Against the crisp sky of a ruthless July, delicate curtains of brown drape the immortal profile of Issigonis’s creation, remixed for the Playstation age. Framed by a soft green canvas of whsipering grass, it’s a scene to raise the rev limiter on anyone whose four stroke heart pumps pure gasoline through their braided veins. I could happily drink in this vignette for an easy five minutes or so, my eyes suckling on each plump curve and details so delicious you could put them in a baguette and call it a sandwich. Sadly, however, there are driving chores to be done.
In truth, today these are no chores at all for I am about to sample the new Mini, re-tooled, re-booted and re-edited for a whole new audience. This is nothing less than the Mini Clubman. Some say it’s an estate, some say it’s nothing more than a Mini hatch made more spacious to the tune of a gnat’s snatch. Me, I say it’s both. And that’s a good thing.
However, what really makes the Clubman work is the way it pedals. Slam it down a testing twist of hard baked blacktop and the Mini comes home to work. This baby is alive in your hands and you decide the song. The steering is heavy yet precise like cutting cheese with a sword, the gearchange as firm and chunky as a fridge full of Branston Pickle. But it’s the chassis that really steals the sunshine in this all-star show, keying into the road and gripping like a Velcro monkey as you guide the Clubman almost telepathically towards Wisbech.
If that sounds boring, don’t worry. This little Mini isn’t just about sheer Evo-Stik grip; it also wants to dance like one of Spearmint Rhino’s finest, and you’ve just put a 50 in her pants. Turn in hard, feel the back go light, let it come round and chose your escape route, giving Mr Apex a clip round the ear on your way through. One dab of oppo, I caught the lot and I was away.
I don’t know where it is, but I want to be part of this club, man. The Mini is a bitch, and I spanked it.
Troy Queef is Executive Associate Editor-at-large for DAB OF OPPO magazine
