the 37th best motoring website in the world
Pagani got the world hacking up phlegm with the release of its impossible-to-pronounce Huayra V12 hypercar. Volkswagen tantalised eco-fans with the remarkably production ready XL1 plug-in diesel hybrid. Toyota teased, again, the universe’s most teased car, their FT-86 coupe – but said very little about it. And Ferrari released a few more pictures of their four seat chest-wig express, the FF.
Trampled under the news hungry feet of various gobby supercars, we’re not sure the Volkswagen XL1 concept is getting the coverage it deserves. A black Porsche 911, a stroked Vantage V8, a 4WD Ferrari, a funny coloured Gallardo, a new Lambo V12 and a bombastic Pagani hypercar? Yes of course. But VW have made a 313mpg plug-in hybrid diesel torpedo – and that’s our type of news.
Of course, manufacturers bandy around concepts with optimistic stats all the time, but we reckon this one is different. It’s got wipers. And what do wipers mean? That’s right, let’s all say it together… WIPERS MEAN REALITY.
The interior looks just an LCD wing mirror away from rolling off a production line. Its shapes, textures and even buttons are a temptingly plausible mix of present day VW bits and near-future design – certainly not a work of fiction.
The XL1’s powetrain is similarly realistic; no jet turbines or sci-fi frippery here thankyou-please. It’s powered by a two-cylinder 800cc turbodiesel, which VW claim chuffs out an entirely believable 47bhp. Electricity comes from a lithium-ion battery powering a 20kW motor, which can propel the car without the help of combustion for up to 22 miles.
0-62mph happens in 11.9 seconds and CO2 emissions are quoted as being just 24g/km – although the temptation to guild the lily there may have been too much to resist… we’ll wait and see.
But its the XL1′s materials and manufacturing processes that create the most compelling evidence of its production viability. To keep its weight down to a light-but-believable 795kg, the XL1 is based around a Carbon Fibre Reinforced Polymer monocoque, the build process of which VW have just developed and recently patented. You don’t file a patent cheaply, easily or for no good reason. They mean business.
So while the hypercars bask in their column inches, here’s a nod to a funny little diesel hybrid. Instead of gluing a laptop battery into the boot of a two tonne SUV, here’s hoping that VW will grasp the nettle, build the thing and push the hybrid market on. Perhaps the XL1 will evolve to become a genuine successor to the revolutionary mk1 Honda Insight. Fingers crossed.
Ferrari revealed their first four wheel drive car, the ‘FF’ – it’s got four seats, a 450 litre boot, a 650bhp V12 and looks nothing like a Z3 M Coupe. Caterham unveiled their SP/300.R race car, which goes on sale in 2012. The SMMT announced UK car production rose by 27.1% in 2010. And Murray’s T.27 passed its EU crash test.
What a confusing, contradictory fellow the handsome new Volvo V60 is. Not only is it very definitely not a ‘Naughty Volvo’ as the company’s tremendously misguided marketing bumpf would have you believe, it’s not a staid or boxy one as Volvo’s previous form would suggest either. And it’s got a smaller boot than an Audi A4 Avant or BMW 3 Series Touring. Seriously.
Not naughty, not boxy, not roomy… so what is it?
Perhaps a sporty estate? Well, no. Despite Volvo’s suggestion that the V60 is a ‘sports wagon with driving properties that do the sporting appearance full justice’, it’s actually a very stable, refined and relaxing drive. Yes, it’ll negotiate a mini-roundabout without bending a wishbone, but it’s not sporty. ‘Capably athletic’ is as far as we’ll go.
Is it luxurious then? Nope. There aren’t enough twinkles, baubles or massagers to make it feel sparkly and posh. No ambient lighting, no hidden surprises or jewel encrusted buttons – just a fairly drab interior slab that isn’t quite as ergonomic or responsive as you’d expect. It’s even less luxurious than it is sporty.
Right. So, maybe it’s cheap? Ah, things are picking up – the V60 is cheaper than a BMW 3-Series or Audi A4,. The range starts at £25k for which you get climate control, Bluetooth, 4 electric windows and a charismatic but slightly peaky 5-cylinder turbodiesel with 163bhp. Prices hit max at £36k and there are some petrols too – but the sweet spot is our £30k D3 Lux SE with the 163bhp turbodiesel, leather, sat nav and electric seats. It’s a good value car in which we averaged 40mpg.
And, being a Volvo, surely it’s safer than abstinence? Indeed it is. The V60 is endowed with the safety kit from the automotive world’s biggest hypochondriac, the S60 saloon.
Not only can it show warning lights if you’re too close to the car in front or if someone’s in your blind spot, it will brake for you if you fail to notice an approaching obstacle. And it’ll slam the brakes on if a pedestrian walks out in front of you. And it’ll beep if you change lane without indicating. And it monitors your alertness to make sure you don’t nod off. There’s a even fictional optional extra that can cure speech impediments.
The lights and warning bongs can be irritating, but the enormous cluster of radars, sensors and cameras mounted to the front of the car are reassuring – and if they avoid or minimise the effect of a collision just once, they’re worth the occasional distraction.
So. After that exploration of the Volvo’s talents and foibles, what have we learnt? Well, it’s not particularly dynamic, spacious or luxurious but is cheap, comfortable and safe – the V60 is actually a brilliant car for people who don’t really give a shit about cars. So while car geeks might find it contradicory and confusing, it’s actually very well judged. What do we know anyway.
‘Hello? HELLO? What’s that dear? A new hoover in the paper? Oh, a new Rover… well that does look smart. The back’s just like that nice P4 I had when I first met you dear. If I could go half an hour without needing a wee, I’d definitely have one of those. Never mind, we’ll be fine on the Ring and Ride. Now, must get the milk out the oven. Where are my slippers…’
But enough of that. Despite the biddy-pleasing chrome and 1950s shoulder-line, the 75 was actually quite revolutionary for Rover – it was a car with a proper development budget. While the original plan had been to make a new car by re-skinning the 600, BMW’s big cash pot enabled Rover to design and build the 75 from scratch.
And the Brummies done good. Class leading ride, an incredibly safe and rigid chassis, near-Rolls Royce levels of serenity… its styling looked backwards, but the engineering was totally up-to-date.
In the end, not even the 75 could save Rover from decades of mis-management and under-investment, so along with the company as we knew it, production ended in 2005. And what happens when a manufacturer goes bankrupt? Used value free-fall!
After years of depreciation that would make a Vel Satis wince, Rover 75 values have hit rock bottom. Yours from just £1,000, the classy Rov is now the best value wafter in the world. Which means you want one, and, therefore, you need to know how to buy a good one.
Firstly, try to avoid cars with black sills. Only found on pre-2001 cars that were built in Cowley, they rust quicker and aren’t built as solidly as Longbridge-made cars with body coloured sills. If you’re going to buy a Rover, get a proper Longbridge one. It’s basically law.
Secondly, avoid non-turbocharged 1.8 litre engines. Engines are the 75’s weak point and these K-Series units are the worst – underpowered, undesirable and with the all the head gasket misery you’d expect. The petrol V6 engines are smooth but thirsty, while the BMW-sourced diesels are economical but occasionally coarse. The 2.5 V6 suits the car perfectly, but the best compromise is the 1.8 turbo, which replaced the 2.0 V6 in 2002 – just watch the coolant like a hawk to avoid head gasket woe.
Thirdly, make sure the cambelt has been changed – especially on V6s. The 90,000-mile/6 year interval is reassuring, but thanks to the 75’s engine bay being tighter than a nun’s purse, changing the belt is a very expensive job. Especially as said job actually involves changing three different belts, two of which can only be reached by small boys who used to work in Victorian cotton mills.
Overall though, they’re strong old oxes with all the dignified grace of a good period drama. Find yourself a 2.5 V6 with service history and the cambelt done, pay less than £1,500, buy some string backed driving gloves and lollop about the black country with a hamlet on the burn. A fitting tribute to the band of Brummies that made the 75 a car to be proud of.
Pagani released teaser videos for their unpronounceable Huayra hypercar. Vauxhall tried to distract us from their ASA TV ad wrist slapping by announcing that their Lifetime Warranty applies to used cars as well as new ones. Ford unveiled a 3-4 hour charge, 100-mile range, 84mph electric Focus, on sale in 2013. And three Renault bosses were accused of industrial espionage.
Spent some time in a Fiat 500 TwinAir a few weeks ago. Mainly because of the rorty thrump of its two cylinder engine, I really enjoyed it. Was going to write a standard review of it, but because there are far too many incredibly similar such things in the world, I’m not going to. Here’s a limerick:
It’s the most charismatic 500 engine, but not the most economical. And just in case you don’t think that limericks are the future of automotive reportage, here are some reassuring facts:
Quite like limerick car reviews actually. Maybe I’ll do it again.
It’s the time of year when the world’s men-folk indulge in one of their Top 5 Favourite Activities – making and reading lists. So as a Christmas present to you loyal reader(s), we’re going to write a list all of our own. Lady and Man, we present The Top Five Cars We’ve Driven in 2010.
When we bagged the keys to Mitsubishi’s window-licking hyper-saloon, we were immediately stunned. This wasn’t just a creaky jap-box being kept alive with a huge iron lung of a turbo, but an incredibly well set-up and easy to drive weapon. Even in the hands of ham-fisted amateurs like ourselves, it danced, whooshed, raced and destroyed. Simultaneously flattering and brutal.
Yes it looks daft, has a tacky interior, costs £50k and won’t do 20mpg – but that’s why it’s only at number 5. For being brilliant as well as preposterous, the Fahk-You-400 makes the list.
Read our original review here.
Not long ago, Citroen showrooms resembled branches of Lidl – cheap stock piled high to shift quick. To mums and dads after a bargain C4 Picasso, it was great. But everybody else wanted to shop in Waitrose. Which is where the DS3 came in.
Suddenly, Citroen had a posh little car that was genuinely desirable instead of apologetically affordable. The styling was sharp and different, the engines were consistently strong and even the chassis could flick its skirt like a saucy French maid. To our senses, it doesn’t quite match the dynamic ability of a Mini… but in every other respect, it’s better. One of very few new cars we’d actually buy with real-life monies.
Read our original review here.
The car that took Skoda from plucky underdog to class-leader. While the previous Superb never quite had the gumption to live up to its name, this one wears it with pride. You know the bullied kid at school who goes away for a year, comes back buff and kicks the giblets out of everyone? That’s the Superb. Only it’s far less angry.
Priced from less than £18k, you get the second biggest boot of any estate car in the UK (only beaten by the Merc E-Class), a faultless interior, the best of VW’s current engines and more rear leg-room than anything this side of a Rolls Phantom. It ticks boxes that don’t even exist. There’s even a brolly in the door.
Read our original review here.
Shock! ‘The World’s First Sporty Hybrid’© actually is! But strangely, most of its endearing features have little to do with the combination of electricity and combustion under its skin. What stands out for us is the design and engineering that have gone into making it fun to drive.
A snicky six speed manual gearbox. A rorty-on-request exhaust note. Beautifully judged spring and damper settings. A sci-fi-tastic digital hub of a dashboard. Grip and balance that are tweakable on the road. An 80s wedge shape that also nods to the obligatory eco-car steam iron aesthetic. A super-strong chassis with the torsional rigidity of a Civic Type-R. The CR-Z is an incredibly well resolved little car. That it’s cheaper than a Scirocco, C-Charge exempt, costs peanuts to tax and is as economical as a stodgy diesel is a bonus.
Read our original review here.
By far the most memorable car we’ve driven this year, and not just because we drove 800 miles in 24 hours. It’s impossible to imagine how the RS500 shovels on speed until you’ve driven one – we’d swear that only an M3 or 911 Carrera upwards would be able pull away. Extra brownie points are awarded for its ability to achieve such fierce levels of acceleration while maintaining the standard RS’s gloriously granular steering and sweetly weighted controls.
The RS500 is a heart-on-the-sleeve working class hero… it’s carrying a bunch of flowers while beating someone up with beer barrel biceps. How Ford made a £35,000, FWD, 345bhp hatchback quite so appealing is a mystery. But they have.
And there’s a bigger reason to pay respect too. The RS500 marks the end of an era for all the gloriously kinky cars that are being killed because they don’t meet the Euro V emissions regulations: Mazda RX-8, Honda Civic Type-R, VW V10 TDI Touareg and Alfa Romeo 3.2 V6 – it’s a swan song for all of them. Instead of seeming like an over-specced Essex spacker-hatch designed to make some chavs have a wank, it feels like a little chunk of automotive history. It’s etched into our minds… there’s just something about it that gives it an air of importance. A moment in time.
So while Ford could have given the bonkers Focus RS a bolt-gun to the head and packed it off quietly, they didn’t. They made it more powerful, more expensive and more memorable – and that’s why it’s top of the list. Respeck.
The art of disappearing is one of the most impressive talents a car can possess. It only happens in machines that allow the actions and sensations of driving to merge into a cohesive brainwash of seamless motion. When you stop thinking about what your limbs are doing, stop noticing any one part of a car’s behaviour and start to feel like you’re moving of your own accord.
Most cars can’t do it. My Rover 75 has too much body inertia to disappear – its top half feels like it’s being left behind by the bottom. My MX-5 can’t do it either, because the scuttle shake makes you constantly check that the windscreen is still attached.
The last car I drove that disappeared on a regular basis was actually a Ford Puma; the steering, brakes, chassis and gearchange were cut from the same neatly stitched cloth. The feedback from every control was engineered by an over-arching Lord of Matching Tactility.
I’ve just discovered that the brand new Suzuki Swift can disappear too. Sounds like an amazing talent for a humble shopping car, but its granny-pleasing clarity of purpose is actually key.
As it’s designed to be controlled by arthritic wrists, swollen ankles and emaciated biceps, every aspect of the Swift is light. And, either through coincidence or clever engineering, the lightness of every control is perfectly matched. This allows driving it to become one act of simple subconscious control… it means the car can disappear. But that doesn’t make it boring.
Far from it – because there’s an incredibly consistent mechanical tactility under the lightness too. Everything you touch with your feet, hands or bum has a sugary granularity to it, like a cupcake dusted with icing sugar. As with the Puma, the steering, gearchange, brakes and chassis are all sliced from the same sweet pie. It’s not got the most steering feel or the best handling of any supermini, but its array of dynamic traits are so well matched that they all work in perfect harmony and… disappear.
If you’re a gran, the Swift’s ability to simplify the act of driving to the point of invisibility will suit you perfectly. And if you’re a closet-racer, you’ll enjoy hours of intense driving pleasure as its dynamic elements gel into one seamless act and then… disappear.
So, the Swift is not only one of the simplest cars I’ve driven for ages, but also one of the most satisfying. It’s cheaper than a Fiesta too.
Greatest Hits albums are generally tragic affairs. Bought as presents by clueless Aunties, they’re compiled by record labels in a bid to scrape cash from artists who can’t be arsed to write anything new. Or are dead. Tacky, unimaginative and cynical… you’d never be daft enough to buy one yourself.
So the fact that the Juke is styled as some kind of compilation is a worry. Yes, first impressions are that it’s a totally original, barking mad mentalist with lines that are as challengingly cock-eyed as Natalie Cassidy’s face… but look closer.
It’s just a Greatest Hits album. A 370Z’s rear lights. A Qashqai’s chunkiness. A Murano’s techo-oddness. The top spec Juke even has GT-R DNA in its torque vectoring 4×4 system. As excellent as the ingredients are, they’re not new. It may as well be called ‘Nissan’s Best: The 21st Century So Far…’
So. Does that mean it’ll just be bought as a present by your Auntie? And does it just warrant the response ‘I’m sure it’s great… but I’d prefer some new songs actually.’? No. Because thanks to some weird aesthetic alchemy, the Juke is the first ever Greatest Hits that feels box fresh.
Dynamically, the Juke pulls off a smart trick – ‘semi-command’ loftiness without too much wobble and thunk. The way it mixes ride height, agility and comfort is no revolution, and it can’t match the exquisitely damped balance of the lower-down Ford Fiesta, but it still feels fresh under your bum. Different, fun and good.
It’s tidy inside too. While the Juke doesn’t have door cards made of natural sponge or seats trimmed with albino bison leather, the flashes of colour and motorbike-petrol tank style transmission tunnel make it look like something new instead of a Nissan ‘Best Of’ re-hash.
The Juke even does tedious things like making sense as an affordable, practical car. Costing from £13k to £20k, it’s well priced to take on alternative superminis like the Mini, Citroen DS3 and Audi A1. And as the Juke’s basic shape is just a square box, it’s actually more spacious to sit in than any of them.
Despite no single part of it being revolutionary, the Juke still feels sparkly and exciting. So while its Audi A1 rivalling price lumps it into the ‘premium supermini’ class of cars that are posher but objectively no better than a Fiesta, its actually unpretentious enough to cut a dash all of its own.
Nissan have made something very unusual – a greatest hits album you actually want to buy.
No. We’re not being drawn into it. The words ‘heritage’, ‘brand’ and ‘sacrilege’ are simply not allowed. Nor the phrase ‘Issigonis would be spinning in his grave’. That’s banned. This is just a car, and shall be judged as just that. Your eyes can decide how it looks, while your focus groups and deep rooted fear of change can decide whether or not it really is a Mini at all. We’ll just talk about the fact that it’s not very good.
The most striking area of ungoodness is its interior. With Mini pushing the Countryman’s apparent practicality and versatility, it’s not unreasonable to expect a re-think of the normal Mini’s fiddly controls. Nothing major, just some chunkier nobs better suited to snowboarders in gloves. But no. What do we get? An interface that’s controlled by a tiny dog’s dick.
Heated rear window buttons smaller than a cat’s nostril. Toggle switches that are even further recessed behind their shiny cowls than normal. Daft. Not even that pretty either.
So that’s a shame. The space in the back goes some way to making up for it, but only in comparison to a normal Mini. Next to a Skoda Yeti or Ford Kuga it’s average.
Perhaps more surprising is that the ungoodness continues when you drive it. Our car is a top spec Cooper S All4, which comes with four wheel drive and – quite interestingly – ‘Sports Suspension’. Here are the facts on that: the Countryman’s ride height is 10mm higher than a normal Mini, but the Sports Suspension lowers it again… by 10mm. Now, I only got a D in A level maths, but I’m pretty sure that means Cooper S Countrymen have the exact same ride height as a normal Mini. So all the downsides of a taller body and higher centre gravity without any extra ground clearance. Hilarious.
With Cooper S trim, you also get 19” wheels – which to be honest look great, but do emphasise the Countryman’s granite edged but cumbersome gait. Not only is the ride hard, it also feels loosely bushed and clonky – potholes ricochet through the cabin as if its bonking up to the bump stops, while the body seems to casually lumber without much control. The electric power steering’s been tuned to keep the dartiness of a normal Mini, but with the extra inertia of a taller body lolloping around, this actually emphasises the Countryman’s lack of real agility.
The engines are the same as in the normal Mini, and therefore excellent – but with an extra 200kg to accelerate, a Countryman needs about a second longer to hit 62mph. The extra weight dulls the fuel economy too, with a Cooper D quoted at 64.2mpg and a Cooper S 46.3mpg. Adding the £1500 option of 4×4 drops the figures by another 10%. And that’s after you’ve paid £3,000 over the standard car. Expensive business, this leg room malarkey.
Upsettingly, there are other niggles that crystallise the Countryman as a bit of a disappointment. If you choose the free option of two separate rear seats instead of a three-wide bench, there’s a smart looking centre rail with moveable storage bins – but their mounting points snap off in your hand.
The optional Harman/Kardon stereo has expensive looking metal tweeters – but the bass is so ponderous and heavy, even when turned down to minimum, that it sounds terrible. The gearchange is short and light – but nobbly and baulky. The brake pedal is nicely weighted – but the clutch is snatchy. The sun visors don’t actually reach the edge of the windscreen. BMW usually engineer simple things like these better than anyone else, but the Countryman just isn’t right. As a premium priced car, it should feel like a perfect jewel in your hands – but it doesn’t.
So, stop worrying about Mini designing themselves into a ditch. Stop looking at the Countryman like it was drawn up in a hall of mirrors. Stop considering its role in the evolution of the Mini brand. The massive Mini shouldn’t have the luxury of being judged on its symbolic and stylistic merits, because the fact that it’s simply not very good is an even bigger disappointment.
… he still wouldn’t be half as awesome as Sabine Schmitz. And yes, she’s already got a husband. Sorry
To many, the lasting memory of Paris 2010 will be of Naomi Campbell vacantly smiling at a Lotus Esprit like it was a child with one eye. Baffled, almost sympathetic – but generally indifferent. To us though, even the A-list weirdness of new-era Lotus is forgettable. What’s clinging to the inside of our skulls is driving there and back in a Focus RS500. The big black Ford is a horrendous bastard of the highest order… and it’s totally fucking brilliant.
But also tinged with sadness. Dressed entirely in black, the RS500 mourns the demise of the Focus RS and its gargling baritone of a five-cylinder engine. For a mainstream model, the RS was actually pretty controversial. ‘Pah! It won’t be able to handle the power! The torque steer will give you tennis elbow!’ yelped car fans with sheltered lives; ‘it’ll amputate your arms and storm off into a ditch’ they continued, ignorantly. And that was just about the standard 300bhp car. The RS500 has another 45bhp, not to mention 15lb ft more torque. Only 500 will be made and it costs an almost unbelievable £35,000. Yet it’s still brill.
Picture the scene. You’re at Beaconsfield services, in the rain, at 11pm and all you want to do is reach a warm bed in Maidstone. Car brimmed, you approach the M25 entry slip. Because you’re bored, not to mention curious about how 345bhp could possibly be applied to damp tarmac via two front wheels, you check the mirrors and stop, right at the start of he slip road. Then, with traction control optimistically switched off, you nail the best getaway possible. Like you’ve just robbed a Post Office.
Bwaaarpp-ba-ba… tsshh… Bwaaaaaaaaarrpp… tsssh… bwaaaaaaaaaaaaarp… you’re doing the speed limit. 0-62 in 5.4 seconds. Apart from the judder of axle tramp (which incidentally, is no worse here than in a DSG equipped Golf GTI), and a swerve through the lorry ruts it happens cleanly, smartly and without a hernia. Of course, just like even a rear wheel drive car with over 300bhp, you can’t just hoof the throttle and slam the clutch without ultimately looking like a bit of a tit – but the RS500’s extra turbo boost, bigger fuel pump and fatter exhausts haven’t made it undriveable.
What they have done is make it disgustingly quick. Through 3rd, 4th and 5th, it’s M3 fast. Unhinged, nobs turned up to 11, laugh out loud even on the M20 at midnight fast. Its stability is phenomenal too. While at town speeds the steering could benefit from a quicker rack, at velocities where the RS500 beggars belief, it’s perfect.
Micro-adjustments in the fast lane are second nature. You never actually consider how much input the steering needs to change lane or tackle a sweeping bend, you just turn the wheel and it moves instantly and gracefully. No twitching, no nervousness, no delay – just great steering with a natural feel.
When you get off the motorway and stop marvelling at the speed, steering and stability, the RS500 shows off its talent as an urban magnet for admiration, camera phones and ‘rev it’ hand gestures… even from surly Parisians. We parked it right in front of the Eiffel Tower and a tourist actually asked to have his picture taken next to the car instead of the iconic French landmark.
Through the horrendous jam that is La Peripherique, it’s just as easy to drive as a standard RS, which in turn is just as forgiving as any other Focus on sale. A light clutch, progressive brakes and lots of windows to see out of. It even treats you to parking sensors and a reversing camera, to help avoid scuffing the matt black wrap when parking at the Porte de Versailles.
Then a motorshow happened. Lamborghini released a fake car we thought would be real. Porsche showed a car with spinal curvature. Ferrari took the roof off a 599. Jaguar made the world’s first fictional hybrid with jet turbines. Ford showed off a four cylinder Focus ST that makes the RS500 look even more special. And Brian May made five very similar looking new cars from Lotus all smell off hairspray. After all that, it was time to drive back. Paris back to Brum.
Most of the return journey was a blur – but we can’t talk about it for legal reasons. Some toll booths. Darkness. 20mpg. Driving from full to empty without stopping. A tunnel. A game of Angry Birds. The M20. A panini. The M25. The M40. The M6. And then, coming off a junction early for Birmingham at 1:30am. Brilliant.
If you ever drive to the middle of Birmingham from junction 5 of the M6, you might have already discovered the series of roundabouts that start at Castle Bromwich, go past Fort Shopping Park, through Nechells and into the City centre. If you’re a cock with a Saxo, you’ll already go there every Sunday night to compare neon lights with your dickhead mates. These are the best urban roundabouts in the country… and at 1:30am there’s nobody else to bother you.
First, you’re forced to stand on the brakes as you hit the left-hand exit slip-road towards lights that are always red. Sit. Wait. Then tackle the wide roundabout, right at the top of second gear. Half throttle pulls a tight line, 3/4 throttle forces the front wide with inside wheel scrabbling. Take the third exit, grabbing third gear after the apex. Heading back under the M6 now, towards the Spitfire roundabout and Jaguar plant… there’s a tight left after the hill has crested. If you don’t know it’s there, you best phone the paint shop.
Take it in second, again finding the inside wheel’s traction point and breaking it just for fun. Now a blat to the top of third as you pass Fort Dunlop. The wall is high to your left, and the car sounds frightening and awesome. Straight over the next roundabout at the Bentley dealer, in third. Up the hill, hoping the lights at the next roundabout are green. They are. Entering with a slither of brake pressure, the back is firmly tied down… jolt on some more lock, feather the throttle, lift off to try and provoke some tail swinging action – but the RS500 is having none of it.
The next roundabout is on the crest of a hill, and a very easy one to get violently wrong – as we came very close to experiencing in an R33 Skyline GT-R last year. Full throttle would see any car crash… so we give it as much as we dare and it sticks. Change direction quickly to take the exit, the front snuffling for grip as wet tarmac turns into rough, damp concrete. Grip increased, the throttle touches floor mat for just long enough to see third gear… and a speed camera. Brakes on, fun over. The last trickle into the city is taken with a heart rate far quicker than our speed.
Yes, a normal RS could have covered the ground very nearly as quickly and would have required less concentration to do so. But the times where the RS500’s massive power is a glorious pleasure far outweigh the occasions where it’s unusable or a burden. It’s expensive, ridiculous, tacky, does less than 30mpg and looks like the type of character who’d draw a cock and balls on a gravestone. But that’s exactly what it should be – a tribute to the RS, with a personality that’s a caricature of what makes that car so great. The RS500 is the naughtiest epitaph ever written.
The 30th September 2010 will forever be known as the day Lotus went mental. At the Paris motorshow, they released FIVE brand new cars that will all be on sale within the next five years. Here are the bare essentials on all of them.
While it’s easy to say that the selection of 1-tonne plus cars above would make ‘Chapman turn in his grave’, we won’t. Because they might all be bloody amazing to drive… which is all that really matters. Absolutely can’t wait for the first new-era Lotus cars to hit the road. Things is gonna get interesting. Even if they do all look the same.
A granite etched jaw line. Rabbit legged agility. Warbling rally success. Just three things that the brand new Audi Coupe didn’t have when it was released in 1988. And as they were the best bits of the previous model, it was a bit of a shame. ‘Booooo’ said men in bobble hats. And they were right.
The 1988 – 1996 Audi 80 Coupe was forever being seen next to the word ‘disappointing’, or the phrase ‘lacks the spirit of the original’. Whatever that means.
But now, away from comparisons with 20th Century rally icons, it looks brill. Stocky, classy, clean… the proportions of an 80s hero, without the stupid quiff and face paint.
Yes, the engine is mounted in the ‘traditional’ Audi location of ‘slightly in front of the radiator’, and yes that means Walter Rohrl will look a bit sad if you offer him a go – but he’s a mentalist anyway. The 80 Coupe is now one of the smoothest, cheapest, most stylish Grand Tourers around. And because they now cost less than £1,000, you should go and buy one.
You certainly won’t have to worry about rust. All Audi Coupes have fully galvanised bodies, so unless a partially sighted cretin has driven into a bollard and repaired the damage with a piece of sheet steel from B&Q, the metallic tree bark should stay away.
The biggest problem is actually choosing which engine you want. There’s a 2.0 8v if you like going slowly, a 2.8 V6 Quattro if you like visiting Texaco, a couple of five cylinder jobbies to keep the bobble hats happy as well as an excellent 137bhp 2.0 16v if you like a smart mixture of everything. And, if you’re still feeling down in the mouth about it not being a ‘proper’ turbocharged Quattro, just save up the £5k you need to get a post-1990 S2.
Really, it’s best not to get your knickers in a twist about what’s under the bonnet and concentrate on history and condition. Things to look out for are seized rear brakes (mk2 Golf anyone?), corroded brake lines, noisy fuel pumps and blue oil smoke from the exhaust when under load or on over-run.
If you’ve ever owned a Volkswagen or Audi from the 80s or early 90s, it’ll feel warmly familiar – if you’re a VAG virgin, so to speak, you just need common sense and some reassuring receipts.
The icing on the cake is that prices are at rock bottom right now. So find yourself a late car with a 2.0 16v engine, make sure it’s got tidy bodywork and a wedge of history, pay about a grand and you might be able to sell it on for profit in a couple of years.
If you look stupid in a bobble hat, a £1,000 Audi Coupe could be the best car you ever own.
Ever wondered what the exact opposite of a Lotus looks like? Well, meet the new Elite…
For a starter, it’s heavy. 1680kg. And also massively complicated thanks to a hybrid powertrain. The piston beating part is a front mounted, tuned version of the Lexus ISF’s V8… and we’re not really sure what the hybrid part is yet. Nobody is. But Lotus mention KERS so expect it to be ‘F1 inspired’ and put a a focus on brake energy regeneration.
It’s also expensive. The price is likely to be a smidge over £100k – hurling the Elite straight at the Porsche 911 Turbo and Aston Martin DB9. With a 2+2 seating layout, 0-62mph time of three and a half seconds plus a sub 215g/km CO2 figure, it seems to have the space and pace of the Aston and Porsche, but with less emissions.
So while the concept of a 1.7 tonne hybrid Lotus is a tricky one to get your head around, it at least sounds relevant, fast and competitive. It’s due for release in 2014, and will hopefully provide loads of profit that Lotus can plough back into pure, simple, lightweight sports cars like the new Seven…
Their first Paris Motorshow teaser pic was a pretty obscure looking thing that seemed to be bonnet with a brake light on it… but the two latest images of the Jota are less obtuse.
Teaser number two looks like an engine cover. Do the ten holes hint that the Murcielago’s replacement will be a V10?
Teaser number three is clearly a dashboard… made of carbon fibre. With some extreme air vents.
