But then a call. It was Caterham who, so far as I’m aware, had no idea I now own a car it made 25 years ago. What they do know is that I’d recently spent some time in its brand new 1.6-litre but retro-themed Super Seven with its snorting Jenvey throttle bodies, partly because I wrote about it in quite a few different places, but largely because it had been them who’d leant it to me. But it had been a while, too long in their view, since I last had any wheel time in a car from the other end of it range. The more, er, insane end. Would I therefore care to spend a few days in a 620S, a car so called because that’s meant to indicate its power to weight ratio, which if true exceeds that of a Bugatti Veyron…?
Normally I’d have had the man’s arm off at the shoulder before he’d finished the sentence, but now in my new circumstances I was suddenly not at all sure. A week in a 620S sounded fun, but would it not precipitate a lifetime of disappointment in the car it left behind with considerably less than half the power? Then again, I could hardly rule out ever driving a fast Caterham on such flimsy and unprofessional grounds, so not without some trepidation I accepted the offer.
I certainly didn’t like the way it looks as much as my car. The car I drove had a wide body and little piggy lights mounted far further forward than on my car. It rather spoils its face, at least to a traditionalist like me. But the quality of the thing, the interior in particular, is a world ahead of mine, though you can no longer reach every important switch without taking your hands off the wheel. What hasn’t changed is that wonderful driving position, so low, so straight, so snug. There really is nothing else like it.