It sat there quietly on the forecourt. Understated in grey, with only its mulitude of scoops, vents and holes demarking it as anything special. And the Turbo badge on the back. Yes, we have here a Porsche 911 Turbo, a 2006 model.
The evening It arrived I spent a good ten minutes walking around it, inspecting the surfaces for interesting camera angles, working out how I would best photograph the car in its ROADWORK road test. I sat inside it for a little while, started it up and waited as that blown flat-six gave me its trademark vibro-massage through the seatback. I adjusted the aircon (via the surprisingly crummy switches) and relaxed. Before I embark on a test feature I try to put myself in the mindset of whoever might actually own this car. I looked out the windscreen at the outstretched tree-lined avenue in front of me and felt my grip tighten on the wheel. There would be a corner soon, I would need to decide whether to trust it to grip or to risk that legendary oversteer and lift off into the bend.
Snapping back to reality when an Apache flew noisily overhead, I powered down and stepped out of the car. I had a pretty good Idea what I would be looking at, what I would write about the car, tomorrow I would bring my proper camera and get on with it. Producing the feature would be fun, driving the Turbo would be the highlight of my month.
Nexd day, after my morning meeting I sat at my desk with the first coffee of the day and the keys in front of me. I would take on caffiene, use the bathroom and then take the Porsche for a run. And then the nasty man came and took my toys away. Some things, it would seem, just aren't meant to be. It had been sold, the nasty man from somewhere far, far away was taking it to another garage where different people would want to have their horrible way with my little German friend.
As the engine argued into life and my new enemy trickled his way past my window, around the corner and off the premises, I watched as an opportunity for the best road test I've ever done slipped through my fingers. All I have left is pictures, and a bitter hatred of our coffee machine.
