This is a sentence you won't hear very often.

I had to drive another damned Ferrari today. As this is my opinion I don't worry about hoards of highly priced lawyers beating my doors down. Who would actually part with real money for one of these monstrosities? Furthermore, who would spend another £2000 just to make the exhaust louder. A small hole drilled into the downpipe would achieve the same effect for nothing.
    Yes, women staring enviously at it as I drove down the massively potholed London roads was enough to amuse me for almost eight seconds before I almost lost my lunch. But ultimately it's just an over-expensive piece of sub-standard metal wrapped around a car that doesn't handle very well, sounds like a a giant asthmatic elephant grumbling about its piles, and is about as comfortable as riding on aforementioned beast without a saddle. It also needs to be refuelled every twenty minutes because the fuel tank is about the size of the now-empty wallet that paid for it in the first place. And that was only because he couldn't find a Porsche garage.
  Back to the writing biz tomorrow. I just had to get it off my chest.