"My mates call me The Vampire. I sit at home at night watching the F1 races and think 'far out'. Ferrari and Schumacher are my favourites. But I could never fit into one of those cars," shrugs Lomu as we stomp towards one of the two double garages he has had built into his new octagonal, burnt orange, cliff house. But the toys are not confined to the garage.
"I watch the races and play games like Colin McRae and Gran Turismo on the 60" plasma screen I have got. Well, in fact I should say used to play. I've been barred from playing video games (by his other half, Teina). I have four Playstations at home - one in my toilet, kitchen, lounge and bedroom. So I could continue my game in any room I wanted to."
The video games might be off limits, but he's got real life stars of Gran Turismo parked in his garage. That Nissan Skyline GT-R, but no ordinary one. Also a Nissan Patrol packed with 32 Fusion speakers and one of the loudest sound systems in the world. But the star of his show is the Chevy. One click of a remote control and the garage door starts to roll up. Inch by inch, the bulging blue bodywork of the dormant dragster is revealed. It is Lomu in steel. Muscular, with huge rubber boots and a powerhouse of a motor.
"Isn't she great?" he swoons like a new dad, swooping around its flanks, his massive sausages of fingers trailing along its bodywork. I nod. Jonah is not wrong. The car is sex on wheels. Bulbous F1-sized tyres on the back. Waist-thin tyres at the front. A sculptured lump of 467cu in Detroit chrome rising from the engine bay, unchastened by even a bonnet.
As he fires up the beast, shockwaves ricochet off the garage walls and windows. The effect is as chest-pounding as offering yourself before the speakers at a Led Zeppelin gig.
"Wanna see what she will do?" Lomu asks. Despite his size, he raises his voice a lot. I jump to attention, grabbing the keys for his Skyline GT-R and forming a two-strong convoy of cars with a combined power of 1500bhp. But the cavalcade is brief. In a burst of tyre-squealing jumps, we blast up the hill, past Wellington Jail and stop at a deserted car park five times the size of a rugby pitch.
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