on high beam, and the car itself gets bucked around alarmingly at these speeds. I make one brave rush at the 599's top speed but once the speedo needle touches the 300km/h mark I bail out. The sat nav tells me later that we actually hit 292km/h, but that’s still 181mph or three miles a minute, so I'm not too upset at my cowardice. I wind the Ferrari back to 200km/h and 'cruise' all the way to our hotel (although, annoyingly, the F599GTB doesn't have cruise control so saintly vigilance is required to maintain the speed limit), finally peeling ourselves out of the Ferrari at 3 a.m. The unusually friendly staff (for a French hotel) led us to our palatial hotel rooms and a magnificent club sandwich and a cold 1664 was dropped off moments later. Even though I was charged a staggering €26 for the mini-meal, it actually felt like good value at the time.Day two was more about the various destinations than the journey. Apart from one brief spell on the autobahn between Saar-Brucken and Luxembourg when Brian went for his top speed run (250km/h was all that was possible in the heavy-ish traffic) the day's drive was largely uneventful, although the city of Luxembourg did charm us with its beautiful architecture and unusual topography while we circled around looking for something memorable to photograph. Brussels, too, proved rather uneventful although I fully expected to be arrested for parking a V12 Ferrari so close to the EU buildings... and leaving it running while I jumped out to take pictures. It's behind these walls we find the elected busybodies who are slowly squeezing the fun out of life by regulating everything and enforcing impossible perimeters. Soon, we will no longer be able to drive just for the fun of it. Driving will become too expensive, too environmentally irresponsible, too illegal. Even Ferrari is feeling the EU's wrath: the press release for the new California talks more about economy and CO2 than it does about performance. It's front/mid-engined but it's powered by a V8, not a V12. The 599 GTB might be one of the last Ferraris of its kind. I really should take a few MEPs for a spin in it, to show them the pleasure they'll be depriving their children of.From Brussels we race to Calais in northern France, where we bed down for the night ahead of an early morning Eurotunnel to Dover. Once off the train, the contrast in driving environments is stark. England is crowded, aggressive and festooned with speed cameras and big-brother surveillance systems. We didn't see a single camera (or police car) in Italy, Switzerland or Germany, with only a handful of urban speed cameras in Luxembourg, France and Belgium. Sadly, we look to the UK for most of our road safety strategies so it's only a matter of time before we find ourselves in an equally oppressive situation. The sandal-wearers at Sustainable Energy Ireland want us to pay every time we use the road, rather than pay an annual road tax, which means someone would have to know exactly where we were and exactly how fast we were going at all times and fine, sorry, charge us accordingly. It's a depressing contrast to the freedom and joy we've just experienced driving one of the world's most desirable cars, the Ferrari F599 GTB, some 1,900km across Europe. You should do something similar yourself at some stage: Fly to Germany, rent yourself a sports car for a few days and go play in the hills before our all the fun gets regulated out of our cars, our rates of speed becomes automated and every corner is bypassed in the name of safety and CO2. This could motoring's golden age. Enjoy it while you still can.
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