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Een witte gt3rs rs met zwarte decals (zonder die gigantische gt3rs) of een oranje gt3rs met zwarte decals (ook zonder die gt3rs) moeten volgens mij wel knap zijn.
Despite this, I enjoyed the man/machine interface. Unlike lesser 911s, it had no direct injection,
and the gearbox was a standard six-speed manual. It even made proper engine noises, rather
than the tricksy exhaust bellow from, say, an Aston Martin.
As the miles wore on, I started to think that maybe I could live with this car. And then I started
to wonder how it would be possible to not live with it. I was falling in love.
It’s the steering, mainly. It’s beyond fabulous. I know of no car that makes bends such an
undiluted joy. The other day I deliberately drove through Milton Keynes simply because it has
lots of roundabouts.
Then you have the little things: the sat nav that’s so damn easy to use, the enormous range
between fill-ups, the extraordinarily low price for what you get and the speeds that can be
achieved.
And then there’s the shape. As is the way with girlfriends, once you start to like the character,
you begin to see handsomeness even when there is none. At the very least, you have to say
this is the best-looking Porsche, and to judge by the company’s recent efforts, I’m glad the
nincompoops in the design department haven’t tried to change it.
t’s not just the looks that grew on me, either. In the past I’ve always preferred Ferraris
because they are built with passion, not precision. But now, I dunno, I found myself
appreciating the quality of the Porsche. No one ever bought a Ferrari thinking: “That’ll see
me out.” But you could with a 911.
I shall finish with one more observation. In the Eighties, 911s were bought by City boys
who simply wanted a car to show off their wealth. The big Breitling had not been invented
then. This is why, I guess, other road users hate them so much. Because there’s an
assumption the bloody thing is being driven by Fred Goodwin. Or some other sod who’s
paid too much.
But today things have changed. Today 911s are generally driven, I’ve noticed, by grey-haired,
sensible people who need some common sense in their lives but who at the same time
cannot live without the extraordinary feel of that steering. It’s a bug, and I fear I have it too. I want a GT3.`
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