This is what a car buying addiction looks like

There’s a shout from across the road: “What exactly is it you do?” It’s my neighbour; I can’t tell you their name as we’ve never actually spoken aside from the odd passing British-spec wave and raised eyebrows combo.

I try to explain, before I’m met with the question of ownership. I’m inclined to both answer and avoid for fear of being reported to the local Neighbourhood Watch for furnishing Rothwell with Columbian booger sugar.

It’s a much warmer greeting than neighbour two. He’s spent several years issuing death threats and barely cohesive ramblings on Facebook. In fact, any neighbour who makes a noise louder than a coughing badger has been featured. All without realising his profile has been left wide open for the street to see.

It’s important to stress (for my own sanity and to quash some reader backlash) that I don’t have a YouTube channel, nor do I ask people what car I should buy next while leaning on the wing of something Audi-shaped and leased. My habit has got fantastically out of hand over the past decade, and there’s a very simple formula:

Stage 1 – Overlook sensible cars in favour of something ‘interesting’ that may break.

Stage 2 – Assume the car needs improving with an exhaust, bigger turbo or lightweight wheels. Closely followed by track day or road trip.

Stage 3 – Practice looking surprised when it goes wrong. Can’t use a local garage (because ‘interesting’ specialist car).

Stage 4 – (optional) During repairs, modify the car further, dramatically increasing timeframe required to get it back on the road.

Stage 5 – Realise I no longer have access to a car any time soon, and return to Stage 1.

I grew up fairly obsessed by Japanese car tuning, not helped by a stint on Max Power from 2004–2010. That partially explains the RX-7 and R34 GT-R – both on their third engines (not my fault) – but the big red elephant in the room is the Ferrari. It’s a 360 Modena, but the keen eyed will have noticed it has McDonalds drive-thru hatches for windows and a giant carbon wing.

It’s one of 300 Modena Challenge race cars, and raced in Japan until 2009, with an honourable 59.7secs time at Tsukuba, before a man who I assume was deaf decided to convert it to a road car. It’s now in my possession, 11 years later.

There’s a chance his chiropractor forced the sale – to say it’s firm is like suggesting the Titanic sprung a leak. It’s not destined to be used every day, nor does it enjoy being on the road much. I fear neighbour two will dissolve like Major Toht in Raiders of the Lost Ark if I move it again.

Instead, it’ll be a dedicated track car with numberplates. Like a Challenge Stradale without any of the bits that make it usable. Stage 1 ticked off, new wheels, aero and exhaust incoming mean Stage 2 is rapidly upon us. Unfortunately, I’ve also planned a trip to the Nürburgring, so next time expect to see a 360 sans engine and some form of old Lotus replacing it instead.