** Health warning: this article may induce drowsiness, read with caution **

This weekend I rented a 1974 Interceptor III for a day. It’s been my fantasy car since I saw my first one in the metal as a 9-year-old: a wasp-yellow example at a local car dealer. It seemed to be on his forecourt for ages – probably because of the fuel crisis which was happening at the time, not to mention the purchase price, which was £7,200 in 1974 (equivalent to around £75,000 today).

So what’s an Interceptor like to drive today? When I first saw the car I was going to drive, my heart leapt: it’s still a stunnig shape. The interior is just as impressive with its dash full of dials and gauges, and acres of leather with a lovely patina of age.

A whiff of throttle, turn the key and the 440cui engine fires with a distant rumble of thunder that subsides to a lazy, loping beat. Select drive with a soft clunk, a dab of brake to control the creep, then ease away into traffic. It’s effortless: the steering is as light as a modern car’s but with good feel. The ride is as comfortable as you can get with a crude leaf-spring back axle – it’s not bad, but not in any way as cushioned as a modern car. Suspensions have moved on considerably.

It wafts along in urban limits with a centimetre of throttle movement and less than 2,000rpm on the tacho. All you can hear is the creaking and rubbing of the leather headlining and trim, and that wonderful subsonic woofle from the exhaust.

Outside of urban limits, a little more throttle soon eases you up to 60-odd mph. As you settle in, you find yourself thinking that, well, the car seems a bit mild-mannered, like a big pussycat. Sure, the mid-70s Chrysler 440 was detuned and encumbered by emissions control gear, but was still rated at a genuine 280bhp and 380ft-lb. Have the passing years allowed too many horses to escape from the stable?

Then there’s a caravan ahead. A gap appears, so I give the throttle more of a push. Instantly, the nose lifts, I’m pressed firmly into the seat and without the gearbox even kicking down a ratio, I’m safely past and tucked back in.

So that’s where the performance is. After years of driving modern turbodiesel saloons with drive-by-wire throttle pedals, it’s easy to forget that normally-aspirated cars with carbs have a much more linear response to your right foot.

Also, the Jensen has a VERY long-travel throttle. What I thought was a fairly wide-open throttle when overtaking that caravan was, in fact, only about half of the pedal’s movement. It scarcely opened the secondaries on the Carter 4-barrel carb.

On a clear, open stretch of dual carriageway, I’m able to bury my foot into the Wilton. The rear squats, the bonnet rises even further as the car is catapulted forward – again, without kicking down as I’m above the threshold speed. Let’s just say that I’m left in no doubt about just how quick the car really is. This dual personality is part of the charm of the car: the first half of the throttle’s movement is waft-matic; the second half unleashes the beast. Chrysler drivetrain engineers really did know their stuff, I’ve never driven an automatic car that has such good and immediate responses to your input.

The car’s handling is still tidy, too. Initial mild understeer gives way to a nice balance on long sweeping corners, and the car stays firmly on line, feeling well planted. A poke of the throttle will tighten the line slightly, without drama. However, wet roads need some caution – it soon becomes clear that the car weighs not far off 2 tons, and has relatively skinny tyres – adhesion is lost faster than you might think. Brakes were of their time: they stopped the car well enough, but needed a VERY firm foot. Nearly 2 tons of car, no engine braking and period Girling gear mean forward planning is strongly advised.

Overall, a fantastic 270 miles in a car I’ve long dreamed of owning. Of course it had its niggles: an oil leak left a stain on my drive (it was marking its territory, I’m sure), the clock didn't work, nor the fuel flap release switch – it had to be opened manually from within the boot. Speaking of fuel, it used 20 gallons in those 270 miles, which is 13.5mpg.

But what a car. Given a lottery win, I’d still have one: it lived up to the dream.