A lion spears across the flatland badlands just outside Corby, its skin a glisten with mystery and poise. But there is no need for local residents to shut their windows and lock their doors for this particular beast is no mere skin and sinew but rex made metal by the finest French lion tamers in the land – Peugeot.
Inside the 308 all is calm. I am cool as school and focussed like the lens on one of David Attenborough’s cameras during the making of a programme about ants, the wheel pulled tight to my chest in a way that lets my wrists do the TOCA-ing. As the road sweeps and swoops like some taut Tarmac eagle I keep the throttle clamped to the carpet. There is no diesel rattle to battle here, just a hum that is smoother than a silk snooker table and a band of torque fatter than a lazy opera singer set up shop in a doughnut factory. Each gearchange is nailed tighter than a clingfilm codpiece as the chassis soaks up all that this electric eel of a road can throw at it, like some crazed steel and rubber sponge. The tail steps out, I catch it with a dab of oppo and I’m away.
I arrive at my destination relaxed yet excited, as if I have I have been massaged by a raptor. The Peugeot 308 SW 1.6 HDi 110 Sport is a bitch. And I spanked it.
Troy Queef is Executive Associate Editor-at-large for DAB OF OPPO magazine
