There’s a lot to like about this car. It’s a McLaren, so it’s a British car. A real British car, as in it’s owned, designed and built in Britain. Or so I thought, but it seems there are some Middle Eastern pistons in this pie. It’s also a Brexiters dream company, what with Bruce McLaren being Canadian – we’re all for the Commonwealth again. Or Empire 2.0, if that’s your cup of delusion. It’s also a fantastic car. Mrs P and I have driven past their HQ a few times in Woking. We like Woking. We could even live in Woking one day. Will that ever happen? Well, if my ambition to become a train driver comes to pass, then yes.
I can’t tell you what model this one is. Once upon a time, I could have told you the model, top speed and acceleration figures of pretty much every car. Like most teen boys, I had my phase of car obsession. I bought Autocar and Motor religiously, every week. I found that the older I got, the less I cared about a vehicle’s 0 to 60mph time. But would you like to know what I liked best about this McLaren? The parking ticket stuck to the window. One tiny victory for the common man against the 1%.