This is not a cuddly, lovable car that makes people like you on sight; hardly a daisy-covered 2CV. No, this is a car for those who don't care what everyone else thinks. Particularly in Bastard Black, when it resembles Darth Vader's weekend runabout. Get it out of the two-car garage next to the Death Star on a sunny Saturday and annihilate a few civilisations. Excellent.

It has ferocious performance, of course, and its handling is excellent, if, experts say, a little less than involving. Whatever that means. There are those who swear that it is as capable a two-plus-two sports car as the Aston Martin DB7 - and it's nearly ?40,000 cheaper.

The two-plus-two tag is a bit of a misnomer, though, as it is with many sports coupes, from the humble Probe to the venerable XJ-S. Accommodation in the rear is hardly spacious, or at least not if you happen to be in possession of a full set of legs. If, however, you need to ferry the Douglas Bader Fan Club around on a regular basis then you're laughing.

But carrying people around is not the point of this car. The point is posing. The rear wing, for instance, must have such a tiny effect at even remotely legal (or moral) speeds that its only use is to add street cred. Not so much downforce as one-upmanship.

This may be the ultimate posing machine. Enthusiasts are suitably awed by its performance car reputation. Non-petrolheads are also deeply impressed by its air of expensiveness. It does look, after all, like a rich, flash git's car even though it's nowhere near the price of a Ferrari or an Aston or even the oldest, tattiest Lambo Diablo.

But it has the same problem as all long-bonneted, big-engined posing cars - it intimates strongly that there's something worrying you in the trouser dimensions department.