While the top speed was limited to 155mph, fully unleashed it was claimed nearly 180mph was achievable, and that, as I can clearly recall, was something of a sensation. The UK buyer was expected to part with £37,500 for this in 1993, somewhere between the price of a Porsche 968 and a 993 Carrera, although in horsepower terms it easily eclipsed the latter. Just contemplate for a moment its advanced specification: a 3-litre straight-six with sequential turbochargers, double wishbones all round with Bilstein dampers, an electrically powered front spoiler, traction control, the novelty of side airbags as well as the frontal ones, and an attention to weight saving that included an aluminium bonnet and carpeting made with hollow fibres. If you want people to notice you then don’t get a supercar, get a Supra.įor its time the Supra was a highly sophisticated machine, and along with the GT-R and NSX a further example of the increased confidence, ambition and technological might of the big Japanese manufacturers at the beginning of the ’90s. And there have been countless other examples during the past hour, from thumbs up to flashing headlamps to simply smiles. It’s a positivity shared with the cashier in that same garage, and the elderly couple with a hideous modern Nissan Pulsar, all of whom want to talk about the Supra it was shared too by the young lad driving a Vauxhall Astra earlier – millimetres from the big white shark’s rear bumper, cameraphone blissfully blocking the majority of his forward vision.

But I had a VHS, a tape you know, with 1000bhp Supra, and it was the car we all dreamed of. ‘Why the Supra though?’ I ask, unashamedly looking to gain material from this chance garage forecourt encounter. Now he’s showing me pictures of his own Mk4 Toyota Supra on his phone, telling me how he bought the cheapest he could find back in Poland, a non-turbo model, or ‘SZ’ as my research has taught me, and then restored it, turbocharged it as well with one giant snail’s shell of a turbo. ‘So rare to see standard car,’ he adds, almost incredulous that I haven’t got a flip paint job, or an exhaust like a field artillery gun. ‘Very rare,’ he says, with eyes-wide fervour. He’s already quoted engine and gearbox codes at me, and gazed longingly at the cloth Recaros.

It’s a legend!’ My new Polish friend is extremely excited.

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