Ford Focus RS

Some of my fondest driving memories have involved hot hatches. Affordable to the masses and yet more focused as a driving machine than they had any right to be, they've always been a compelling proposition to me. Cars like the nonsense-free, steel-wheeled 106 Rallye with their signatory tricolour stickers lit up my early years on the road and taught the basics of driving by having minimal weight and no stability programmes, ABS or even power steering. All it had was beautiful feel and a ballsy engine which craved revs, revs and even more revs. It wasn't even particularly quick, but that's just not the point. It was about one thing and one thing only: fun.

They've come such a long way since then - even in the last ten years their development has been rather exceptional. Rewind back to 2005 and a somewhat primitive Clio with a now modest 182bhp, trick suspension and another rev-hungry engine was dominating the headlines, chasing cars worth five times as much in motoring's very own David versus multiple Goliaths tale on challenging roads. Fast forward back to the present day and 300bhp is seemingly the benchmark for the latest ultra breed of steroid-munching hatchbacks. It wasn't too long ago that travelling from 0-60mph in under five seconds was the reserve of six-figure Ferraris. Now it's a commonality and available for a fraction of the cost.

Cars like the Audi RS3, BMW M135i, Mercedes A45 AMG and Volkswagen Golf R have given the hot hatch moniker an all-new meaning. They're no longer anti-social boy-racer specials, infamous for tearing up and down city centre dual carriageways on a Sunday evening 'cruise' near a McDonald's. They've come of age and are a genuine, more practical alternative to full-on performance cars.

But they should still retain a modicum of innocence, be free from contrivance and offer the purest form of driver involvement. What ever happened to a harmless bit of lift-off oversteer like you got in Peugeots of old? If you had a change of heart and backed off the throttle mid-corner the rear would spring into action at the flick of a switch. You had to be ready to correct it too because there were no electronic aids hiding below to get you out of trouble. Intrinsic acts such as that have wistfully been lost.

While today's bunch are extraordinarily capable things, unquestionably better built and devastatingly fast, they simply aren't as fun as traditional hot hatches. There's just no arguing with that. That comes at the enthusiasts' chagrin as there are still people who crave feeling a car wriggle in protest, slide and eventually win its touch-and-go battle for traction instead of having to rely on a dispassionate differential to pull it round a bend. Driver and hot hatch should be an inveterate twosome; if the feeling of detachment is there it's simply failed its most simple of tasks.

However, there's one modern-day hot hatch that has all the full-blooded, turbocharged grunt of new and the charming, quaint and hilariously simple attributes of old - the second generation Ford Focus RS.

First released in all its green glory in 2009 (it was available in wallflower white and boring blue, too), never before has a hot hatch stood out quite like it. Even six years on you're left ever so slightly gobsmacked when one drives by, especially when it's painted in the dazzling, almost indecorous tint that's spookily similar to Lamborghini's vibrant Verde Ithaca hue. It's just as shocking now as it was back then: pumped-up, squat, imposing and hugely impressive to behold. Your eyes trip up over themselves as they struggle to take everything in. 

Get inside the green monster and its interior is rather subdued. Most things would be after the drama of the exterior, but it's actually a nice place to sit. You're clasped in by a great pair of RS-badged Recaros, the steering wheel is of a lovely size and the instruments, design and overall feel is typical Ford fare so it's easy to use and totally inoffensive to anyone this side of a Pagani owner. Start it up and there's an immediate burble - those large, twin pipes out back make the most of the 2.5-litre five-cylinder engine's vocals. It sounds proper, true and thunderous when you so much as brush against its throttle.

It doesn't take long for its key traits - engine, gearbox and steering - to come to light once you're moving. They vie for your attention, each hoping to be lauded as the key aspect of the Focus RS experience. The occasion in a way is dominated by that engine. For something that's actually quite an archaic plant, from a Volvo of all places, it manages to feel sensationally exotic. Its five-cylinder tone, which throbs when stationary and positively blares its resonance aloud once it's above 4,000rpm grows and grows into arguably one of the all-time great soundtracks.

The gearbox's action is next up. Fast Fords always seem to have good 'boxes but the RS's feels beautiful to use and has a short throw, ultra-precise way to it; it celebrates the simplistic and now rare joy of merely using a manual. It's made even more exceptional by the fact that the majority of its newer rivals are being sold with semi-auto alternatives - it's a real strike in the heart of the twin-clutch brigade.

There's also something which I didn't quite expect: body control. When I say that I don't just mean it's good for a performance car, it's good full stop. The trick 'RevoKnuckle' suspension plays a major role in this, ironing out hellish ruts once you're attacking bends, allowing none of those heart-in-mouth moments to creep in where a car's front wheels skip along and scrabble to conjure up enough purchase when they're needed the most. It's a hugely tractable, faithful package.

All paths return to its engine, though. The sheer mid-range of the thing is quite surreal. It's properly brisk throughout its rev range but that monumental middle part when it's flexing its muscles results in an astonishing lunge towards the upper reaches when its peak power of 297bhp is delivered in all its might. It feels more than just a shade under the 300 mark in truth and you'd be unsurprised if Ford's figure is indeed a conservative one.

It just doesn't feel big, either. You're aware it's a full-sized hatch but once it's moving it's alert, on its toes and supreme when the road starts to twist. That body control remains, the gearbox wants to be worked and there's constant power on tap, emanating in a deep wail whenever you ask for it. The brakes require warmth but soon become a trustworthy ally to have. Lean on them and try your best to diminish their power reserves but they're evidently free from any real signs of fade on the road.

Sure, it lacks the polish and point-to-point fluidity of its biggest rival - the Renaultsport Megane - but it more than makes up for it with its sheer character and the feel it exudes. The Megane is that composed it almost robs you of some form of involvement, but the RS is rough around the edges and its grip levels aren't as high so you feel like you're more a part of the experience. It's better, more loveable for being a little worse - does that make sense? I highly doubt it does but I think Ford got it right when they made this iteration of its magnificent Focus RS. It is what it is. It's a genuine mini exotic with massively admirable traits and what's more it doesn't take itself too seriously - it knows where it loses out to its rivals but makes no excuses for it. It's just there, in all its green glory, basking in its own brilliance. It's a laugh, it's fun and its character shines. Given that there's seemingly a severe deficiency of that trait in a lot of cars in 2015, I absolutely adore the RS for just how unpretentious it is. It's not the last word in dynamic supremacy, but there's just something absolutely extraordinary about its entire package.

Icons: Renaultsport Clio 182 Trophy

The early spring sun is doing its best to peek through the sullen skies. It's most definitely fighting a losing battle, but each time it momentarily finds a cloud-free pocket its tepid rays dazzle off the shimmering Capsicum Red paintwork, warming the atmosphere by way of an effervescent dazzle.

But then its determined fight is lost for the day, finally being encompassed in a morose gloom as the elements shroud the Holme Valley's best roads in a murky mood. It's only 10am, headlights are still required and although the roads are thankfully dry, the ominous clouds are threatening an iniquitous downpour at any given time.

I'm being hugged by a Recaro seat. Its positively sexy shape emanates a no-nonsense look to it on first glance but it's actually rather friendly - it clasps in all the right places and never gives any discomfort. There's a simple view forward - nothing inspiring - and the cabin's swathed in cheap, scratchy plastic. Run fingernails over them and it's second only to doing the same on a blackboard. The carpets have an itchy feel to them and the material on the door is a fashionista's worst nightmare; a continuation of those ultra-cheap plastics and an awful man-made cloth vie for one's derision.

But there's an infallible brilliance lurking underneath. Concentrate on driving and there's a meticulous feel to its approach in how it delivers its drive to its now re-interested driver. Key things - damping, steering and body control - work harmoniously to conjure up point-to-point fluidity. It's assured, controlled. It's a little compromised, forsaking ride comfort for feel, but its old-fashioned foibles are unquestionably forgivable. It is a Clio 182 Trophy after all, one of Renaultsport's all-time greats.

With news of the all-new Clio Trophy trickling in from the Geneva Motor Show, the original is celebrating its tenth birthday in 2015 so there's no better time to take what's been continually labelled as one of the best hot hatches ever created for a commemorative blast up on the moors high above Holmfirth.

The first thing that stands out is its size. It's absolutely tiny compared to today's crop of bloaters; its 16-inch Speedline Turini wheels look dinky in the Trophy's wheel arches, but the fronts hide the car's party piece - Sachs adjustable dampers. Those items, straight off a mid-noughties touring car no less, were reportedly ten times more expensive than the ones fitted to a 182 Cup, the lightweight chevalier on which the Trophy is based.

A continuation of the Cup's theme has been continued over on the 500-off Trophy so there's a cheapened rear bench, no xenon headlights and less equipment. No options were offered, so what you're given is what you get. How refreshing is that in today's climate? It wouldn't surprise me if Audi start charging an extra few quid for windscreen wipers soon.

Twist its key - it fires up with a frenetic burst of hyperactive revs - and it's got a distinctly over-engined feel for its minuscule size. Take hold of the vibrating, Poundland-spec gearstick and it's almost like the 182 French thoroughbreds are voicing their angry discontent right through to your hand. If you're used to supercars from yesteryear, you'll feel right at home using the Trophy's hefty clutch. Once up and moving it's no more inordinate than anything else, but it does take a little time to acclimatise to.

It takes about 50 yards to tap into its outrageous talent. Its steering's delicacy is other-worldly and feels absolutely wonderful: it's hooked up, informative and absolutely connected to what's going on below. One corner - taken at high or low speed - is all it takes to see why it's eulogised about. Sure, the Trophy's trick dampers don't particularly like jutted surfaces at ordinary speeds as the car becomes crashy, a tad dishevelled and massively uncomfortable, but then most things do this side of an S-Class on poor surfaces. However, they have a preternatural knack of getting more amenable as the pace gets higher.

It's such a primitive experience behind its rather large steering wheel. You grasp hold of the perfectly situated thumb grips, feel the Recaro clasp your sides and feel immediately at one with the car. You have to remove your pre-conceived ideas about outright grip levels as we're in a time of almost inexplicably gifted hot hatches in 2015. They're too adept for their own good, robbing the driver of a hot hatch's key aspect: involvement. What's great about the Trophy is that you are a part of the process. You're controlling things, you're adjusting your commands and not relying on an impassive differential to do all the work for you. Make a mistake and there's not much to catch you; there is traction control but its system is so lax you're left wondering if Renaultsport's engineers were actually telling porkies to the health and safety bores. If lap times are your thing, buy a car with a diff. They exude a formidable feel and generally are foolproof, even to the most ham-fisted of drivers. However, if bonding with a car and being connected trumps that, the Trophy's ten-year-old reputation has yet to be wrestled away from it. I don't think it's ever been eclipsed.

Push on and the nose is acquiescent, sharp and alert to your every input. You feel what's going on. The brakes absorb an absolutely absurd amount of punishment, there's feel through the pedal and the steering - oh, the beautiful steering - makes a mockery of electrically-assisted systems of new. Try and deploy full power on defective surfaces and the world's most lenient ESP system does show it's there by way of an orangey dance, but let's not forget that initial 'over-engined' feel is because it's a very quick car. Weighing a smidge of 1,000kg and having 182bhp means 0-60mph in just 6.3 seconds - fast in anyone's book. Up on snaking roads, high above civilisation, it feels monumentally expeditious, charging down straights and maintaining its speed through corners. On a typical countryside road not much could keep with a well-driven Trophy. Your trust grows as you can carry more speed than you'd ever think was possible, but it can bite if you're too insolent. Keep it in its sweet spot above 3,500rpm and there's an appreciable lunge for its 7,200rpm limiter as it starts to sing in the higher reaches. It's an infectious process, pure, free from contrivance, innate and wonderfully honest. 

It begins to wriggle, shows its traditional feel and you just appreciate that aspect even more as things have got too serious in the hot hatch world. It's now cluttered with monstrous turbos and they've lost their simplicity, chiefly because many marques don't appreciate the fundaments of the most simple of recipes because they're inexperienced in the market. Ten years ago an AMG or an M badge only appeared on a fire-breathing V8 or a sonorous flat-six, but now they're at the top end of the hot hatch spectrum, bringing their Bavarian power battle to a category once dominated by featherweights powered only by natural aspiration, a talented chassis and no bullshit. The German invasion is no doubt a good thing in many people's eyes, but I'm not too sure. Hot hatches are all about affordability, real-world pace and practicality. Something that costs £50,000 with a few options ticked doesn't necessarily boost this most loved of sectors for me. That's why, ten years on, the Clio Trophy - an honest, loveable, talented and fast ball of Capsicum Red joy - is raved about. It's unparalleled… still.

Grudge match approaches

Another war of words on a popular social networking site has stoked the fire for a forthcoming grudge match.

The tie, which features world number one Josh Timlin, sees the much-loved celebrity go up against a somewhat inferior player in the form of Adam Slater, who has a world ranking of 972, one below Ben Cadman and five below Timlin's 70-year-old grandmother.

Slater, whose record consists of five wins and 634 defeats, is reportedly looking for a way out of the match, referencing a five-year-old finger injury which sometimes forces him into playing shite.

Timlin, a well-respected journalist whose empire of influence stretches from Barnsley to Holmfirth, is hoping to set the record straight after a severe bout of man flu saw him narrowly lose out in a pre-Christmas clash.

That match, played on a sub-standard table at Xscape - a favourite haunt for Castleford's delinquents - ended 10-9 in the favour of Slater, who has recently had a change of career. 

A former president of The Tony Pulis Fan Club, he's now branched out and become a full-time tea boy at a 'government' building, thought to be a strip club.

"It's a great career," Slater said. "I often make up to 100 cups of hot beverages a day and I'm an invaluable part of the company. Without me, the country simply couldn't run." 

Slater, also known as Durham's go-to rent boy, made his name at the gloomy city's university befriending its notorious BDSM expert, Dr Taheri. Little else is known about the 25-year-old, who has been dubbed the 'Pollington Prick' by his ardent following of two fans. Only one of the duo, someone referred to as 'Plastic Josh', showed up to support Slater at the heated pre-match press conference.

"I'll admit it: Josh is by far the superior player," he added. "He owns the greatest hot hatch ever made and subsequently makes players feel like they're insignificant when he's on his usual form. I admire his journalism, too. He's achieved a lot for a young man and I only hope he signs an autograph for me on Friday so I can show it to David Cameron, who I help run the country on a daily basis."

Slater's mood then took a turn for the worse when a journalist brought up his infamous 2007 car accident, when he reversed into an elderly woman's wall and smashed it to pieces before having to be rescued by his three passengers. One of them, hit-and-hope merchant Mr Cadman, tried selling a story about the incident but the media refused due to Slater's lack of celebrity status.

Timlin, looking superlative in a pair of Paul Smith suedes, was nonplussed by his opponent's unquestionable mental breakdown.

"I pity Adam," he said. "He's deluded and appears to be quite disturbed - I think it stems from the time when I bowled him out in Mr Hudson's PE class in year nine. The lad's never recovered. To be fair it was an amazing bowl of about 95mph. Even Brett Lee would have struggled and he's Barnsley Cricket Club's best-ever batsman."

The five-time BBC Sports Personality of the Year winner, whose audience broke the 400,000 barrier for a fifth time last month, returns to TV screens on Friday at 7pm.

A spokesman from Xscape added: "Our tables are notoriously wank so Adam knows that he stands the best chance of keeping Josh close due to the pockets' size, which are 15 inches wide, meaning even Ben Cadman could pull off a seven-baller.

"It's a tough one. Josh is handsome, adored by the masses and his extraordinary car is ace so he's always welcome. It's one of just 500 made in the world and it's simply staggering to drive. There's always a legion of screaming birds outside when they know he's playing. Adam on the other hand has washed his car twice in several years. Quite frankly that's an embarrassment so we're reluctant to let him come in."

Caterham R500 Superlight

Picture the scene: the temperature’s hovering around 20°C, the sun's now shining and there's a perfect cooling summer breeze. The roads are dry, the clouds are clearing and it's a good job too, because I wouldn't quite relish the thought of driving this car on anything other than a warm June day.

Okay, so it's not quite as spartan as the Morgan Three Wheeler I was lucky enough to drive a few weeks ago, but it's still pretty compromised. The beauty of a Caterham creation is, like the aforementioned Malvern-based car, its simplicity. There's nothing too complicated, nothing too extravagant. They offer pure, raw and undiluted driving thrills and cars just don't get any better than this. So they do offer similar things, but whereas the Three Wheeler had a modest power output, this one’s got more than three times more…

It's my first experience of a Caterham. I've read about them for years and yearned for a go in one and now the time's come. Many variants are available to buy, but none come as extreme as this one. When the invite popped into my inbox I pictured a lovely entry-level car. Never once did I think it'd be the most fearsome road-going car the marque's ever made, the fabled R500 Superlight.

You're in awe of it when you first clasp eyes on it, and not just because of its bright green paint. It's such a revered car, this one. The little carbon details aren't particularly well finished but they nod to its weight-saving measures and it's such a cool thing. It's so small parked up next to ordinary family hatchbacks and you just know it's going to be an absolute riot to drive even when it's stationary.

Its name immediately stirs up thoughts of brutal speed. Superlight means exactly what it says: it weighs just 506kg. That weight figure's astonishing on its own and would make 80bhp feel fast, but this R500 has 263bhp. Gulp. The 2.0-litre that powers it is a highly-fettled bit of kit. The K-series engine is now long gone and in its place is a Ford Duratec unit - thought to be more robust and better to tune - which gives the featherweight car a power-to-weight ratio of 528bhp per ton, 7bhp more than a Bugatti Veyron...

So it's a formidable thing, then. Added to its already extensive armoury is its gearbox, for it's got a trick sequential one. This car was the first Caterham to feature this as a £2,950 optional extra and it just adds to the whole appeal of a car of this ilk. Let's face it, this is tailored for the wealthy enthusiast at a shade under £40,000 and is never going to be used as a day-to-day commuter, so why not go all out and spec it as the ultimate?

Clamber in - again, a very unsophisticated process - and it almost moulds around you. Everything's in reach given its size and although it does get cramped with two full-sized adults in, it just feels brilliant. The seat's never going to rival a Rolls Royce in the comfort stakes but the driving position's to die for: the tiny, suede-covered Momo steering wheel's just where you'd want it and it honestly feels like you're a centimetre above the tarmac. You're staggeringly low but it just feels fantastic. Before you even start up the R500 your excitement levels are at an all-time high.

Perform that duty by pushing its starter button and your ears pick up the sound of a typically tuned engine note as the noisy side exhaust clatters. The idle's bumpy and it's certainly not happy being cold. It's a raucous noise which signals the R500's intent. Fasten the harness, wiggle in the carbon-backed seat to get a little settled and breathe it in. The bare carbon dash is lovely, if a little shiny when the sun catches it, the view out's as good as any car I've ever driven and it just feels so very right. The louvered bonnet gives a tantalising glimpse at what's making the noise; you feel immediately at home in the R500.

There is trepidation, though. You'd be a fool to mess with a notoriously tail-happy rear-driver with over 260bhp and take it lightly, so you're wary of its capabilities. I don't take much sought-after solace when Richard Barraclough, this car's guardian for today - who's crammed in next to me - reminds me of the Caterham's neck-jarring turn of speed by mentioning its tendency to follow ruts in the road when under hard acceleration...

Thoughts of a gloriously smooth empty track springs dreamily into my mind but unfortunately we won't get to experience the R500 there, although Richard has ventured out onto the track in this particular example.

"It's exactly how you'd expect: fast, furious and completely fun," he said. "The handling balance is lovely and although it can be a handful if you want, it's actually quite forgiving."

We're in a leafy part of Huddersfield in a small village called Almondbury and although we've only covered a handful of miles on the R500's track-biased Toyo R888s, it's already leaving an impression. The steering's beautiful. The weight of it is perfect and every surface change is given to you straight away. There's no vagueness, just immediate response. By far and away it's the best steering I've ever come across and the size of its steering wheel just makes everything better. Your hands dwarf it but the go-kart-like feel adds to the drama.

Next up to shine is the gearbox. Given the fact that we've barely broken 30mph and have only gone to fourth gear it's already showing its worth. The whine and mechanical clatter of the Quaife-developed 'box makes you a little giddy. It adds to the racer feel and you can never tire of the way it shifts. Okay, semi-auto paddles are now retiring traditional manuals in most forms of car but this sequential's a breath of fresh air and is absolutely great. Pull the protruding aluminium lever towards you and it clunks into first. Its clutch is weighty - as you'd expect - but the 2.0-litre is rich in torque so even if your shaking left leg's hesitant on the power, it's actually quite difficult to stall. This is my first time using a sequential gearbox so of course I'm sat there, harnessed up with a wide-eyed child-like grin plastered across my face. This is great to use and although its action is very crude, the short-throw, rifle-like response of it is a magnificent thing to control.

The roads are getting a little narrower, I'm unfamiliar with their direction changes but there's a sign ahead which has a diagonal black line across a white background, no cars are in sight and we're primed in second gear. Richard knows what's coming and I duly bury the throttle. What happens next will stay with me for the rest of my life: a wiggle, a spin of the rear tyres, a momentary loss of traction and then a huge dose of power. The tiny steering wheel wriggles about but I hold it tight and keep committed, way past 8,000rpm until the last red shift light appears. The noise builds and builds and it all happens so quickly - 30mph to three figures is ludicrously fast. Engage another gear by pulling the lever back and again, there's instant momentum. What a car. Even accelerating on a straight road is brutally intense.

You don't even have to worry about the clutch on upshifts. Full-throttle changes can be executed without the need to use your left foot and so you can just concentrate fully on the road ahead and the blurriness of everything that you're passing.

Slow down and you're alive with adrenaline, but a little gobsmacked at what you've just witnessed. Nothing I've ever driven felt as brutal as that full-on second gear power. The brakes, thankfully, are equally up to the job and as there's no ABS on the R500, you never get that grainy, disconcerting pedal feel when you're relying on them to stop you after yet another run through second and third. When the roads get bumpy and rutted, the lack of ABS is worth its weight in gold.

Hugely powerful cars often come with weight and size, but again the little Caterham does not. Even on the tightest, twistiest road it feels narrow, so although that intimidating rush of power's only a brush of the throttle away, its width is never daunting.

Richard directs us up high above Huddersfield, which is sat in the valley-like setting below us. The wind's stronger up here but he's promised his favourite bit of local tarmac and claims nothing could get near the R500 up here. I nod, knowing that his big claim's most definitely true. Think about that: this is a winding country lane, with well-sighted bends and third gear straights. You could have a Bugatti Veyron behind and still the plucky Brit would be gone, with a wiggle of its rear Toyos and a 263bhp hit.

Richard mentions the car's launch control and urges me to try it out. At first I think it's a little geeky, a bit of a gimmick in a car that's built on simple foundations. However, my curiosity is still there so I am quite keen to try it, having witnessed the brutal, no drama acceleration of a Nissan GT-R with its launch mode engaged. It was a £350 option on the R500, Richard tells me. Caterham claim it can deliver a 2.8 second sprint to 60mph...

It's quite straight forward. Depress the clutch, pull back for first gear and hold a small button on the carbon fibre dash. Floor the throttle now and the revs are automatically held at 4,500rpm. It feels wrong to put the engine through this much duress but the revs stay there without protest, urging you to drop the clutch. Do that, and the rears momentarily spin but just as you think you've found out the gimmick, it miraculously digs in and leaps off the line. Glance down and the digital speedo misses out many numbers are rockets past 60 in the blink of an eye. First, second, third. They're all gone and the brutal power just does not seem to diminish even into fourth. 

I'd hate for you to think that it's a one-dimensional car which does nothing but thrill and scare its occupants, though. Although its insane turn of speed is hugely memorable, the R500's party piece is its handling. Now, I'm not going to claim that I balanced its rear on the throttle in a Chris Harris-style slide but there's a lovely way in which it attacks a road. Sure, the rear can be lively if you're heavy footed, but most of the time the R500 can be coaxed into fast progress without you having to react to its wayward back end. In some powerful rear-wheel drive cars you're aware of corners and in some cases, you fear it letting go when you're attacking the turn. While there's always a vast amount of respect for the R500, I found it a great tool to dissect a road and utterly beguiling to drive quickly. That brutal power, the ABS-free brakes, its hugely responsive steering and the massive amounts of grip the R888s generate makes it one of the fastest point-to-point cars that's ever been made. 

Richard points out that his favourite bit of local road's coming up and shouts above the wind. "It's a fast left-hander, do not back off," he implores. That's the thing with the R500: back off mid-corner and that's when you're vulnerable. Stay committed and it stays true, diving in and gripping tenaciously. I pick out the corner in the distance and we're bounding down the straight part, rapidly approaching. A dab of brakes, turn in and you can feel the staggering tyres clawing the tarmac. The steering wheel tugs as it finds a rut but the body stays in check and I'm concentrating more than ever before. Stay committed, feed in the power without being daft and the R500 guides you round. The road straightens and the throttle's soon buried and the road-side foliage is a green, hazy blur. The road soon veers right, the Caterham's in third with 4,000rpm showing and again, the throttle's soon planted. The car stays faithful, mesmerising me with its precision, responses and blinding pace. 

It's all too easy to fall into a hypnotising, licence-losing rhythm with the R500. The way it goes about its business alters your perception of how fast a road car can be. Respect it, drive accordingly and the car's faithful. Jump in in a Clarkson-like manner and it'll bite - it will end up sideways. The cornering ability, the torque-rich low-down grunt and the ballistic delivery past 5,000rpm. I could drive it all day and never once lose interest.

We're on the way back now and it's a sad feeling. The R500 has left a longing impression and it's a shame that I've driven it in a way as no other car that I'll drive will be as fast, rewarding and as great as this little one. Even trundling along behind smoking diesels is an occasion, and as we pull into its resting place it's with regret that I have to get out. I clamber out and I’m buzzing with adrenaline.

"It's good, isn't it?" Richard questions.

"The best," I answer.

Thanks for the memory, R500 Superlight. You're the best car I've ever driven.

Morgan Three Wheeler

We're heading out on the moors above Huddersfield and we're alone. It's early June but the skies have turned ominously dark after a sun-drenched start, rain's now surely imminent and the temperature feels autumnal. You can smell the heady mechanical whiff of the engine in front, but it's doing its bit by passing on some of its warmth. We're in an utterly charming car - it's like a modern-day Mille Miglia entrant. Its V-twin throb sounds great and its noise is not diluted by the blustery elements; all you get is a glorious deep bellow from the 2.0-litre. My sunglasses are splattered with what must be a hundred insects and I'm pretty sure my once-spiky hair is now sheltering one hundred more. Accelerate harder, let off the gas and the exhaust pops on the overrun. It's ludicrous that this is a brand new car with just 348 miles on its clock.

Glance down and you'll notice the Ariel Atom-like front suspension arrangement. You get a little mesmerised by it; you can see the damping absorbing ruts and you chuckle as the thin tyres bob up and down and search for smooth tarmac. On these roads they're always busy.

Have you guessed what it is? I'll give you a few more clues: it's a recent creation from one of England's finest car makers, it has a manual gearbox, this one's painted in the iconic Gulf colours of blue and orange, it's got a naturally aspirated engine sourced from a motorbike and it's extraordinarily good. Oh, I've forgotten one key thing: it's got three wheels. As there aren't many three-wheeled cars on sale, that's probably given the game away, right? The car in question is the Morgan Three Wheeler.

Just a few weeks ago, I penned a piece called 'The Perfect Drive'. It recalled the memories of a handful of stand-out drives that will live long in my memory.

Strangely, those drives came in affordable cars. Having driven lots of exotica in my short five-year driving career, they have no doubt left their mark but tellingly, it was in two French hot hatches that I'd had my best moments - up until now.

The simplicity of these two cars - the Peugeot 106 Rallye and the Renaultsport Clio 182 Trophy - are what makes them great. They have no pretense, no complications. They're simply great because they're transparent; they don't hide behind electronic wizardry and you're in charge. I love cars of this ilk and the Morgan's bristling with that style.

It's easy to be a little disappointed by the motoring world in 2013. There's not much that has a similar ethos, and that's where the little Morgan comes in and gives you faith in the sea of monotonous BMW X3s and smoke-belching diesels. In performance cars, characterful, naturally aspirated engines are being replaced by dull-yet-potent smaller capacity turbocharged ones, rich in torque but woefully devoid of character.

We're at the cusp of a dramatic change in regulations. Emissions are high on the agenda and it's affecting all of our much-loved marques. The Mercedes C63 AMG is adored for its tyre-shredding, wild character, yet its fabulous V8 is almost certainly going to be replaced with a smaller powerplant with - you guessed it - forced induction. Even Porsche, who, in my opinion, are the purveyors of the finest drivers' cars in the business, have changed its flagship driving machine.

The all-conquering GT3 has been a favourite for everyone who's driven it since its 1999 debut. A car which was pared-back just the right amount, had an ever-so-slight weight reduction and was great because it did everything brilliantly. The forthcoming 991-generation 911 GT3 is to go without one of its best qualities: its manual gearbox.

Yes, Porsche has done the unthinkable and ditched its fabled manual. In its place there's the very good PDK 'box, but as quick as the gear changes are it's simply not a match for that magnificent Porsche manual.

Even supercars aren't immune from the drastic changes. The recently-revealed, hugely expensive flagships from Ferrari, McLaren and Porsche aren't as simple as their forebears. The LaFerrari (I know - a ridiculous name) uses F1-inspired KERS technology, as does the McLaren P1, not to mention a whole host of other technological features. It's fair to say they're moving with the times and these cars are at the peak of technology, but does that make them better? I'm undecided. Their geekery's at an all-time high, and whilst they're no doubt at their optimum in 2013, it's just getting a bit boring.

There are of course two sides to it, and the amalgam of this debate came to a head in the Ferrari Enzo. Replacing arguably the last analogue supercar, the F50, the difference between the two was night and day. The Enzo, although still powered by a thunderous V12, was overflowing with technology. It had the most advanced F1-style gearbox with super-fast, neck-jerking changes. However, this technology came with a drawback: its weight. 

Manufacturers are obsessed with reducing the time it takes to change gears, and I think it's completely boring. If they concentrated more on keeping weight down, I'd be more interested. I don't care that a semi-auto 'box can change up 0.3 of a second quicker than me. That's why this lovely, traditional and simple Morgan is so good - there's just no bull. It cares not for acceleration times and lapping the Nurburgring, and for me, that's cooler than any 200mph overpowered, overweight and completely geeky supercar.

Proof of this trend doesn't come more starkly than in the form of Porsche's most expensive car, the 918 Spyder. As a natural successor to the timeless, V10-engined Carrera GT, they're incomparable.

The Carrera GT was remarkably simple. It was relatively simple, with a gear knob topped with balsa wood, a carbon structure, razor sharp throttle response and was the pinnacle in precision. It took no prisoners, yet its endearing character has cemented its place in supercar folklore. That spine-tingling V10 delivered just over 600bhp and its looks were astonishing. Even now, the ten-year-old design looks incredible. I'd take one over an Enzo every day of the week.

In the last few months, we've seen the rise of the aforementioned 918 Spyder, a car which is far more controversial than the simplistic Carrera GT. Why? It uses batteries. It's powered initially by a 600bhp V8, but it's accentuated by cells which add a couple of hundred horsepower onto its total. Great, you might think. But then its weight's revealed and a collective gasp is heard, for it tips the scales at over 1700kg.

You might not think a few hundred kilos is cause for concern, but no technology advances can iron out the bulk which inevitably dumbs the steering and feel of the car. No matter which side of the analogue/digital fence you fall on, the next few months are certainly set to be intriguing as the head-to-head battles commence.

A new car which flicks a strong middle finger up at the technology brigade is the Three Wheeler. It's single-handedly standing up to the modern-day rules and conformity, and I applaud Morgan for having the nerve - and nous - to do it.

In the new Three Wheeler you get proper old-school grunt. It's powered by a two-cylinder engine which directs its power to the rear wheels, or should I say rear wheel... The Three Wheeler has one wheel at the back and two at the front. Unlike technology-obsessed marques, Morgan are bucking the trend and they're returning to their roots. You see, three-wheeled creations were what Henry Frederick Stanley Morgan formed the company with and were on sale for 40 years afterwards.

The quirky Malvern-based firm have revived it though, and the £30,000 2013 Three Wheeler is fantastic.

Purity and intimacy are what cars lack in most cases. They're filled with so much wizardry that it's hard to just enjoy the raw experience. Anyone with any sense wouldn't go without them on their day-to-day vehicles as they give safety, but on specialist cars they very much tend to get in the way.

Clasp eyes on a Three Wheeler and it's love at first sight. You're amazed by its size (incredibly small), its width (again, incredibly small) and its look. It's such a unique car. There are two old-fashioned, Caterham-style headlights which sit up on beautifully fashioned metal, there are two thin-rimmed wheels with cycle-like spokes and a glorious V-twin motorbike engine that sits proudly, visible to all.

It's a fantastic thing to behold. When its wooden body shell's being fashioned, it would've been simple to make this 'car' into a boat - its shape's that similar.

Getting in the thing isn't particularly easy, or elegant. You kind of shimmy your way in: step over the tub so one foot's in, then hold onto the bodywork and hoist yourself in. Getting out is even harder...

As soon as you're in its seat you just smile. 'Quirky' could be deemed as an overused adjective with this marque, but it's so fitting. Nothing's like this car - it's completely unique. Look ahead and there are two pieces of perspex, one in front of the driver and one in front of the passenger. They're largely useless, as they're only a few inches high so they never really protect the driver from anything that's flying, so a helmet's advisable.

There's a circular steering wheel which is laughably large given the size of the car, a chunky gear knob, a handbrake and the simplest dials you've ever seen. It's great. There might not be a lot in here but you're surrounded by air, visibility's inevitably great and it just feels right. The seats - lined in quilted leather in a diamond pattern - aren't particularly supportive but the driving position whilst in them is a strange one. You kind of feel like a little kid playing in your dad's car as you're holding onto a bus-sized steering wheel. It's nearly in line with your head. Its driving position isn't perfect because of this but in a crazy way, it's just fantastic. Pure sense of occasion. Yes, I'm even praising it for having a flawed driving position.

Start up the motorbike engine and it slowly, lazily responds after a second or so. Even this is an occasion as its starter button hides beneath an aircraft-style toggle cover. Flick it up, push the button and the beast grumbles. It's not a fizzing motor that's hyperactive and craving revs. It just sits there up front vibrating, reluctant to wake up. It's so strange as its character makes you think you're sat in a 30-year-old car, not a brand new one. You get that same feeling as you would when you're sat in a temperamental classic car; there's trepidation there as it feels like it may or may not start. You get that pure unadulterated joy when it does cough into life. It's built by a company called S&S, who are famed for their relationship with Harley Davidson. Built to Morgan's specification, the 2.0-litre produces 80bhp and 103lb ft of torque. The stats, particularly the latter, are mightily impressive for a bike motor, and as the engine reaches its peak at just 3,250rpm, the Three Wheeler always feels perfectly situated to pile on speed.

Once it's warm, the lumpy idle sits at just over 1,000rpm and the throttle response is actually rather sharp - something I didn't expect. Its clutch is weighted nicely with just the right amount of inertia and its five-speed 'box is slick and precise. The gearbox is actually from a Mazda MX-5 and it's a great combination.

Top Gear lovers won't get this car. They'll be disappointed by its 80bhp power figure, and they'll loathe it as its solitary rear wheel makes prolonged power sliding redundant. However, as it only weighs just over half a tonne, it's actually pretty brisk. It'll keep most junior hot hatches in sight to 60mph, but it's its torque that's the most memorable aspect of its performance. You see, as its peak's reached at a shade over 3,000rpm, you're perfectly situated no matter which gear you're in.

It's just an assault on your senses. You're driving along with the world rushing by in a blur. It's not fast by any means, but who cares when you're having this much fun? Speed is irrelevant in the Three Wheeler, and that's something which I thought I'd never say. People of all ages look, point, stare and frantically click their phone's camera to capture this glorious little car. In many expensive cars you kind of get the sense that some people think you're a bit of an idiot. Flashy, perhaps arrogant. Drive a loud Ferrari in look-at-me red and you get a mixed response. In the Morgan it's just pure adulation. It says to the world that you're a pure enthusiast who doesn't much care for power or gimmicks. It says that you're a fan of simple machinery, yet you're not fussed about headline-grabbing power figures. I love that.

The fact that the lone rear wheel is situated in the centre has a profound effect on the way you drive. You forget it's positioned there at first. The first time you pick out an approaching pothole and make the necessary adjustment to avoid it, you soon know all about its position then as the front wheels successfully miss the crater and the rear wheel takes the full brunt of it. A shudder goes through the body but it soon shakes it off and thrums on.

Its steering's so informative. On challenging roads it shines and gives instant feedback. Its weight's just so and you're filled with confidence as you have faith in the way in which the Three Wheeler steers. You can't help but feel that its engine out front has a big influence on this; it's so direct and precise. The best thing is that you can actually see the process being done by the car in front of your eyes. Turn in and watch the components do their thing, feel the response through the wheel and get on the gas. This is what driving's all about. You're an integral part of the process, interacting, working with it. No other production car gives this feeling. Step on the brakes and there's great feel, an abundance of stopping power and again, it just builds your confidence.

The Morgan Three Wheeler is completely beguiling and an absolute joy from start to finish. It puts the biggest grin on its driver's face and finally, a modern-day car has returned to simplicity. It celebrates motoring for the sake of motoring, and even when you're trundling along at 30mph it's utterly mesmerising. It doesn't care about yawn-inducing Nurburgring times or being high up on the Top Gear test track board. All it wants to do is show off its character and I for one absolutely adore it. Drive a Morgan Three Wheeler and it rekindles that magic of driving. I've had another perfect drive.

The Perfect Drive

It's rare that you have perfect drives. Whether there's too much traffic, stray countryside sheep making swift progress a hazardous heart-in-your-mouth process, or the UK's typically changeable weather, there always seems to be something that gets in the way.

When the moment comes, they seem to happen naturally. I remember several truly memorable drives when I was a passenger though, in my dad's Clio Trophy.

The first one which stood out was chasing a TVR Chimaera along the famed yet strangely deserted Snake Pass. The brutish convertible was being driven within an inch of its life - its V8 blaring - but yet still this little red hot hatch was keeping with it, sucking up its exhaust fumes like a maniacal junkie. It was like an agile fly irritating a powerful rhino.

The second stand-out occasion was a Boxing Day jaunt to the coast. On the way home, driving along the magnificent Whitby to Pickering road, the Trophy was sensational, as was its driver. There's a particular part of that road where it dips down, veers right in a hairpin-style acute corner and the road straightens out as you then climb. It's a well-sighted part, and so overtaking isn't particularly dangerous.

I'll always remember my dad attempting what's got to be the most audacious overtake the world's ever seen. You see, I could sense what was going to happen, because every time he became frustrated by the traffic's slow progress, his left hand would irritably grab the gearstick, primed and ready for a swift change to a lower gear.

Glancing right and assessing his options as the road veered down into its lowest point before the aforementioned bend, he selected third and gunned it. Now this isn't at all audacious, but there were what must've been 12, maybe 13 cars in a tightly-packed line, so making full use of the well-sighted road he stayed committed to the overtake and it'll always be remembered by us, and of course those who witnessed it who'd remember the little Clio's masterful overtake. "Look at that absolute nutter," they no doubt said. I loved it.

With me behind the wheel, I've had a fair few memorable drives. Piloting cars like the Nissan GT-R and the Porsche 911 GT3 RS stand out, but as most of their miles were done on track, I've only had two more perfect drives on the road.

I don't know what it is about perfect drives on the road. Sure, driving flat out on the track's almost a normal thing to do; you don't go to potter around. However, brisk road driving's an almost naughty pastime. You know you're not meant to be doing it, but it feels so good to do. Speed doesn't kill; bad driving does. I'm all for driving to suit the road's conditions. If it's a built up area with a 30mph limit, then stick to it and be sensible. If you're on a deserted country road and the mood takes you, why not drop a cog or two? Fact of the matter is that when you're bounding down a challenging road, you're at your most alert. If more people paid attention to their driving on the roads, there'd be far less collisions.

As most good, twisty roads are national speed limit zones, breaking its speed limit's subsequently a difficult thing to do. You can tell the do-gooders that you're perfectly within your rights to do so. You'll get the odd wag of a walker's finger, but yet you're still not breaking the law.

My first perfect driving experience that'll stay with me for a lifetime was when I had a Bianca White 106 Rallye. 

I'd taken the S2 up to the Yorkshire Dales on a sun-soaked summer evening, and everything was just so: the car was a dream, the setting was perfect, and the leather-clad Yamaha R6 rider played an Oscar-winning role.

Heading out of the popular village of Kettlewell there's a lovely bit of tarmac that snakes above the River Wharfe in the valley below. The views are great, and although it's not a remote road, if you catch it at the right time, it's brilliant. Other times it can be hellishly boring, stuck behind motorhomes and dawdling tourists.

However, catch it as I did when the sun's getting low and the tourists are well into their barbecues, it left me with a lasting impression.

I'd followed the lone biker through the village and as soon as the national speed limit signpost had appeared, the pace was considerably lifted. The road's bumpy, offset, and blind in many places - not exactly perfect for the high-revving R6 - but absolutely great for the Rallye.

The B6160 goes through Kilnsey and heads back towards Grassington, and although the Rallye's only got a smidge over 100bhp, it kept the bike in sight as the rider just could not open up any sort of advantage.

As soon as he'd annihilated the Rallye on any straight part, the car was back on its tail rekindling that giant-killing Clio Trophy magic. Thing is, that road has very few straight parts, so although the Rallye was having a thorough work out, it'd have stayed with the bike as long as the road maintained its twists and turns.

Arriving at his turn off, the biker flicked a thumbs up and away he went. What a great experience, and what's more, I doubt we barely broke the speed limit on that 60mph road. Okay, maybe just once or twice...

After having numerous adventures in my dad's Clio Trophy, I had to have one. The Rallye was sold, and a Trophy was bought. Working full-time means it's barely used on any demanding roads, but a recent free window meant a possible jaunt up to the tops of the moors.

An obligatory glance out of the window saw clear skies, and with the dry roads it was the perfect setting.

A monotonous journey to Holmfirth was done, and once you're past there the roads start getting better. A turn off towards Holme Moss is what you're first greeted with: beautiful views, but hugely bumpy roads. Get this out of the way and your ascent of the hill begins.

Long, sweeping right-handers, and equal tyre-squealing lefts. It's a great road.

You're in second and third gears around here, so although the incline's rather steep, the Trophy's always kept in its sweet spot. Turn in is lovely and the steering's beautifully weighted; the tyres finding instant traction no matter how hard you turn in. 

The road's smooth and it's well-sighted, but this is just the starter of what's to come. 

Reach the peak and this is my favourite part: staggering views and a ribbon of tarmac for as far as the eye can see.

You're now descending through the Derbyshire moors and it's quiet. A heart-stopping gust of wind makes its way through the front wheels so you're constantly alert, but you can use every inch of the road and take in what's coming towards you. It's not too technical but it's a great road to drive, and it's definitely one that'll live long in the memory.

It just goes to show that no matter where you are, there's a memorable moment just around the corner. It could happen when you're least expecting it, but when it happens, it makes cars worth their weight in gold.

It's hard to explain the attachment some people get to their cars. Some see them merely as a means of transportation, but buy something good and it has the ability to make you grin like an idiot. Bonds are formed and life-long memories are kept. 

Swagger's return to The Hub (April Article)

I suppose you just know you’ve got something truly special on your hands when an hour after its return is put into the public domain, it becomes the talk of the town. Yes, last night saw the return of Wakefield’s undisputed king of club nights. I am of course talking about Swagger.

Their second birthday coincided with a special return to the brand’s original venue, Hub. After branching out on a few occasions to Leeds, and most recently their trip to Wakefield’s Black Flag Warehouse, the long-awaited re-opening of Hub just meant there was an added dimension to the build-up.

You see, Hub and its premier brand have most certainly had their critics in the past. The connotations brought from its music policy draw frowns from the most ardent of house music fans, but the numbers simply don't lie. Cynicism comes as a bi-product of success, and its fans in the city will tell you that in its prime, Hub was a phenomenon; particularly so when Swagger brought their dedicated army of ardent followers and descended on Hub’s small dimensions.

So what of the new, re-branded club? Walking down those stairs certainly brought back memories of all those great nights out it gave its customers in its prime. Now known as The Hub, every single aspect of it is better than before. They’ve updated everything from the soundsystem to minor details such as the new décor throughout the club. Little details they may well be, but the little things add up and the improvement is clear. The elevated DJ box in the back room is also a great addition.

Every person who’s witnessed the incredible rise of Swagger will have their own stand-out memories. The booking of Julie McKnight was a tough one to beat though, and her live performance of the hair-raising Finally was just one of those moments that’ll stay with everyone who witnessed it forever.

The venture to Black Flag was indeed a success. Numbers speak volumes but the venue’s size and arena-like set-up meant it lacked The Hub’s key trait: intimacy.

I’m glad to report that this feeling’s back, and although it’s not unfair to say that Swagger can fill far bigger venues than The Hub, the two just go hand in hand. You almost get the sense that in ten years those who were at the Swagger nights at The Hub will reminisce fondly about these occasions. The questionable air conditioning, the classics in the bar, and the iconic moments in the back room will all be remembered when we’re watching our kids getting ready to go out. This is surely testament to Swagger’s huge success that it’s got this aura surrounding it every time it’s on. I think everyone’s well aware that the brand’s now achieved a lot in its two years and could easily become a monthly, even weekly event and still fill clubs, but its current set-up is perfect as the pre-night hype that surrounds it is quite surreal. It truly becomes the talk of the town.