By the time I could drive legally, way back in 1965, the Jaguar XKE was four years old and already a global lust object. Even Enzo Ferrari, a man not known for his objectivity, supposedly called it the most beautiful car ever made. The E-Type — as the rest of the world knows it — was, and still is, almost pornographically sleek and sexy; had poster printing been 10 years further along, it would have been the Jag and not the Lamborghini Countach that first graced every boy’s bedroom wall.