Once, and to me at least, it was the most thrilling word in the world. Supercar.
Supercars almost weren’t cars at all, but some other phantasmagorical, all powerful beings, about as related to our family runabout as a Grey Wolf to a Pomeranian. These were wild, untameable beasts that required you to put your life on the line in exchange for a driving experience beyond the imaginings of small boys in bedrooms plastered with pictures of such things. Like me.
Folk have argued for decades about which was the first. I think the consensus holds it to be the 1966 Lamborghini Miura but every time I try to define it, I end up back at the 1954 Mercedes-Benz 300 SL. But actually in my heart it is neither of these. It is the Lamborghini Countach, because it did something more than merely go faster than any other car on the road: it looked completely mad too.
