How far we've come: Ferrari 328 meets Alfa Romeo Giulia

In fact, cost is a good place to start. In 1987, a new 328 would have set you back £44,196, which equates to more than £127,000 in today’s money. Of course, that would have bought exclusivity in bucketloads, even in the affluent ’80s: Ferrari made just 7412 examples of the 328 between 1985 and 1989, and only 1344 of those were closed-top GTBs like the one you see here. Our car is even rarer for having the option of ABS. And, incredibly, this pristine 33-year-old arrives at Goodwood showing just 6700 miles on its clock – almost exactly the same as the nearly new Giulia that it’s now parked next to. In other words, as good an example of the model as you could imagine.

I won’t even bother to list what in-cabin tech the Alfa has and what the Ferrari lacks. The 328 didn’t even get a radio as standard when new, so let’s take comfort (or not, depending on your point of view) in the fact that the Giulia has a comprehensive infotainment system that would have left the Ferrari’s original owner in awe.

What’s more interesting is when you compare their powertrains. The Ferrari has a transversely mounted atmospheric V8 of 3185cc capacity located amidships, with drive sent via a five-speed manual gearbox to the rear wheels. Maximum power is 270bhp at a rather giddy 7000rpm and torque peaks at 223lb ft at 5500rpm. That the Giulia produces a near-identical 276bhp in its Veloce form is no great surprise, but the fact that it achieves it using half as many cylinders with nearly 1200cc less than the 328 gives a measure of how much more efficient engines have become. Turbocharging has been key to this, obviously, and it also explains why the Alfa not only produces 72lb ft more torque (295lb ft in total) but also does so 3750rpm lower, at just 1750rpm.

Remarkably, a mere 81kg separates their kerb weights (the Ferrari is 1348kg, the Alfa 1429kg), meaning that the Giulia trades just 7bhp per tonne to the 328’s 200bhp per tonne. So it’s no surprise that each reaches the benchmark 60mph from a standstill in near enough 5.5sec.

To drive each car and experience what these numbers mean in the real world is a bit like comparing listening to your favourite album on a high-end turntable with enjoying the same tracks as digital files on your phone. Plonk yourself in the Giulia and within seconds, no matter your size, you’re ensconced, snug and sitting low, with all controls within perfect reach. It feels, as you would expect, like the car fits around you.

Push the wheel-mounted start button, snick the stubby selector into D and away you go with no drama – with the result that it’s almost too easy to be breaching acceptable speeds in short order.

When you first sit in the 328, you realise how far three decades of ergonomic development has brought us. For starters, while I’m compact enough to avoid contact with the rooflining, at 5ft 7in (my 6ft 2in colleague isn’t), my arms are stretched to reach the non-adjustable Momo steering wheel (sans airbag), which in turn is angled away from you, forcing a police-style hand-to-hand steering style when you manoeuvre the car. My legs are also canted left to reach the pedals.

But then you look down and see that open-gated, chromed gearshift surround, with its spindly lever, feast your eyes on no fewer than seven analogue dials and then marvel at the amount of open space around the cabin and the fine view out afforded by its narrow A-pillars.

The gnarled, twisting South Downs roads near Goodwood generate a torrent of contrasts between saloon and supercar. Given that the Alfa is 388mm longer, 130mm wider and 308mm higher than the Ferrari, its structure is, if anything, even stiffer, with no discernible flex. I would wager that advances in structural engineering have probably had more effect on a car’s handling, control and safety than any other single element.

That said, the Ferrari feels tight, alert and biddable, its 225/50 rear tyres (60-profile originally) and 205/55 front tyres on 16in rims giving grip aplenty. And while it’s firmly sprung, well-judged damping makes it a joy as speeds increase, allied to unassisted steering rich in feel and feedback (as well as some kickback). But steering is where the Giulia can’t compete. Sure, it’s a lot quicker (2.3 turns from lock to lock, versus 3.25 for the 328) and lighter at all speeds, due to assistance, but it never engages in the same way as the Ferrari’s helm.

I said earlier about how easy it was to access the Alfa’s performance, but that’s not true of the Ferrari. Compared with the flick of a wheel-mounted paddle, manually shifting through its open gate inevitably requires greater focus – although the satisfaction gained from using it to extend one of the greatest-sounding V8s near to its 8000rpm redline is something that will remain with me for a long time. Ever-more stringent drive-by noise regulations have, unfortunately, robbed the Alfa of anything approaching aural nirvana.

There’s no better illustration of the unstinting progress made by the car industry in the past 30 years than driving both of these cars back to back. The Giulia is objectively in another league to the Ferrari at almost every level, and that should be applauded. But these are both performance cars and, as such, they should each exist to engage drivers at a level beyond the norm. And they do, in different ways. In the Alfa, that engagement starts at speeds that approach the boundaries of social acceptability; in the Ferrari, the thrill – and that’s really what it is – can be found at any speed.