For the LaFerrari did something I thought no car would ever do: it dislodged the F40 as the greatest road car I’d driven. Up until the LaFerrari, nothing had matched driving the F40: the McLaren F1 got closest but ultimately lacked the raw, near visceral thrill of that old Ferrari, slower by far though it was. There are plenty of cars and no shortage of older mid-engined Ferraris that have been entirely reassuring right up to the limit whereupon they’ve turned around and tried to punt you through the nearest hedge. The F40 was the mirror image, a car that gave every impression it was a homicidal maniac that, when things got really tough, turned out to be just about the best buddy you could have.
And then came the LaFerrari. When I’d finally driven all three hybrid hypercars – the Ferrari, Porsche’s 918 Spyder and the McLaren P1 – to me their roles were clear: the Porsche was the most broadly defined and worked across a range of different environments, the McLaren was absolutely the best to drive around a track and, on equal tyres, quite the quickest I am sure. But just to get in and drive for the joy of it, the LaFerrari was the one for me.