Classic Porsche enthusiasts are often derided as anoraks, but so what, asks John Glynn, who urges 911 fans to embrace their detail-loving tendencies.

The recent Techno Classica at Essen in Germany was the usual mecca for Porsche fanatics. Though there was a stunning selection of Stuttgart’s finest on show, there was a noticeable shortfall of pukka 911 racing product present, leading me to wonder whether there is perhaps an opportunity for some bright spark to come up with an off season, access-all-areas, indoor historic race car show on the mainland.

What about the Goodwood Festival of Speed and Classic Le Mans you say? Yes, thrilling celebrations of amazing racing cars, but not necessarily fully open to all and sundry. The Rennsport Reunion comes close in concept, apart from being held in a thunderstorm three thousand miles away. Personally speaking, I would like to see a similar event to Essen: indoors, with the world’s greatest motorsport machinery organised by manufacturer, and where enthusiasts like myself would get a chance to examine the engineering details in depth. Is this a workable concept, or just me being sad?

Sad is a word often used to describe men of a certain age who are consumed by the intricacies of their hobby. This use of the word is utterly incorrect in my opinion, as I see nothing remiss in an awareness of the minutiae of one’s chosen subject. Ponder this example. Driving down a local road the other day, I spotted a remote-controlled aeroplane flying up from behind a hedge on my left. As we drew nearer and slowed down, my travelling companion and I saw two men about the same age as ourselves, using this field as a airstrip for flying their planes in and out of. “Cool!” I exclaimed. “Sad!” my friend insisted.

Considering that we were towing my newly purchased 944 Turbo, with an engine in six separate boxes, and no real idea why I had bought it or where it was going to go, I asked my fellow Porsche fan why he was condemning this seemingly happy scene. My passenger pointed to the runways mown into the grass, the intersections marked with traffic cones, and assured me that marking out runways for two toy planes in a field was sad with a capital S. I couldn’t have disagreed more.

Passion is all about loving every last detail, and no one who is passionate about old cars, trains, planes or anything of a similar vein should consider themselves superior to a couple of runway-mowing R/C pilots. Whether you know that a Scalextric Rover SD1 Police Car had a moulded passenger for one year only, or what the correct washer jets for a 1973 Carrera RS look like, you are forever identified as one who is especially concerned with minor details, also known as an anorak.

Some might see anorak as a negative label, derived from the anti-social overcoats worn by train spotters at the end of the platform on damp Saturday afternoons, but to me it proclaims camaraderie: all anoraks are brothers under the fake fur-lined hood. Accordingly, we should show each other suitable amounts of mutual respect.

A good friend of mine is a steam train enthusiast and devoted Hornby Dublo collector, often paying two grand or more for a mint locomotive, in a mint box. This is a clever chap you understand: a company director, with a six-figure salary but still playing with toy trains (as his wife puts it). Of course, to him these are not mere toys. They are miniature works of engineering art, in very short supply in the condition he seeks. With the greatest collections worth millions, they are a gilt-edged investment and not to be played with: all part of the many-pronged logic he employs to overcome the shocked looks from those who just don’t get it.

I admit to not fully getting Dublo, or Dinky Toys, or remote-controlled cars and planes, but I appreciate and admire the exuberance of those who devote themselves to such innocent pursuits. Ultimately, I see very few differences between the high-end Hornby collectors and my own circle of Porsche-loving friends. Our shared primary goal is social: toy fairs and track days are an excuse for guys to get together, enjoy a little hunter-gatherer banter and come home to plan the next excursion.

My interest in Porsches is first and foremost a means to get out of the house every so often, meet my impact-bumper buddies and chew the bacon sandwich fat, safe in the knowledge that no one is going to tell me it’s bad for my triglycerides. Essen for me is essentially a forty-something jolly, a four-day beerfest with some very cool cars thrown in for good measure. Nothing wrong with any of that, though I would like to see a few more race cars.

Some Porsche people take the business of ownership way too seriously. Like a gourmet meal or a wonderful bottle of wine, the love of the cars is best enjoyed over a few laughs with like-minded individuals. The delight to be found in the intimate details of our marque of choice should not be underestimated, and if that means we’re the butt of a few anoraknophobic comments, then it’s a small price to pay for innocent adult fun with friends, away from the routine of everyday life. So I say, embrace the anorak in you. As a means to escape, it’s absolutely unbeatable.