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| Jeremy Clarkson on the Audi TT RS Coupé: "The RS is epic".
The part in bold is the part where he starts talking about the car. Quote:
Audi TT RS Coupé
By Jeremy Clarkson. October 4, 2009
About a hundred years ago I used to spend a very great deal of time with my nose pressed against the plate-glass window of an exotic car dealership in Chiswick, wondering if there was anything in life quite so perfect as a Lancia Montecarlo.
So, when I drove one this week, I couldn’t quite believe there was one rather notable feature that I had somehow overlooked. I had spent days taking in every last detail of this twin-cam mid-engined sports car that in effect bridged the gap between the frankly rather weedy Fiat X1/9 and the frankly rather expensive Ferrari 308. You would imagine, then, that I might have noticed it was about as big as my left shoe.
I suspect the reason is simple. Back then, all cars were tiny, even big ones. That’s just how it was. So, the Montecarlo is 5Åin shorter than the current Ford Fiesta and narrower too. Technically, that makes it a motorcycle.
There are more examples too. The BMW 1-series is wider and taller than the 3-series you had in the 1980s. And today’s Range Rover is nearly 20in longer than the 1970s original.
All of this raises a question. Why?
If you have been fortunate enough to look around the SS Great Britain, which is now a museum piece in Bristol, you will undoubtedly have been shocked by the size of the beds. They are tiny, more like cots, and there’s a good reason for that. Back in the 19th century, when the ship was built, people were little.
But we have not become that much bigger in the past 20 to 30 years. So why the sudden need for vast cars?
Some would cite safety, suggesting that the crash protection needed to get a car onto the market these days means the car itself must be enormous. But that’s not true. A Renault Twingo is not big and that’s very safe. A Renault Formula One car is unbelievably tiny and that’s safe enough, we’re told, to be rammed, on purpose, into a wall.
I think market researchers are to blame. They go out onto the street with their clipboards and their winning smiles and they say: “Would you like your next car to be bigger?” And since everyone associates a big car with success and prosperity, everyone says: “Yes.” The car companies are simply responding to that.
The fact is, though, it’s nonsense, and it’s about time the trend was reversed because I drove that Montecarlo through a Welsh town with a name I can neither remember nor spell and it was a joy. Gaps that would have thwarted even a Mini could be dealt with without a problem. Parking spaces that would have beaten a Citroën driver were a doddle. And, most important, small cars are not seen as threatening by pedestrians. They smile at you and that makes the world a happier place.
I can think of no reason cars need be any bigger than that little Lancia. There is room inside for two people, an engine, some wheels and, unless you are Nicholas Soames, the weekly shop. Everything else in your car is just wasted air.
It’s much the same story with the little Austin Healey Sprite I drove around Mallorca on Top Gear recently. Among modern sports cars it looks as preposterous as a ballet shoe on a building site. But, actually, it’s the other way around. It’s the modern sports cars that are too big.
And that causes problems because their big, heavy bodies have to be suspended in such a way that they don’t roll and wallow in the corners. That means the suspension has to be firm. So firm that it will break your spine every time you run over a Catseye. They will also break the bank every time you fill up. And your mind when you can’t find a big enough parking space without going to Lincolnshire.
There’s another thing I’ve noticed, too, about cars from not that long ago. The pillars that supported the roof were elegant, spidery little things. This meant there was a bigger glass area, and that made life inside better, especially if you were a tomato. It meant visibility was good too. Inside a Lancia Fulvia or an old BMW CSL, you really could see all four corners of the car from the driver’s seat.
Not any more. I saw a Seat yesterday with such thick A-pillars, they came with their own windows. It’s ridiculous and ungainly and demonstrates that we are going backwards. But it does bring me nicely onto the Audi TT RS.
Naturally, this suffers from the problems that affect all modern cars, insomuch as it’s supposed to be a small, sleek, agile two-door sports car but is, in fact, about the size of Wales. Or is it the Albert Hall? Or a jumbo jet?
Whatever, it’s much bigger than it should be and it comes with pillars big enough to make its blind spots so massive, you might as well actually be blind. Sitting in a TT is like sitting in a postbox. And I banged my head every single time I climbed inside.
There are other issues too. There is no conventional button to open the boot, so you must either get into the car, where there is a release catch. Or use a remote opener on the key fob, which doesn’t work. Worse, though, it has a little read-out on the dash that orders you to change gear as you drive along.
“You should be in sixth,” it says Germanically. But how does it know? Sure, I should be in sixth if I was interested in achieving better fuel economy. But I wasn’t. I was interested in pouncing past the car in front, which is why I was in second. If I’d tried to do this, as instructed, in sixth, I would have been killed.
Then there’s the biggest problem of them all — the problem of being in an Audi TT when you are not called Angela. I do not know why it can be driven by only people named Angela but that’s a fact and there’s nothing we can do about it. If you have a TT and you aren’t called Angela, you have the wrong car.
The news from hereon in, however, is good, because the new version — the RS — is an absolute star.
On the surface it looks like a normal TT, except for an optional rear spoiler, a more chiselled chin and brushed-aluminium door mirrors. Which look like silver ears.
Underneath, it has a 2.5-litre turbo engine, which, because it has five cylinders, harks back to the glory days of the original quattro. It’s a corker of an engine. Muscular and zingy in equal measure, it endows the car with a grown-up turn of speed while sipping the fuel. And on top of all this, there’s that marvellously offbeat, though surprisingly muted, five-cylinder backdrop.
The rest of the car is either just as good or a bit better. The seats are wonderful, the ride is much more supple than you might imagine, the grip from the four-wheel-drive system is magnificent, the handling is a delight, the stereo is a joy and the boot is huge.
Yes, the car should be smaller, but, accepting that enormousness is the norm these days, I have to say the RS is epic. If you can live with the stupid boot-release arrangement and a sat nav system that accepts only the first piece of a postcode, it’s worth changing your name to Angela and getting one.
Audi TT RS Coupé
Engine 2480cc, five cylinders
Power 335bhp @ 5400rpm
Torque 332 lb ft @ 1600rpm
Transmission Six-speed manual
Fuel 31mpg (combined cycle)
CO2 214g/km
Acceleration 0-62mph: 4.6sec
Top speed 155mph
Price £42,985
Road tax band K (£215 a year)
Clarkson's verdict:
Bigger, better and blokier
 | Source: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/dri...cle6858693.ece
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"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe". Albert Einstein |
10-03-2009, 04:40 PM
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