My Super 7 was already proving its worth as a daily driver, so all that was needed was Bassam to lift a car cover, dose his 911 with a hose, connect the battery and fuel up his chosen weapon for the pasting of the century

Bassam and I disagree on most things, mainly out of habit so it would seem. But we recently found some common ground when we realised we both own cars that are at odds with our aesthetical judgement.

Bassam, for starters, is no great lover of the 996 911 yet he owns, applauds and pedestals his Porsche like it's made of platinum. And I, in similar vein, cringe at the curves and dated design of the Caterham, while failing to find anything that could ever offer the same level of involvement and passion. Bassam would disagree there, but then he's too fond of affluent food for a Caterham to ever be a serious consideration.

The similarity doesn't end there either, with both the Super 7 and the GT3 being rear-wheel drive, both models were destined for the track from the outset and owned by numbskulls who have no concept of how much torture they are imposing upon themselves by merely exercising a gruelling daily round trip to work and back. They are also two designs that haven't really strayed from their early etchings - more so the Caterham. And they both have numbers after their names, which for some reason Bassam thinks signals seniority. Three comes before seven, so, well you get the drift. I'll let this slide, allowing Bassam some leeway, as logic is obviously not his strongest point. Yet for some reason he's still got his pants in his hands at the mere mention that a relic from the 1950s could shadow he and his horses merrily around the Autodrome Club Circuit.

'But I have 360bhp Jon and you have, what?' 180bhp was my reply, which was received with a typical roll of the eyes and puffing of the chest - '180bhp less than me then.' But all I have is a piffling 606kg to carry around, compared with Bassam's 1350kg chunky kerb weight - 744kg lighter. Do the maths and that equates to a power-to-weight ratio of 271bhp/ton, compared with 302bhp/ton of the featherweight Caterham.  I mean come on, Bassam's GT3 being quicker than my Caterham, that's like a motorcyclist dressed in gardening gloves, flip-flops, a yellow construction hard-hat and swimming goggles being as safe on the roads of Dubai, as a counterpart in full leathers and a proper crash helmet. Needless to say Bassam should have walked away, but he didn't. We therefore continued to argue through a light lunch, late afternoon, early evening, straight through dinner and on into small hours of the following day. The only way to settle this was to head into the harrowing hills of Hatta and - if the 911 could save its rear from a high-noon burial - a final blow would be delivered out on the racetrack.

My Super 7 was already proving its worth as a daily driver so all that was needed was Bassam to lift a car cover, dose his 911 with a hose, connect the battery and fuel up his chosen weapon for the pasting of the century. My Super 7 would take only a few minutes to wipe clean, but how I'd wipe the smug look from my face was a little harder.

Coming to think of it I'm surprised evo publisher Mohamed didn't throw his ten dollars worth in, testing Bassam's patience by opening up the floor to debate whether or not his base-model 2006 Boxster could actually hang off the bumper of Bassam's GT3 up through the Club Link of the Club Circuit. It would have been worth it, just to see Bassam's face. But Mohamed sat on the fence, as the bickering about bhp continued.

Don't get me wrong I do have a soft spot for the 911, I just haven't found it yet. I recently test drove a 2007 911 C4S and, lucky for me, the car is so advanced and full of electronic gizmos that it actually got me home. I say lucky because I actually fell asleep at the wheel, it was that dull. And the only way that particular 911 could ever cling to the bumper (if I had one) of my Caterham is if I was towing it. Come to think of it, I could probably beat Bassam around the Club Circuit carrying the extra weight of the C4S behind, knowing our Motoring editor weighs four times that of me.

And lets not forget, Caterham has been banned from every known form of motorsport. Why? Because manufacturers such as Porsche got their panties in a twist when they kept being lapped by a Caterham time and time again. Caterham combated this by designing its own race series. It even runs in a separate class in hillclimb events in Europe. The 911 has its own class too, in such events as endurance races for example, but this is what is normally known as the GT class where it will win no matter what, even if all four wheels fell off it would take to the podium. It's all about saving face - and Porsche will do everything in its power to make sure this image is upheld.

While the antique design of the Caterham will surely be snubbed by many, it at least has the excuse of being an unchanged 1950s design. What excuse does the 996 generation 911 have for that dopey eye front and bland blancmange bumpers?  I make no excuses for my Caterham. It is a stripped-bare homage to the golden-age of motoring, a well-proven formula that requires no real adjustment to remain at the head of its field in today's market.

Shame the same can't be said for the 911. This was highlighted when Bassam turned up to the Autodrome technical bay in his Porsche pram, then proceeded to throw every available excuse out of it, just as I'd anticipated: He'd only had four hours' sleep the night before, his tyres were flat-spotted and we needed to take into consideration that his camera, mount-fixed to his half cage, added weight. He also had Mohamed Khalaf as ballast, who had decided to document some in-car loser footage, the next best thing to a full studio set-up that must have weighed an absolute ton. It took him a good 20 minutes to get it into the GT3.

Needless to say Mohamed and his mobile film studio were welcomed. Even more surprising Bassam didn't make Mohamed empty his pockets of loose change or pick his teeth clean to save crucial ounces. I, in stark contrast, was desperate to make my wrap of tinfoil with four wheels as light as humanly possible, without attacking it with a sledgehammer, tin snips and an angle grinder. I removed the spare-wheel, hauled the tools and spares out of the boot area and brushed away the dust. I even made my Caterham comrade James Burnett take off his shoes and pluck his eyebrows.

'I even made my Caterham comrade take off his shoes and pluck his eyebrows'

'A rude awakening is what you're in for boy,' said Bassam. It was all show - he had another six excuses prepared for the crowd when he trundled backwards over the finish line in second place. He may have showboated the technical data, but for a so-called race car the GT3 has air-conditioning, leather seats, a dashboard for heavens sake, and a plump stereo and electric windows. Unlike Bassam I was playing fair by running my Caterham on hard harsh-cracked year-old Falken tyres, unlike Mr B who had opted for what looked like borderline street-legal cut-slicks.

I had already estimated a time of one minute and low 20 something, or thereabouts. Bassam, in true style, goes bowling in with a suggested one minute 14 flat. PleaseÉ First to set the tone, Bassam attacked a very sandy Club Circuit in his bag of Stuttgart spanners. As one lap turned into another all I could think of was how I could make Bassam feel better, knowing my $ 15,000 sportscar built in breezy Britain had just whipped his gazillion dollar super Porsche around the Autodrome, Bassam's second office. I was half wishing he'd win, by only a few tenths of a second mind you. I'd somewhat rather deal with gloating than his self-loathing.

Six laps of the 57-degree track later and the B-team roll into the garage and threw two more excuses out of the porker and then looked nervously over at James and I in our flaming red Porsche destroyer. The beginning of the end I thought, as I slipped on my Simpson helmet, belted up and prayed that the bitter pill of defeat wouldn't be too hard for Bassam to swallow.

Please note, the error on page 126 in the Knowledge section will be amended by next issue. Sorry to all... Some clown accidentally pasted the Porsche 996 GT3 under the wrong category. I'll allow the Porsche this one slight indulgence - for one issue only - but next month the entry will be back under the sports cars banner and not supercars. What were we thinking?

Jon Saxon

'The startled frog headlamps don't exactly set my pulses racing'

Jon and I disagree on most things, mainly because he is usually wrong and I am usually right. A perfect example of this was when last month he rolled into evo headquarters with a big smile on his face, the proud new owner of a narrow-body Caterham Super 7.

I could barely hold back the giggles. Even for someone as lunatic as Jon, buying a Caterham 7 as we entered Dubai's hellishly hot summer months is not a rational thing to do.

As further proof of his certifiable mind set he responded to my laughter with a snide comment about how his box on wheels was superior to my beloved Mk1 Porsche 911 GT3. Now don't get me wrong, I appreciate the genre of lightweight specials as much as anyone, I do after all own and race a Radical SR3 1500, probably the most extreme trackday car you can get yourself into.

I am also a great fan of the Ariel Atom and am lusting after the upcoming KTM X-Bow. Caterhams on the other hand have always left me a bit cold. It doesn't help that my 6 foot 2 inch big-boned frame fails to allow me enough space to operate the controls properly. This is compounded by the ugly duckling looks. While the 996 generation 911 doesn't win any beauty contests in my eyes, it is an absolute stunner in comparison to the Caterham. The startled frog headlamps combined with barn door styling don't exactly set my pulses racing. Of course styling is only a small part of any car's story. While I am sure the Super 7 does entertain, I don't think you could compare a car built in a shed with my master piece of German engineering.

The Mk1 GT3 was after all evo car of the year in 1999, an honour it richly deserved. While later generation GT3s inevitably grew bigger in power and performance, the first one is arguably still the pick of the litter. Revered for its fluid handling and fabulous feedback I still believe the Mk1 is the one to have. It challenges and entertains in equal measure, always demanding your utmost respect while driving quickly.  On the road, it is always involving, never allowing you to relax and just cruise.

Every aspect of the GT3's drive train is pleasingly mechanical. The gear box is precise and the clutch is firm. The differential clunks and chatters at low speed as it would in a racing car. As a matter of fact, the GT3 engine is directly derived from that of the Lemans' conquering GT1 and till today remains one of the greats. All this, and it is reasonably comfortable with bulletproof reliability. On the track, the GT3 embarrasses far more expensive exotica, its rear-engined layout resulting in crushing traction out of the corners and even more impressive lap times. As Jon would soon discover...

The Caterham on the other hand is about as well engineered as a kettle. While I realise its biggest appeal is in its simplicity, there is a limit to everything. The design is now 50 years old and it doesn't try very hard to hide it. Combine the weedy 180bhp Vauxhall 2.0-litre 16v engine with the aerodynamics of a brick and the suspension of a wheel barrow and your left with a very underwhelming car.

Not to mention the complete lack of creature comforts, questionable safety standards and loss of dignity every time you climb in and out. If Jon thinks his Caterham is going to beat the GT3 he's got another thing coming. So after a day of listening to his incessant yapping I agreed to put the GT3 up against the Caterham, although I have a suspicion that the fight is going to be a knockout in the first round.

Bassam Kronfli

The scene, although meant to be light-hearted, was fraught with tension the morning of our battle. There was a few snide remarks kicked in each other's direction but mostly silence drew over the small gathering that congregated at the Technical Bay of the Autodrome.

The actual day of the duel presented us with a very hot sandy track indeed, but lucky for us Bassam's sand blower was ready to sweep the circuit clear just in time for the Caterham's killer lap. But no mater how many times Bassam circled the Club Circuit the track remained dangerously dusty. Bassam soon returned to the pits complaining of no traction.

His choice of music on the day, intended to instil the fear of goodness knows what, did little to deter my determination. The unnecessary blips of the throttle were meant to heighten this fear - as Bassam, Mohamed, a silver 911 and NWA's greatest hits squealed out of the technical bay. He finally glided into the pits six laps later with a sour face. 'It'll go so much quicker than that.'

Knowing Bassam has spent what some may call a considerable amount of time at this circuit racing Radicals, I thought this an unfair advantage. I therefore employed good friend James Burnett to turn in a few slip-sliding stonkers to guarantee a podium finish. Bassam agreed to the driver switch, as he sipped water, sweated like a beast and ignored the offer of cookies and donuts that were being paraded around - staying true to his regimental GM diet. James and I grabbed another cookie for the road and slid into the Caterham. I have never seen such a look of fear on James's face. 'I really don't like these cars,' said James. 'Where's the traction control? Where's the A/C?'

Whether or not he was joking when he shook the hands of all those present and bid a nervous farewell as the nose of the Super 7 edged out of the pit garage I don't know, but it certainly made me very nervous. This was not helped when the car appeared just as nervous as James, if not more so. By turn one we were everywhere but where we needed to be. This trend continued as we tail-whipped every apex, James tamed our 180 horses the best he could. We still managed a great lap, but it was seriously hard work. Both James and I were glad to be back in the pits, off the track and out of the psychotic 7.

The sprint to Race Control was just as contested, as both teams raced to the printer, which had whirred into action printing off the results. And the winner is... Well, are you ready for my long list of excuses? Yes that's right, Bassam and his stinking GT3 won. And not by a few tenths of a second either, but by a healthy lead of 3.8 seconds - 1.17.8 to my 1.21.6. You can't really argue with a result like that, but I tried nevertheless. With a basic flat-patch set-up and damper adjustment, and possibly less pressure in the rear tyres the Super 7 could easily have grappled back those lost seconds.But then it was clear that with a track devoid of sand, and a few more laps under his belt, and Bassam would have just gotten quicker and quicker, ultimately maintaining that definite 3.8 second gap. I have since proposed a rematch. This time his GT3 verses our temporary-Fast Fleet Gulf7 260. Funnily enough Bassam bowed out gracefully.