An eventful weekend, which began with me driving into the back of someone while gazing at a Ferrari.
I don’t know what it is about red Ferraris that get me so excited, maybe it’s genetic. Cars normally leave me cold. Anyway, there we were, me and the children, at a roundabout in Beziers bored after a long day’s shopping looking for exactly the right piece of gym kit and dance shoes.
Suddenly I spotted it, about four cars ahead in the lane to the left of us.
“Look,” I yelled. “A Ferrari.”
The children all flew out of their car-seats and pressed their faces up against the window.
“Get closer,” they commanded in unison. “I want to show them Leo’s jacket,” said Olivia (Leo has a Ferrari jacket, bought for him by my aunt along with a remote-control Ferrari that probably cost more than our car before she stopped speaking to me).
Two cars moved and now we could just about hear the Ferrari revving seductively. We had opened all the windows despite sub-zero temperatures and even turned Take That off (a rare occurrence). I was so keen to get up alongside this demi-god of cars so that I went straight into the car in front.
The driver was a woman; her husband was sitting next to her peacefully reading his newspaper (at least until we crashed into him). He stormed out of the car, carrying said newspaper, which I thought he was going to hit me round the head with.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was looking at the Ferrari.”
“Oh,” said the man following my gaze. “That’s alright then, no damage done.”
“Sshh,” said Bea. “We’re trying to listen to it.” The sound was divine and dangerous; like a big cat getting ready to pounce.
The Ferrari sped off and I felt a terrible longing deep down inside. Olivia must have felt the same.
“I need a Ferrari,” she announced.
Knowing her, one day she’ll have one. I hope she lets me have a go now and then.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007
I once had a blind date with a man who drove a red Ferrari. I found him in the Sunday Times personal column, and in the ensuing email correspondence, he debated whether to meet me in his red Ferrari or his red Bentley. I was driving my beaten up but much loved old Renault. However, my conclusion at the end our date was that the cars were actually compensating for something. Definitely not worth crashing my car for at any rate.
Glad to hear I’m not the only one getting excited by a Ferrari. I sometimes have to pretend I do it for my son but it’s really me. I always have to look inside as well and am secretly disappointed if it’s not driven by a man with big hands and a gorgeous face.
I’m SURE she’ll let you have the odd drive!