We’d got the breakfast process down to a fine art by now. And this hotel wasn’t any different. First one grabs a table, then throw as much food and caffeine down our throats (which hopefully includes some hot food).

We packed the TVRs up and gave them the once-over before firing up the engines and heading from suburbia into Stuttgart.

It was unfortunate the roads around the Porsche Museum weren’t living up to the high German standard of their engineering, with roadworks all over the place. But eventually, we spotted the Porsche factory up ahead with it’s production line sky bridge and soon, the marvellous Porsche Platz came into view.

The Porsche Platz is both imposing and almost impossible looking. Tilted on an angle, the concrete and glass monster looks like it’s been designed by Danish architects 3XN while on acid.

We scooted around the mini roundabout (which also had roadworks) and down into the belly of Porsche’s underground car park.

The car park was worth the fee alone. It’s one of the few I’ve been in designed for cars and not an afterthought by a lazy architect trying to get an early dart on Friday. Cleaner than most operating theatres, the were many spaces, and more importantly, you could actually fit a good-sized car in the spaces. We discovered why later.

We hopped into the lift and headed into the minimalist foyer to buy our tickets. It was quite early and not too busy. After a quick comfort break, we go onto the escalators which delivered us into mechanical pornographic heaven.

It’s fairly pointless for me to try to describe the place, so have a look at some of the photos. The Porsche Museum is essentially a big white room, packed full of Porsches and arranged in vaguely chronological order. In the middle, they had an Xbox where you could play a sort of modified Forza in the Porsche of your choice, along with a couple of models you could get in.

Everywhere else was just priceless Porsches. From classic 911s to the Porsche Carerra GT and Les Man versions. It was fantastic. I ran about taking photos, while the boys grabbed the audio tour. In hindsight, I should have got this as the minimalist labelling didn’t actually tell you much about the cars, but to be honest, this worked well as I hate big plaques getting in the way of a good shot.

I’ve no idea how long we spent looking at the cars. It went by quickly, and all too soon, we needed to make a move. It had started to get really busy as well, so if you’re thinking of going, go early. I met the boys in the Porsche Cafe, a super trendy minimalist affair which I expected to only allow hipsters and philosophers in. Indeed the table next to me had a chap in white trousers and a polo neck. He may have been Schopenhauer’s great-grandson for all I know but I didn’t have time to ask as we headed to the Porsche Shop.

J bought some chocolate Porsches for the family. I wrongly thought this was a crazy idea, thinking they’d get destroyed on the way home, but I did regret not buying any. I also regretted not buying the world’s most expensive Porsche umbrella, which in hindsight might have been over priced, but looked very well made.

We got in the lift and headed back to the cars. It was now we realised why the car parking spaces were so impressive. As we approached the TVRs, a Maserattic MC-20, bright green McLaren and shiny blue R8 proceeded to park up next to us. The 20-something, immaculately dressed blokes get out along with their stick insect girlfriends.

I looked at my co-pilot, J and shrugged; we weren’t jealous. Well, maybe a bit. But mainly because while we were trying to get out of the car park, the Cerbera’s handbrake wasn’t holding the weight of the car, and I nearly took J’s legs off while he got out and opened up the barrier.

When we finally emerged from the car park the Porsche Museum entrance was swarming with people. We gave a few aggressive rev’s of the TVRs, and the place stopped to watch us pull up at the lights, with a few of the more adventurous tourists taking photos. Thankfully, we didn’t stall as we pulled away, but I lost the T350 as it got through the lights quicker.

We weren’t to see the T350 for a while as we headed to the Black Forest, our next leg on the trip. On the way we followed the coffee bean, the brown TVR Tuscan for a bit.

One of the things I’d noticed about the Cerbera was the grumbling and noise it made. I loved it. As we ventured through Baden-Baden towards our lunch stop, we went through a tunnel. I thought it would be a good time to knock the car down a gear and let the engine pop and grumble. J pointed out that not longer after this, a message had been posted on the WhatsApp chat with a picture of the Cerb and the caption, “The Children are playing”. The coffee bean had caught us.

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