A large centrally mounted dial contains three smaller inset ones, monitoring temperatures and fuel level, flanked on either side by a rev counter and speedometer. The 250 series that followed evolved rapidly during the Fifties, reaching its peak in the 250 GT SWB passo corto, a GT and racing car. The steering wheel is smaller and less formal, making the car wieldier. 

The main instruments look familiar, big dials supplied by Ferrari’s partner Veglia. The supplementary dials were now spread right across the dashboard. Incidentally, the late, great Stirling Moss raced a 250 GT Competizione to victory in the 1960 Goodwood Tourist Trophy, and was able to listen to the live race commentary on the car’s radio. It helped, he said, to know how big the gaps to the cars behind were…

In 1964, the beguiling 250 GT Lusso added more luxury, as well as dramatically reconfiguring the instrument layout. Now the main dials were moved centre-stage into a double cowl, with the five auxiliary dials in a separate binnacle ahead of the driver. In 1966, the 365 P Berlinetta Speciale showed what was possible in terms of interior packaging by somehow fitting three seats into the car, despite its mid-engined configuration and compact dimensions. 

But it was 1968’s 365 GTB4 – known as the Daytona – that set the idea of the front-engined Ferrari GT on fast forward, outside but also within. Now all the instruments were arranged in a single binnacle ahead of the driver, eight in all. Ventilation, once an after-thought, was handled by a series of vertical sliders. The seats featured contrast-coloured inserts, and even the door panels were strikingly futuristic. 

Its successor, the 365 GT4 2+2, was square-cut and contemporary inside and out. The steering wheel remained three-spoke, if a little more padded of rim, but the auxiliary dials were now gently angled towards the driver and sat at the top of an enlarged centre console. The mid-engined Berlinetta Boxer was a more minimal creature inside, deleting the centre console altogether but introducing toggle switches to the central tunnel and modish door cards.  

The F40 is one of the great jewels in the Ferrari back catalogue, its singularity of purpose evident inside and out. The dashboard is a simple grey expanse, the roof headlining a perforated vinyl. There are no interior door-handles; instead, you pull on a length of cord. 

The F50 that succeeded it operated to a similar philosophy; a simple but beautiful carbon fibre panel stretching the width of the cockpit, the wheel not dissimilar from the cars that kick-started the whole Ferrari story, yet somehow very modern. 

The 456 GT and 550 Maranello both had imposing centre consoles and a renewed emphasis on materials and build. As with the F50, the open-gate transmission and gear-lever mark these cars as the last of the manual V12 breed. The paddleshift and semi-automatic arrived first in 1997’s update of the wildly successful F355, a direct transfer from the track to the road. So, too, did the airbag, a vital piece of safety innovation but not a particularly pleasing one aesthetically.