Lamborghini Aventador S Roadster

I haven’t driven such a terrible car for years. It’s outdated, maddening – and I absolutely love it.

Lamborghini Aventador S Roadster

In the olden days nothing much happened in seven years. But now everything changes every few months: the food we eat, the way we communicate, the places we go on holiday and especially the cars we drive.

The Lamborghini Aventador was launched in 2011, and to me that feels like yesterday. But it wasn’t yesterday – a point that’s brought into sharp focus when you change gear. In a modern car you don’t really feel or hear gear changes; the only sign that they’ve happened comes from the rev counter. But when the Lambo changes gear it’s like you’re in a butter churn that’s tumbling down a hill. Seven years ago its single-clutch flappy-paddle gearbox was very futuristic, but since then the much smoother double-clutch system has been invented – and then discarded in favour of conventional slushmatic units that have been made to work just as well. Today, then, the single-clutch system feels as old-fashioned as a TV with no remote control.

There’s more evidence of the Lambo’s age. The command centre screen is lifted direct from an Audi, which sounds good. But it was lifted from an Audi seven years ago, which means it was designed maybe 10 years ago, and so the sat nav refers to Londinium and Persia and German West Africa. Then there’s the four-wheel-drive system. When it’s cold, waking the front differential up is like trying to get a teenager out of bed. There’s a lot of banging and thumping and bolshiness and a wilful refusal to do any sort of slow-speed manoeuvring.

The car I drove was the new S roadster, which comes with a roof that can be stowed under the bonnet. Sounds appealing, yes. But there are one or two problems, such as that there’s no room there for anything else. Worse, when it’s in place, it is nearly impossible for someone of my size to get into the car. And it’s even worse when you want to get out. I had to push my legs down into the footwell and then twist my arse into the passenger’s face before emerging from the tiny gap head first. This meant putting my arms on the pavement for balance and then pulling myself onto my hands and knees. It’s not a dignified look, if I’m honest.

Oh, and when it’s raining and you crack the window for whatever reason, a great deal of water gets into the cabin, which makes everything damp, which means that the windscreen is permanently steamed up. Before setting off, you need to spend at least 10 minutes sitting there with the fan on.

Eventually there’s a hole big enough to see through, so with a lot of banging and juddering from the teenage front diff, you set off into the traffic. And then you wait while the gearbox rummages around looking for second, and then you’re at a roundabout and you cannot see what’s coming because there’s not enough headroom to turn your head. And your knee has turned off the indicators by accident. And then you go straight through a red light because one of the things you can’t do when you’re sitting that far from the windscreen is look up. It’s like driving a postbox.

Soon I was on the motorway, where it was bucketing down. And everyone in every other car was coming alongside for a gawp, and I didn’t dare accelerate because this car does 0-100km/h in three seconds. That’s not the sort of power you want to be messing with when it’s raining and your other knee has just turned off the wipers. I don’t normally get tense on the road, but in those conditions, in that mad old dog of a car, I was nervous as hell.

I haven’t driven such a terrible car for years, and yet, if I had the choice of any supercar, this would be it. Because I absolutely love it. Here’s why. The modern crop of mid-engined road rockets can potter about town like hatchbacks, and when you’re on the track they’re easy to hustle. Make no mistake: the McLaren Senna is a sensation and the Lamborghini Huracan Performante is even better. I don’t like Ferrari very much as an entity these days – it’s way too up itself – but I’ll admit the 488 GTB is sublime as well. But it’s like a work of great literary merit; it’s one of those plays where you are expected to stroke your chin throughout and discuss it afterwards with people in sensible clothes. And that is not, in my book, the role of a supercar.

That’s why I love the Aventador. It’s pantomime. You go along, it throws sweets at your head, someone yells, “It’s behind you!” and then afterwards you take your kids out for a pizza.

Lamborghini Aventador S Roadster

Engine: 6.5-litre V12 petrol (544kW/690Nm)

Average fuel 16.9 litres per 100km

Transmission: Seven-speed automatic, all-wheel drive

Price: $825,530

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars