It’s funny how attached to these things you can become. A while back Porsche rang and said another publication needed a base-spec Carrera and mine was the only one to which they had access. Could they have it back for a couple of weeks?
And just for a moment, I felt the hackles rise. How dare anyone lay claim to my car, seek to deprive me of it and, worst of all, so it can be provided to some unnamed member of the opposition? Then I remembered the slightly inconvenient truth that it wasn’t actually my car at all, it was Porsche’s and, as such, it was perfectly entitled to do whatever it damn well liked with it.
But I still worried about it, enough to ask the PR man who was going to have it – which received the entirely correct response, very politely expressed that this was none of my business – and whether it was going to be subjected to any cruel and unusual torture while it was away, like being thrashed around a race track or, heaven forfend, buried in some barrier somewhere. I was assured it would be driven only by those who knew what they were doing. But still I fretted, about everything up to and including whether my carefully logged long term fuel consumption figures were about to take a dive. And yes, I should indeed get out more often.
