Lamborghini Aventador. The Italian Nutjob

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Add the word “super” to anything and, usually, it’s immediately rendered untouchable and unattainable. You may have dated a model in your murky past; but a supermodel? In your dreams. You may have spent quality time with someone you deem to be a star; but a superstar? Unlikely. And while you’ve undoubtedly owned or at least driven a car, have you really got to grips with a bona fide supercar?

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That term has become almost redundant these days because performance that used to be the preserve of crazy looking Italian exotica is now the norm with staid, ordinary looking German saloon cars. Put a new BMW M5 at the lights next to a Lamborghini Countach or a Ferrari Testarossa and watch as the Italian’s occupants cry into their laps as the German technofeast obliterates the glamorous competition.

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Perhaps that’s an unfair analogy because time moves on. But no matter what period in time you think of from the mid 1960s, Lamborghini has always been out there, pushing the envelope with outrageous, gloriously impractical sex machines that cause more heads to turn than a streaker running through downtown. Time has done nothing to tone down the madness and the latest big Lambo, the Aventador, carries the tradition of bonkers bulls into a new era. It isn’t a supercar, it’s a hypercar.

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Even before you get in it, ignite the twelve cylinders and unleash hell, it sends a mighty shock through your system. It’s a completely mad looking thing yet study it closely and you won’t find a single awkward line. As visual statements of intent go, it’s a masterpiece – aggressive yet beautiful, simple and uncluttered, it shouts “look at me” without being flash. “We’re the only bad boys left,” one of Lambo’s top brass recently said within earshot. He wasn’t kidding – the company formed to teach Enzo Ferrari a thing or two has, with this car, just made the 599 look like a Mini Cooper.