Therefore, it was with a profound mixture of trepidation and exhilaration that I finally gave the Spider free rein on the way to Monaco to watch the Grand Prix. I had booked at the last minute to go with Premier Road and Track Events (www.premrte.fsnet.co.uk), one of our evo Active partners, and was 'making progress' in the company of a few F355s and the ex-Harry Metcalfe 993 Turbo. I was astounded to see the speedo wind easily round to the 180 mark, pulling 8400rpm in sixth with a bit more to go. This was even more impressive because the hood was down! What would it have achieved with the roof up?! Anyway, I was busy exclaiming to the Brunette how amazing the car was, when I noticed the water temperature was rising alarmingly and steam or smoke was coming into the cockpit from the foot well. I perceptively took this as a bad sign and that familiar sinking feeling washed over me as I pulled over to the hard shoulder. I must admit the feeling of d΃©j΃  vu was overwhelming, except this time I didn't even have the safety net of RAC European recovery. It was as if I was cursed never to exceed 180mph and was being punished for even trying.

I looked under the car to find coolant dripping out of the under tray but from the front of the car, not at the back under the engine. A quick call to Carl Verdi had the problem diagnosed as a detached heater hose, and although I had neither the eleven litres of coolant or the fresh jubilee clip required to revive the car, a helpful French breakdown chap did, after I had taken the short walk to the nearest emergency phone and explained my plight in my best Franglais. Seemingly no worse for wear, the Spider happily resumed its journey but at a (slightly) more sedate pace. The worst damage was done to the luggage in the boot, which, we discovered to our distress, was flooded with sticky green coolant. Fortunately for me, it was my bags at the bottom and it was my clothes stained an unpleasant shade of green. In fact, the Brunette was surprisingly calm during the whole incident, with a mere rolling of the eyes upward and a resigned sigh as if to signify the utter predictability of the calamity. Indeed instead of the expected rebuke, her only comment was that I should 'buy a car that could exceed 180mph as that seemed to be a problem speed for me'...