Cars should have proper names. Monikers that describe either the exterior style or power within. The Triumph Spitfire was a good name. So was the Volkswagen Beetle. I'm not sure the AMC Gremlin was terribly enticing, but better than naming it the C12/440-HSE. Ferrari has mixed form when it comes to christening things. Mostly, its cars are given a series of alphanumeric characters. And the less said about the Ferrari LaFerrari the better. But sometimes it hits the jackpot; soubriquets that conjure freedom propped up on stilettos.

'Testarossa' is Ferrari's magnum opus. 'Superfast' sounds rakishly cocksure. 'Portofino' instantly brings to mind an afternoon of antipasti and negroni sbagliatos on the Riviera; the air scented with honeysuckle, varnished speedboats bobbing in the brightly-hued harbour to a floating composition by Puccini.

Unlike Ford's efforts in the 1970s with the Capri and Cortina, the convertible Ferrari Portofino could genuinely be twinned with the town from which it takes its title. Top down on a summer's day, can one imagine a more suitable destination? Well, the trouble is we have a mileage restriction. Ligurian marinas are 900 miles away, plus I only have 24 hours to kill. Where can one get to within a couple of hundred miles of the M25 that boasts the Instagrammable appeal of an Italian fishing village? Portmeirion is the answer. Squint your eyes, and ignore the grey skies. Behold, a Mediterranean vision emerging from the dark Welsh hills; a merry jumble of domes and turrets in ice-cream shades. Situated on the estuary of the River Dwyryd in the county of Gwynedd, North Wales, Portmeirion was the lifetime's work of eccentric landowner and self-taught architect Sir Clough Williams-Ellis CBE.

"How should I have not fallen for Portofino?" he asked of his design inspiration. "Indeed, its image remained with me as an almost perfect example of the man-made adornment and use of an exquisite site."

Sir Clough was a bit odd, but he was a genius. He used theatrical stage set techniques to create optical illusions, and incorporated columns and sculptures from demolished buildings and bankrupt stately piles to make a fairytale bricolage of impish nostalgia. Such work became known as 'Cloughing up'. It was, he called it, his "home for fallen houses".

Its quirky architecture attracted Frank Lloyd Wright on holiday here in 1956. It stood in for Renaissance Italy in the 1976 series of Doctor Who. Many of Portmeirion's colourful cottages, grottos, tiny castles and towers look Italianate, others Gothic, Palladian or Eastern European, and there are even Chinese influences. Between 1925 and his death in 1978, Williams-Ellis kept adding, making it more and more otherworldly. His face can be found on the many gargoyles that decorate the place.

Most famously, Portmeirion has been a place of pilgrimage for fans of the surreal spy-fishow The Prisoner, which was filmed here in 1967. Its star, Patrick McGoohan, had shot an episode of TV's Danger Man a few years earlier and thought it would be the perfect location for 'The Village'. His character, known only as 'Number Six', was a retired secret agent, incarcerated and interrogated by unknown forces in a mysterious yet enchanting coastal hamlet, which he speculated was on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain. Escapees were chased by meteorological balloons. What served as his character's house in the countercultural series is now a Prisoner-themed gift shop, while an annual fan convention takes place in Portmeirion's piazza. You can stay at White Horses, the humble 18th century fisherman's cottage which the actor took for the year-long production.

Number Six drove a featherweight Lotus 7. The Ferrari Portofino is a rather more sophisticated roadster that proves every bit as rewarding on Snowdonia's stunning roads. It's lighter, pointier and prettier than its predecessor, the California. Inside, it smells like a wallet full of €500 notes. The A470 and the Llanberis Pass take one towards Portmeirion through emeraldwalled forest tunnels, with plenty of opportunity to savour the 3.9 litre twinturbo V8 that's mounted in front of my feet and the seven-speed dual clutch transmission that races through the cogs at the flick of a finger. Sixty-two mph arrives in 3.5 seconds and it gallops on to 198mph.

The 591bhp engine is a work of art. And it's a gateway drug. At £165,000, this is designed to be a 'starter' Ferrari; 70 per cent of people who buy this car are new to the marque. It looks sexy and it goes fast. But it's also versatile and forgiving. There are only three settings on the Manettino dial; Comfort, Sport, and the one where all driver aids are turned off. If this is your first Ferrari, and your main motivations for buying it are the badge and the lissom retractable hard top, do not switch it to this. Not before writing a will. If, on the other hand, you enjoy getting its hind quarters out of shape, may I suggest you work a bit harder and buy the more expensive and more nuanced mid-engined F8 Tributo.

The Portofino is medium-cooked rump, while the F8 is pink fillet mignon. But the Portofino is still a brilliant car, with the added convenience of a big boot and decent fuel economy. If you're upgrading from an FType, 911 S or an AMG'd Merc, you won't be disappointed. But you may soon find yourself dreaming of something from Maranello's more hardcore range...

Nevertheless, the Portofino's razor-sharp throttle response is ideal for the Snowdonian blacktop. It combines mighty speed with impeccable manners. Driving a Ferrari should feel like a celebration of life, and owning a convertible Ferrari in the UK is all the more optimistic. When the weather is good, the joy is intense. "An architect has strange pleasures," Sir Clough wrote in 1924. "He will lie awake listening to the storm in the night and think how the rain is beating on his roofs, he will see the sun return and will think that it was for just such sunshine that his shadow-throwing mouldings were made."

One of Portmeirion's original buildings, which was adapted by Williams-Ellis rather than built from scratch, is a Victorian manor which he converted into the Hotel Portmeirion. There are 14 bedrooms above baroque and art deco drawing and dining rooms, destroyed by fire in 1981 but lovingly rebuilt. Forty-five other buildings and suites in the village are available to rent nightly as self-catering cottages. They promise, like the Ferrari, pure escapism.

The horseshoe of the estuary is fringed by mountain peaks, the highest being Snowdon, and upon these shores many bohemian parties took place from the 20s onwards. Princess Margaret brought her children to swim here. Some immortal artistic types also found inspiration. Noel Coward wrote Blithe Spirit in the Fountain suite in 1941, escaping the distracting din of the Blitz. George Bernard Shaw and HG Wells were early visitors. Bertrand Russell and Sir Kenneth Clark wrote here too. The Beatles' manager Brian Epstein was a regular guest, staying at Gate House and outfitting it with enormous built-in wardrobes to house his Savile Row suits. John Lennon and his half-sister came pre-Fab Four, while Paul McCartney came later and George Harrison celebrated his 50th birthday in the Watch House. Portmeirion has a trippy, psychedelic quality I imagine appealed to them. And while one thinks first of Lennon's gypsy caravan-painted Rolls-Royce Phantom V when one remembers the Beatles' motors, George was a committed Tifoso and John's very first car - get this - was an Azzurro Blue Ferrari 330GT.

Still, a Ferrari in Portmeirion is a surreal sight, and all the more suited for it. The Portofino is stirringly attractive, and surely would have appealed to Portmeirion's creator, who described beauty as "that strange necessity". Sir Clough's motto must strike a note with Ferrari's Centro Stile design department: "Cherish the Past, Adorn the Present, Construct the Future". And take no prisoners: let that glorious V8 roar.

(c) 2019 City A.M., source Newspaper