Would suit:
Russell Brand (well, he says he's had Rod Stewart's daughter, so why not his car?)
Price:
£131 000 (about R1.8-million).
Power/torque:
382kW at 8000rpm, 510Nm at 4250rpm.
Performance:
315km/h, 0-100km/h 4.3sec.
Combined fuel consumption:
Don't ask.
Do we complain about Pavarotti using up the world's pasta supplies or worry that Keith Richards' bourbon intake means that future generations may be denied their whiskey sours?
No, and neither should we pause for a moment about the new Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder's petrol consumption. I know pasta and bourbon are renewable fuel sources and, true, 18 litres/100km is not the most efficient use of resources but they make only a few hundred Gallardos a year and their owners cosset them like Ming vases and drive far less than the average person does a family car.
A family of four taking a mid-term break to Disneyland in Florida will use considerably more oil and pollute the atmosphere to a far greater extent than a Gallardo does over a year so that's the environmental concerns dealt with.
Come, let us enjoy Lamborghini's latest.
Unlike Lambos of old, whose doors might scissor upwards (occasionally into the garage ceiling), the Gallardo's doors open outwards in conventional manner. You wriggle your knees under the chubby, suede-covered steering wheel and plop down on to a hard, slippery, orange leather seat.
You adjust the mirrors, then adjust them again, then realise you are never going to see anything more than a small patch of road and give up. You feel for the gear-change paddles behind the steering wheel but find none.
No, you must change gear using the most intimidating piece of ironmongery to have come out of a Catholic country since the thumbscrews of the Spanish Inquisition: the Italian supercar's open-gate manual shift.
Feel for the pedals, which seem unusually light, and fumble for the ignition. Turn the key and, after a throat-clearing pause, the engine roars clatteringly to life before easing to idle.
This being the new soft-top Lambo, you decide to open the canvas roof and it stows automatically in seconds. You reverse out of your driveway, realising too late that a button to the right of the gearshifter can raise the front of the car.
The car makes expensive scraping noises which you pretend not to hear.
Even with the roof down, you can see nothing behind you and so stop a good five feet from the cars parked on the opposite side of the road before clunking the cold gearbox into first and moving forwards. Within the first few hundred yards you realise this is a thoroughly modern supercar.
Prettier than Modena
Gearshifting is actually quite light and positive, with a particularly satisfying rifle-bolt "chink-clunk" from second to third; the clutch is equally easy. It doesn't ride quite as comfortably or steer as sharply as a Ferrari 430 but it feels rigid and strong.
Visually, it bests its Modenese rival for drama.
As the road opens up you press the pedal towards the floor. About halfway down, the engine transforms completely and you lunge ferociously forwards. Your head is now in a metal bucket connected by string to another big metal bucket into which a group of angry lions are bellowing primal-scream therapy.
You ease off immediately and look around to see if the year is still 2006.
It is, but you must do it again to make sure. You do. The lions roar. Your bottom lip trembles but you've survived so you do it again and again for two whole days until the nice man comes with the big trailer to take the Lamborghini back to its lair.
Car trouble: Lamborghini Jalpa
I drove a Lamborghini Jalpa once and I remain emotionally scarred by the experience to this day. I got off lightly.
Aside from nearly killing myself when I gently squeezed the throttle and the thing took a mighty step sideways into the path of an oncoming double-decker bus, the Jalpa was virtually impossible to drive smoothly.
Its heavy, notchy controls, appalling view of the road (something it has in common with the Gallardo), deafening noise and awful ride made it an almighty pain on anything but a smooth road.
I can only imagine how disappointed buyers of the so-called "budget" Lambo must have been when this ungainly two-seater was delivered and they discovered they had shelled out a still gargantuan sum on one of the greatest automotive lemons of all time.
They must have been even more crestfallen when they broke down, which Jalpas did with predictable regularity. - The Independent, London