As another British summer seems to slip through our fingers like liquid mercury through a net of lasers, the East Midlands slumbers under an inverted damp duvet of infinite cloud. Yet beneath this sky-borne sheet of solid sunblock a solitary streak flashes across the verdant vista locked on a vector that simply spells ‘Kettering’.
The sun may be snuffed from view but the feisty flyer that fires like a leopard from a Luger across the lazy landscape brings its own heat haze, burning with the nubile heat of newness. Yes, I am moving Swiftly and that capitalisation is no terrible typo for the newcomer I am pedaling is none other than Suzuki’s womb fresh baby, re-birthed for the start of the ‘10s.
First appearances might confound even the most anal anorak with an exterior that is cut from the same cute cloth that made its predecessor prettier than a peach perched on Penelope Cruz yet underneath that perky pelt is a mechanical make up as fresh as a fairies fart. Question is, how does she sing when you ask her to dance?
First impressions are of an engine that’s zestier than a lemon enema, hooked tight to a gearchange so slick you could be stirring a box of butter. But all this will be as useless as a dog in a dress if the chassis is soggier than a cardboard codpiece so can the MacPherson strut as the torsion makes you beam? Attacking a customary cluster of corners is soon going to smoke out the solution. And straight away it seems little Suzy likes to shimmy with more grip than an arsenal of anacondas and handling that’s as adjustable as an Anglepoise.
Piling in hot to a seasoned switchback I slam shut the power pedal and feel the pert posterior attempt to swap ends. I simply catch it with a dab of oppo and I’m away.
The Suzuki Swift 1.2 SZ3 is a bitch. And I spanked it.
Troy Queef is Executive Associate Editor-At-Large for DAB OF OPPO magazine
