My 21-month-old son already has an unhealthy obsession with all things four-wheeled: tractors and cars, lorries and trolleys. You name it, he loves it. Pushing them around the floor. Up table legs. Along beds. And you know what? His favourite mode of four-wheeled transport appears to be the supercar.
I should hasten to add that I’m not forcing my son into cars – after all, who knows what sort of motoring world he’ll inherit by the time he can drive in 2023. My wife (a patient non-petrolhead) is the culprit, having bought a small garage of toy cars over the past couple of years. Or perhaps it’s innate. Little boys love cars. And supercars more than most, it seems.
He inherited a battered, several-owners Ferrari earlier in the year, but he seems to have switched allegiance in his Modenese mores. He now prefers a bright yellow Lamborghini Murcielago, in all its low-slung, shock yellow glory. Like the real thing, it’s all wedgy profile, aggressive flanks and extra-terrestrial ducts – just in miniature, steel-in-your-palm detail. I can just imagine to his young eyes it appears weird, cool, very look-at-me. And isn’t this why outrageous cars like the Lambo appeal to all of us?
Not as everyday transport, nor even as a car to which I’d aspire to own. I love Lamborghinis and am endlessly fascinated by them, but I’d never consider buying one. Too gauche, too extrovert for my tastes. But I can see why our son has already fallen for its rakish charms hook line and sinker.
A supercar should draw you in, shock you with the length to which the engineers have focused single-mindedly on performance. They’re shock and awe tactics on the automotive stage. And I reckon the obsession starts at a young age…
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