Everywhere you go, men and women gawp. In red, it hurts your eyes, colour exploding everywhere, from its fat rear and muscular haunches to its broad snout and gaping mouth.
It eats road and air and you have to squeeze it along Britain's narrow roads, all the while wishing you were actually on the fearsome Nürburgring circuit in Germany, where the GT-R holds the lap record.
There were little moments of satisfaction along the way: the thumbs up and questions from passers-by, the neat nudge of the flappy paddles to select one of the six gears from the dual-clutch transmission, the surprisingly cavernous boot, the digital display showing throttle and brake use, the endless stream of power at motorway speeds but it feels too wide, and the ride way too hard, to use every day. More's the pity.