McLaren MP4-12C vs Ferrari 458 Italia

One hundred and fifty- three miles an hour on the clock, on a bumpy little public back road in the British Isles, driving a Ferrari 458 Italia so yellow it'll make your eyes flinch. There's a matt-black superbike bucking away in front, something exoskeletal and racily mutated, wearing what appears to be a slick rear tyre and making a noise like a jet engine playing a kazoo. We are, currently, having a bit of a race. There's a rosy tint descending, and I'm urging the Ferrari on via a grip on the steering wheel that'll need my fingerprints polishing out of the carbon fibre. The throttle pedal is welded to the floor so hard my right calf is knotting like a spun rubber band. In a perverse trick of biology, my palms are getting slick while my eyes are drying up. I don't think I've blinked for the past three miles.



There was a white McLaren MP4-12C occupying my rearview mirrors not so long ago, stooping at apexes with the commitment and authority of an F-15 on a strafing run, but even though the driver has more skill, he also possesses a greater sense of self-preservation. As well he might; there are walls and lamp posts and cliff-type carnage awaiting those who allow ego to overwhelm ability. The change-up lights on the upper rim of the steering wheel click into place one by one, swelling the former but not - unfortunately - enhancing the latter, and the Ferrari's naturally aspirated V8 starts making a noise that'll curl your toes and straighten your hair. Sixth gear, lots of rpm. I don't dare glance at the speedo.

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