You know why British industry came off the rails back in the 1960s and 1970s, don’t you? Contrary to the claims of my grandfather, it wasn’t “that man Wilson” or the trade unions. It wasn’t the misguided, weak and ugly managers either.

The real reason was much more simple. Nobody went to work back then because nobody’s car would ever start.

Some say the soundtrack of the 1960s was the Beach Boys and the dawn of pop. Not for me it wasn’t. What I remember is the morning stillness being broken every day by the starter motor on my dad’s Corsair making dying horse noises.

It is extraordinary to think that cars in the 1960s only had four working parts, none of which did if they encountered mist, drizzle, rain, wind, sunshine or a fret.

We accepted this. We knew cars were complicated and that life on the road was tough and salty and wet. So, of course, the rear end would oxidise, the HT leads would corrode, the distributor cap would fill with water and you’d get a day off work. Again.

Then along came the Japanese. It has been argued that Japan has the ingenuity of moon rock. All its best cars and engineering are copies of things dreamt up in Europe and America.

True enough. There would have been no Mazda MX-5, for instance, had there been no MG.

However, I would like to suggest that Japan is responsible for the biggest and most important automotive breakthrough of them all: showing the world that cars didn’t necessarily have to stop working whenever it was a bit cloudy.

Of course, my dad wouldn’t have one. Not after they put Alec Guinness in that box. He stuck with his good old Ford. Which meant he had another day off work and his timber company lost another sale.

Still, here we are today and although cars now have 15,000 parts and computers that could manage space travel, they are extraordinarily reliable. My Ford Focus, for instance, has been faultless for three years, which is more than can be said for my coffee machine, my vacuum cleaner and especially my washing machine.

And please don’t reach for your internet at this point to say your Saab exploded, because a) I’m not interested and b) you are the exception that proves my rule.

However, cars are only reliable if you are responsible and never use their full potential. If you actually try to make them go from 0 to 60 as fast as possible and go round a corner as quickly as the suspension will allow they will not last 10 years. Reckon on 10 minutes.

Over the past few weeks I’ve been making all the films for the new series of Top Gear, which starts tonight, incidentally. This has meant spending days pummelling round our test track in a selection of cars that were designed for the road. They really didn’t like it.

Aston Martin has sent me a letter saying: “We now have the DB7 GT back at our workshop and we were wondering if it might be possible to have the tyres it was supplied with returned at some point in the future.”

They were returned — as a thin veneer all over the inside of the wheelarches and the undersides. Normally, you’d expect a set of tyres on a car like this to last 10,000 miles, maybe less if you press on. But after a couple of power slides the Aston’s rear was riding on canvas.

Then there was VW’s new Touareg. I took this off road and don’t have space here to list all the things that broke. Basically all of it.

A friend of mine runs one of those corporate track day driving jobs and says when he began 15 years ago components would last a year. Even with a ham-fisted photocopier salesman at the wheel, braking and steering like his hair was on fire, bits rarely broke. Now he has to change everything all the time.

Only yesterday I was doing some fast starts on the track in an Audi S4 — it’s a very, very good car by the way — and after four the clutch simply announced, through my nostrils, that it was going inside. Slam. Tilt. Game over.

Clutches are a weak link in most cars, especially the Ford Focus RS. Others overheat. As for the new computer-controlled air suspension . . . In normal driving I’m sure it’ll run without a hitch for 100,000 miles, but on a test track you can guarantee you’ll get a warning light after two corners.

Then there was the Bentley Arnage I drove in the last series. You may recall those lurid power slides, with smoke pouring from its tyres. What you didn’t see was that I had to do the whole damn thing with no brakes at all. After half a dozen 100-to-0 emergency stops the pedal went to the floor and stayed there.

BMW recently announced that it would not honour the warranty on cars that had been driven on a track, though the outcry forced it to reconsider. But it just goes to show there’s some minimal-tolerance engineering going on here.

To save weight, fuel and money, each component is designed to perform faultlessly in the hands of a geography teacher for year after year. Or pull 9g in a 150mph bend — once.

I think I can put my hand on my heart and say that in the past year every single car I’ve tested on the Top Gear track has suffered some kind of fault as a result. Except one. The one you see here: Renault’s revised Clio V6.

The original version was a bit of a mishmash. Designed in France and engineered by Tom Walkinshaw in England, it was made in Sweden in a factory owned by Ford of America.

I rather liked it, but there were faults. First of all there was the turning circle. A friend of mine took one to Belgium last year and, I’m not exaggerating, had to go to Holland to find somewhere big enough to turn round.

Then there was its handling. At the limit, the lack of steering lock, the short wheelbase and the mid-engined layout meant it swapped ends very quickly with little warning and in such a way that even the best driver became a helpless passenger.

I rather thought Renault would give up, in the same way it has given up on the wonderful Avantime. But no, it called on Porsche to help it to get more power from the 3 litre V6, changed the body — it now looks absolutely fantastic — and tightened up the undersides.

So onto the test track I went and in the first corner the nose ran wide in a huge shuddering dollop of understeer. Predictable really since there’s no engine in the front and therefore no weight over the front wheels.

I therefore switched to Porsche 911 mode, going into the corners slowly then nailing the power halfway round, knowing that because the engine’s in the back the rear wheels have tons of traction. They do too. It is extraordinarily grippy.

Even so, I had to endure the “I’m frightened” phase before moving through “demented” and way past “clinically insane”. And then, bang, in the blink of an eye you’re going backwards. I tried time and again to set up the car for a lovely sideways drifting shot and got it right only once.

Then something struck me: despite the rough treatment and the countless spins everything was still in perfect working order. This then is a car that you can take to its limits. It’s just a shame there’s nothing rewarding when you get there.

On the road, however, it’s a different story.



It’s loud to look at but this is nothing compared with what it sounds like. A Honda NSX?

Robert Plant? Some cataclysmic event in the universe? Whatever, it’s brilliant.

And with so much grip and so much power it’s a riot to drive. I mean, 0 to 62 in 5.8sec. In a Clio. And a top speed of 153mph. That’s insane.

Some say the price tag of £27,000 is silly and that you’d need to be mad to spend so much on a tarted-up shopping trolley that still has the turning circle of Jupiter and the boot of a ballerina. But look at it another way. Look at it as a mid-engined 3 litre 255bhp road rocket. Look at it as a rival for the NSX and the 911 and then £27,000 suddenly becomes a bargain.

So far as equipment is concerned you get drilled aluminium pedals, a trip computer, air-conditioning and a completely pointless stereo. And don’t expect much in the way of luxury hand-crafted eel foreskin seating, it’s more a Hoseasons cabin cruiser.

But who cares? What matters is that those after a Subaru Impreza have yet another distraction. In recent weeks the alternatives were Ford’s Focus RS, Mitsubishi’s Evo VIII and Vauxhall’s amazing new VX220 Turbo. Now there’s the loony Renault to think about as well.

It’d be my choice. It isn’t perfect, but when it’s good it’s so good you’ll forgive it anything.

VITAL STATISTICS

Model Clio Renaultsport V6 255
Engine type V6, 2946cc
Power 255bhp @ 7150rpm
Torque 221 lb ft @ 4650 rpm
Transmission Six-speed manual
Suspension (front) MacPherson struts with conical springs; (rear) longitudinal and transverse arm with conical spring
Tyres (front) 205/40 R18; (rear) 245/40 R18
Dimensions 3841mm length; 1830mm width; 1356mm height
C02 285g/km
Fuel 23.7mpg (combined)
Top speed 153mph
Acceleration 0 to 62mph 5.8sec
Insurance Group 20D
Price £27,000
Verdict A mid-engined road rocket that's a riot to drive and sturdy enough to survive being pushed to the limit

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