THREE. FIVE. FIVE.

Do you remember what you were doing in 1996? Perhaps you were just starting out in your career, or maybe you were still at school? I’d imagine the answer for some of my readers is “I wasn’t even born”. It may be hard for some of us to believe but twenty-two years have passed since the era of the Spice Girls and Independence Day, but for me 1996 will always stand out for one thing; the first time I saw a Ferrari F355.

Many of us on DT will have grown up watching a certain J. Clarkson demonstrating the abilities of various supercars including a great many Ferraris on Top Gear and now The Grand Tour, but back in the good old days JC also went solo once a year and made his own straight to video films. The first of these was entitled ‘Jeremy Clarkson: Unleashed on Cars’ and was released in (that’s right date fans!) 1996. Back then I was just four years old and already completely obsessed with cars, I was the sort of kid who could say Direct Injection before I could say Daddy and I spent all my time playing with the ever-growing collection of toy cars I usually had sprawled over the floor of my bedroom.

View gallery image

Ever the keen observers, my parents had noticed this passion and nurtured it from an early age. My Dad used to bring me back badges, ornaments and keyrings from his work travels and one summer we repainted his MGB GT (more on that car coming soon). Naturally when Christmas came around they looked for car-related gifts for me and one of the presents they chose was rather fatefully, Jeremy Clarkson: Unleashed on Cars.

The show opens with a startlingly afro’d Jezza declaring his intent to seek out “The best car……… IN THE WORLD.” He then gets straight onto the business of hooning a red E-Type around the lanes of Oxfordshire. All very well and good but I was already well-versed in the E-Type, a blue convertible took pride of place in my Corgi toy collection. But I was definitely not prepared for what was to come next. JC pulls over, hops out of the Jag and the camera suddenly pans round to reveal what is probably still the most striking car I have ever laid eyes on. A Rosso Corsa Ferrari F355 GTB.

Viewed as it was in this single shot, in profile this Ferrari was unlike any car I had ever seen. Certainly, as a small child living in a village in Kent I had never laid eyes on such a thing. This thing was impossibly low, and with the sort of sculpted flanks that meant even at such a young age I instinctively knew this car was going to be exciting. The whole world fell away and the TV held my uninterrupted gaze as I watched Clarkson go for a high-speed run across an airfield. I remember being awed by the way the speedometer climbed effortlessly past 160 MPH as Jeremy floored the throttle. I remember being captivated by the noise from the five valve per cylinder V8 engine as it rampaged across the airstrip. I’ll link to the video on this page and let JC do the talking but if you haven’t seen it before it’s a must-watch. I still go back and watch it again from time to time just to relive the sheer thrill of the first time I discovered Ferrari.

I was hooked. I was completely and totally bewitched by the 355 and as the years came and went so too have passed many, many other fabulous cars including a great deal of fantastic Ferraris. But the image of the 355 was still etched into me, it lives somewhere deep in my very core and no matter what I saw and no matter what I drove that was newer and more technically impressive I always yearned for the pretty little Fezza. Many moons passed, and I grew up (debatable) went through school (somehow) and more by luck than judgement managed to find myself working in the classic and prestige car industry. I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to get behind the wheel of many of my ‘bucket list’ cars and I loved them all but there was always one car from that list I had never quite managed to lay my hands on. But then one gorgeous summers day last year I was returning a client’s car back home to them after we had finished performing some minor work on it.

My customer, Jack, was in his front garden as I drove in through the gates, as I drove in he leaned through the window and asked if I wouldn’t mind parking around the back of his house as he was expecting a delivery truck that day. I slowly crept the car around the back of his driveway and could barely believe my eyes when I rounded the corner to see an utterly spotless Blu Tour de France F355 GTS sitting in pride of place by the kitchen door. I parked up the Capri I was returning and ambled over to check out my favourite car. Jack must have spotted me admiring the GTS and sauntered over. “What d’ya reckon?” he asked, with that annoying chirpiness of someone who knows he’s done good. “I’ve only had it two weeks. Part-ex’d the Boxster for it!”

“You’re a lucky bastard Jackie boy.” I replied. “Smugness is unbecoming too.”

Jack laughed, “So you’re a fan then?” He needn’t have asked, he could tell from my body language that I was. I wandered round the car checking out the tan interior, and noting the manual gearbox and Tubi exhaust. And then, he did something that I wasn’t expecting. “Fancy a go?” he proffered, I could hardly believe what I was hearing? “Really?” I was doing the best I could to push the memories of lighting up the rear tyres on Jacks Capri and scaring him half to death to the back of my mind. Though this was something Jack himself had clearly forgotten.

View gallery image

I didn’t need asking again, with one final imploring request not to bin it ringing in my ears; I climbed aboard the Ferrari F355 for the first time. I had the key in hand and noticed that compared to the slightly gaudy red-capped offerings you get today, it was a rather dainty little object that rather suited the rest of the car. The cabin was about as snug as you would have imagined, but the tan sports seat was superb, the leather was still supple despite its nineteen years. I took a couple of seconds to adjust the seat and repeated Jeremy’s wise words “The driving position from a dustbin lorry” aloud. It wasn’t quite as bad as all that but it was as typically awkward as any Lancia Delta or Maserati of the time i.e as long as your arms are about eighteen inches longer than your legs then you’ll be quite comfortable. In that moment however, I thought it best not to dwell on ergonomics.

I don’t know whether they do it deliberately to add to the drama, but Ferrari starter motors always seem to crank over for just a second longer than on any other car before they catch. But it’s worth the wait when you’re firing up a Tubi-equipped 355. There’s a short but sharp vibration through the base of the seat as the revs flare and the eight forged pistons begin their relentless assault on the fuel and air within. The clutch is perhaps a little heavier than you might think but the pedal placement is spot on and the pedal movement as smooth as silk. With the long nose pointing out of the driveway, I edged out into the lane and trundled off rather overcome with the sense of relief that always comes when you manage to get an old supercar going without stalling it like a moron.

Taking it easy down the two or three miles of the rutted, potholed lane that lead to the faster main road I gently warmed the 3.5 litre motor and six-speed ‘box to their tasks. The temperature rose and with every passing degree the shifts became smoother and the exhaust note grew in depth and tone, by the time I got to the end of the lane the Fezza was fully warmed and ready to go. For a moment I just sat there still, not because there was traffic but because I was trying to decide whether to simply trundle out onto the main road or whether I dared risk going for it properly. I remember looking down to the row of toggle switches on the centre console and seeing the one marked SPORT. “Fuck it.” I thought. If I didn’t do it properly I may never get the chance to do it again. I hit the switch, dipped the clutch and went for it..

View gallery image

…there was no time to speak, no time to think about the consequences of messing it up. The V8 exploded with a swell and a snarl that is usually only available to people employed by NASA, coming from right behind my ear. There was no lurching across the road; the little targa shot forward with the verve and urgency of the prancing horse it wore on its nose. The tail swung out wide and swept round like a perfectly balanced pendulum, the nearside rear wheel just glanced the grass verge on the other side of the road before the three remaining Pirelli tyres found their grip and settled the car into line. Feeling like a borderline driving god, I continued on with the exuberant method of helmswrighting I had selected. The road widened and as the 355 found its footing, I pushed the throttle pedal as deep into the carpet pile as I dared with the now familiar exhaust note erupting and swelling to an alto howl as the forty valves did their work and the full 380 horsepower might of Modena’s magnum opus was deployed as the revs rose, four, five, six thousand. The road scything through the Sussex countryside was fortunately unusually smoothly surfaced and as is usual before long I was doing the sort of speeds that it is unwise to mention in polite conversation. I knew the road but I’d never attacked it in something with the 355’s ferocity and I was almost crested a hill without knowing it. Realising where I was, I prepared for the agonising sound of the low nose of a supercar catching on tarmac shortly to be followed by an awful grind from the undercarriage. But it never came, the 355 was revealing a suppleness to its damping I hadn’t expected.

As the car reared up over the other side of the dip, still on full bore attack mode, I got my first chance to show that sculpted front end some decent corners. The turn in was as direct and the steering as quick as I had come to expect of other Fezza’s but unlike the 360 that had been my first Ferrari experience, its predecessor didn’t feel nervous as it darted into the first bend, a sharp-ish right hander. There was a flow and a depth of control to the older car that gave me the confidence to hold a fast line through the set of bends letting the car find its way and reading the road almost solely from the visceral feel being transmitted through the steering column. As I came out of the bends onto another straight in third I finally had the chance to use that famous open-gated gearshift in anger for the first time. This was my first manual Ferrari. Pinning it again I scythed through the remaining ratios, the shift was actually shorter than I had imagined, but it felt superb and even the sound of the lever moving through the gate gave a huge sense of occasion to something as simple as changing gears. All the time whilst revelling in the noise and theatre of it all, and dreaming of just driving on for eternity in the utterly mesmerising F355.

Sadly I soon had to remember that the Ferrari was not my own and that there was still work to be done that afternoon! I was coming into the next village so I took the opportunity to swing the car around and launched myself back down the road towards Jacks house, as quickly as I had come. Pulling back into the driveway, I shut the car down and reluctantly handed the keys back to Jack with the look on my face of a man who had just been taken a little closer to God. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked leaning against the wall of his house. I looked at the beautiful blue Ferrari as it cooled down in front of me and repeated the words that Jeremy Clarkson had said, the words that had stayed with me for twenty years.

“It’s the best car in the world.”

Enjoyed the story? Jump in the comments and let me know! Or tweet @dougcarsetc