You can forget your BMWs. This is fanbleedingtastic. Balanced. Meaty. Pretty soon you’ll not give a damn that the light switch is on the indicator stalk and you won’t worry about the poor dipped-beam lighting either. The beam from your smile will illuminate the road ahead well enough. This, then, is a car that’s flawed and fantastic, irritating and rewarding, mad and bad. But when all is said and done – and this is the nonsensical joy of cars – I liked it. I looked forward to driving it. I’m sad it’s not here any more.
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