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When I was a kid, the sight of an Aston, Porsche or anything wedgeoid and Italian would invoke the same pattern of behavioiur. First the bewitched stare, projected from a respectful distance to take in the impact from the front, the sides and rear. Then moving in for the details – a vent here, an identifying badge there – before inevitably I’d find myself with nose against door glass and hand shielding reflections for a view inside. The thickness and diameter of steering wheel and the plumpness of the seats helped me imagine what it would be like to climb in and drive, but the ultimate fuel for my imagination could be found in the instrument cluster – 120, 130, 150, 170mph? Oblivious to the tenuous connection between top markings…