Driving a supercar is a bit like wearing a really ostentatiously ridiculous hat. Rock solid self belief and a pair of mirrored shades to mask the fear in your eyes will carry you so far and many will interpret that as cool. But eventually someone will just point and laugh. Leaving option two - get in there first, give a goofy thumbs up and play it for laughs.

This after parking up outside a mate's house...

I took the latter option in my time with a 'Papaya Spark' McLaren Special Operations enhanced 12C this weekend. Demonstrating, beyond any doubt whatsoever, I was merely the custodian, and not the owner. Whatever, you've no choice about being the centre of attention. May as well enjoy it.

Like hanging out with a cool mate, you drive a supercar in the hope that some of that reflected glory will rub off and your fragile little ego will get a bit of a boost off the back of it. Guess what - it works and I'm not too proud to admit it.

By definition supercars are extraordinary and though we all pay due deference to the design, the heritage, the engineering and the performance we all know that's pretty meaningless out on the public road. And posing is pretty much all you're left with. So why not share in the fun and goofy delight? Meaning answering all the questions, letting kids (or just the childishly excited) sit in the driving seat and make vroom vroom noises, taking pictures of strangers standing in front of 'your' car with their iPhones so they can show their mates and answering questions about every facet of the vehicle. How much, how fast, how thirsty - make sure you swot up on every last fact and stat because people want to know EVERYTHING.

You wait for one idiot in a bright orange supercar...

There are two conclusions to all this - first, and I already knew this, much as I'd love to I'm unlikely to be troubling any McLaren dealers any time soon. And, secondly, even if I could I'm not cool enough to carry the look off anyway.

Still, it's been fun. More on the car itself in due course...