This is the story of one man's love affair with one of mankind's greatest motoring achievements - the Citroën DS, possibly the most beautiful, stylish, original and futuristic car ever built.
The DS has the almost unique ability among cars to hit in heart and head simultaneously. While one is slavering over its voluptuous curves, one also finds oneself amazed at how technically innovative it is.
Its sleek physique is, as French philosopher Roland Barthes enthused, "as smooth as cake-icing". It's widely accepted that, if it were launched now, rather than in 1955, the DS would still be considered avant-garde.
Even its nickname, La Déesse, is a play on the French word for goddess. For some it has become more than a mere car - it is an obsession - and Gerard Nolan has been madly, deeply smitten.
To own and cherish the DS, he reckons, requires, above all else, patience. And, if patience is a virtue, then he is truly a virtuous man. For he owns three magnificent specimens, which he is in the process of restoring in his back garden in Clontarf, Dublin.
The affair began in the mid-1970s when Nolan's older brother arrived home in a brand spanking new DS 23. But a bovine encounter in the wilds of Co Kerry soon afterwards left it bent and bruised and the brother gradually tired of it.
The final straw was when the bonnet blew clean off as it was parked in his driveway. Defeated, he bequeathed his battered beauty to his ecstatic younger sibling.
While looking for parts to get his hand-me-down back on the road, Nolan came across a D Super for sale, which was in "immaculate condition".
It was snapped up and Gerard Nolan duly became the proud owner of a brown 1975 D Super, and the happiest 20-year-old in the country in the process.
He was in love, utterly bewitched by his car.
Why, I asked him, did it move you so, it's only a lump of metal and rubber after all?
"Because you feel different driving one," Nolan answers, somewhat misty-eyed. "You feel there's something special about them. You always felt that you were driving something that wasn't just an everyday car."
"The name, 'Goddess', is perfect - you love her and adore her, but she doesn't always have to love you back!"
Sadly, like most first romances, it came to an ignominious end. Faced with a mountain of mechanical problems and a molehill of cash, Nolan sold it "during a weak moment". He's regretted it ever since.
Eventually, nearly 20 years later, the separation became too much for bear. He simply had to have a DS.
A classic car enthusiast, he had owned plenty of unusual cars, including a stunning 1950 Austin A90 Atlantic Convertible that is still with him. But none carried the emotional attachment as the DS.
The first act of his renewed infatuation was to buy a 1971 Citroën DS Chapron Décapotable "Le Caddy", from an elderly German in the South of France. To the DS aficionado, this model is the Holy Grail.
Nolan is too modest to say it himself, but I did a little research and discovered that only a few dozen of these incredible convertibles were ever made. I found one, billed as the only example remaining with all its original features, for sale on the internet. I won't say for how much - that you can discover for yourself. Suffice to say, I had to take a sharp intake of breath.
Although Nolan concedes his is not a perfect example, as it was bought without the original front wings, it remains an exceptionally rare car. And it's utterly divine to boot.
While looking for parts for the Chapron, he came across an ad for a 1972 South African-made DS 23 Pallas for sale in London. A tad apprehensive, he travelled over with his 11-year-old son to pick it up. The DS is a lot to take on, after all. Could he manage both?
His doubts were soon allayed when it was pronounced "cool" by his son, despite it being "in an awful state". And, as any parent knows, that's some achievement for anything that's 30 years old, much less a rusty old car.
Although the harem master of two vehicular beauties, Nolan still hankered after one thing - his original D Super, the one that broke his heart.
A bit of detective work, and lo and behold, it turned up under wraps in a house a mile from where he was living in Clontarf. No man alive could have stopped him from owning it.
He felt like a missing part of him had been returned. "When I got it back, I was like a child with a new toy, I was so delighted."
Although it's currently under tarp and he has yet to get stuck into the long mission to restore it, his first ever DS will, he hopes, be his last. "I will," he says, with barely a hint of self-doubt, "restore it to perfect condition and it'll be my car for ever."
The DS 23, which he uses every day, is now totally modernised, its specifications including electronic ignition, central locking, air conditioning, indicator canceller, electric windows, the works. It's probably the only DS on the planet with minidisc player and a hard-drive containing MP3s of 3,000 CDs.
Nolan is aware that more purist Citroënistas may scoff at his modifications, regarding them as sacrilege.
"Well, the way I see it is this - if I bought a big Georgian house, would I put central heating or double glazing into it or would I sit there freezing, saying I'm not changing anything? Of course I'd change it, modernise it so I could live in it. That still doesn't change the fact that it's a beautiful house.
"Well, that's a beautiful car, and all I've done is made it usable in today's world.
"It's so futuristic anyway, if ever there was a car that should be filled with electronic gadgetry, it's the DS. Citroën would have approved, I think."
The DS has a name for being a mechanical minefield. Does Nolan find this is warranted?
"They're actually not that difficult," he muses. "It's more the reputation that precedes them that people fear. A modern car is far more confusing.
"I suppose, in some ways, it's like having a child who might be a bit difficult and might not do everything the way he should do it, but that very child might be the one who gives you more of a glint in the eye than any other."
Still, he warns that through lack of knowledge, you could be buying yourself "a little piece of hell. I'd never urge somebody to buy one, unless they're prepared to get under the bonnet and get dirty. Otherwise, you'll just end up getting rid of it."
So, to the crunch question. Which of the three is your favourite? "Ah come on, that's not fair! It's like asking me which of my children I love most!" he answers, laughing.
"But if it came to it, I'd have to pick the D Super, my original car. That's the one I fell for first, I couldn't get rid of it again."
I reluctantly make my excuses, leaving him to gaze adoringly at his extraordinary cars, leaving him to worship the Goddess.
