Man and boy, who doesn’t dream of owning his own red Ferrari? Thing is, I say "he" because it is a predominantly male fantasy. Those curves, the presence, the power, the glory. Moody sexual undertones, red Viagra, untouchable. I counted myself as one of those in awe, with no realistic prospect of getting my own name in the log book. In fact, I had more chance of dating J-Lo – at least that’s what William Hill said.

Life is never without it’s surprises and one day I found all the hard work had paid off and some shares had hit the roof. Great, I thought, so I sold at the top and found I had to pay the tax man the thick end of 30 grand. I could be sensible and whack it all in the bank until the bill drops on the mat in 2 years’ time, but…well, no that’s not what I’d call an active option.  A down payment on a Ferrari…now we're talking; rude not to really.

So there was my plan. I’d keep the car for just under 2 years and hopefully not lose much on the deal and pay the tax man. So far, so good. I’d had a few Italian cars before, such as a Lancia HPE and an Alfa Spider, but this was really the big league now and I couldn’t afford to make a mistake. £50 grand for a used car! Was I mad?

I decided to consult an official Ferrari dealer to get the benefit of a properly sorted car with a factory backed warranty, so I paid a visit to Mortimer Houghton and Turner in Gloucestershire. Cars have an easier life in the country, I figured. Ironically, the car I chose spent most of its early life in central London…

One of my concerns was that cars more than a couple of years old are difficult to finance with a residual "balloon" and this might have put paid to my aspirations there and then. MHTs Andrew Turner revealed a different story where Ferraris are concerned, however. Andrew explained that even Ferraris as old as 7 or 8 years can attract 50% residual, depending on the model and mileage.

Although any Ferrari is attractive, back in the early 90s I’d lusted after the 348. There was something about the curves, the presence – it was the most beautiful car I’d ever seen. I wanted one then and I wanted one now. Of course, the 355 is visually very similar and if anything, even more beautiful, but it was a relatively new model and the prices were way beyond my budget which I’d set at £50,000.

A 348 it was, then and MHT had three in stock. Two reds and a Giallo Fly yellow. People who know Ferraris say the targa versions are all very well when the sun’s out, but there is body flex. This, together with the inevitable water leaks steered me towards the closed Berlinetta version. The two red 348s were both Berlinettas, but I plumped for the earlier 1991 car with 18,000 miles because it was pristine – and condition is everything with Ferraris.

On the test drive, it was a sunny day and the roads were empty in rural Gloucestershire. I opened her up and we covered about 10 miles. I have to say, my first impressions were lukewarm. I thought the performance, though quick, was not much better than the manual Jaguar XJR Supercharger I had just sold and second, the suspension was buckboard hard. On the positive side, the handling and roadholding were delicate and intuitive and when I had got used to the dog-leg first gear, everything suddenly fell into place; I was hooked.

MHT agreed to carry out a full service and cam belt change which is essential every two years whether the car has turned a wheel or not. This little lot costs the thick end of £3,000 so I was happy to get it all out of the way before I collected the car. The all-important Ferrari warranty was activated for peace of mind, but I was disconcerted to see a limit of £2,000 any one claim as MHT had told me a 348 engine rebuild would cost £20,000! They did add that they had never had to do one for a road car customer, though.

Sod’s law said that it would be raining when I collected the car, but I was wrong – it was a thunderstorm. What an introduction to the world of Ferrari ownership the 100 mile drive home was; it was a white knuckle ride to rival anything at Alton Towers.

So, day to day what is it like to own one of these supercars? Ecstasy or agony? The answer is a bit of both. She is a flamboyant Italian mistress and occasionally does what she wants. A lot did go wrong, but they were niggling faults rather than mechanical Armageddon. In truth, the engine never seemed to be strained, no matter how hard it was revved and the harder it was revved, the better it sounded!

I took a client out to the pub for lunch and upon leaving (no, it was only an hour!) the battery was flat which triggered the alarm when we got in, accompanied by flashing and hooting. The car would not start and the mirth on the faces of drinkers sitting outside will stay with me forever. Don’t ever break down in one of these unless nobody can see! The battery went flat on a number of other occasions and had to be replaced. So did the alarm. The offside headlamp also refused to retract and that was due to a short – another fix.

The worst things that happened were, as it turned out, minor, but were quite capable of bringing on a coronary seizure. One of these was a red light appearing as I was driving fast around the Oxford ring road. Before I could take any action, there was a discernable loss of power and then a total loss as the engine cut out. I coasted into a garage and looked up the handbook. It appeared to be a heat sensor on one of the two catalysts which decides if it is getting too hot and closes down that bank of cylinders to protect it. It was checked out and the sensor found to be faulty and replaced under warranty. The second one did the same a month later…

Another was more unnerving still. The top hose blew in dramatic style as I pulled into a Peugeot garage just in time to see Old Faithful erupt somewhere behind my head. At the time, I had no idea of what it was, but I did see pound signs in front of my eyes for some time. No damage was done, but it had to be trailered to the dealer yet again, which was a pain.

Thus far, this seems a litany of disaster, and to be frank, it shouldn’t happen after spending £50,000 on a used car. A Ferrari, however, is not a car you can just jump into and run down to the shops (although I did on many occasions); nor is it the sort of bullet-proof build you take for granted driving say a Mercedes SL500.  But that's to miss the point judging by other peoples’ reactions to the car.  Men see it as testosterone personified and parked up it attracts more blokes than women, which I hadn’t noticed until a girlfriend pointed it out!

It also polarises other drivers’ reactions. One type moves over and looks on wistfully, the other will do anything possible to baulk you and impede your progress - there are no grey areas. This would often be topped off with a two-finger flourish, but you learn to ignore it – with this, what is there to prove?

My time with the 348 was an experience rich in extremes and passion, which is as it should be. It is, for better or worse, the ultimate automotive status symbol and that is part of its problem. Other people’s attitudes to it mean you can’t just go out for a drive unnoticed and that includes the police. If you’re going for it in a 348, better keep your wits about you and don’t dice with other road users. Ultimately, rising early on a summers Sunday morning and seeking out the best deserted rural B roads will find the best in this car. Culminating in a swift half outside a country pub at lunchtime, admiring its perfect shape, makes sense of it all.

When the time came to pay the tax man, I sold her and she now has a new owner. For my part, she will be remembered as the impossibly beautiful Italian mistress with whom I was lucky enough to spend a few stolen moments and like a nostalgic scent, the sound of a passing Ferrari on full chat still sends tingles down my spine. She’s gone, but not forgotten. Rather like a difficult relationship - with time, you only remember the good bits.