Fear not, this is no hostile hallucination but merely a robust report of the crisp characters that adorn the rump of the hatchback I am helming for today I find myself in the business bay of Mitsubishi’s most nubile newcomer, the Mirage.
When I popped the locks at shock o’clock first impressions were of a diminutive demeanour ripe for a righteous ride to the ragged edge. From the density of the doors to the slide of the seats, there is a indelible impression of added lightness and major controls marinated in perky purposefulness.
So far, this micro Mitsu has sometimes literally soaked up all that is asked of it in the aqueous playground of the roads near Kettering. At the business end the thrumming three sends spiky spurts of urge through twin tyres of anorexic aspect which also enact the crisp commands of the tri-spoke tiller. Factor in a shifter as slick as an olive oil octopus and anchors avaricious for action and this baby ‘bishi seems to have all the answers. Question is, will the Mirage melt when it’s given the full pace Paxman?
As the ruinous rain recedes I sub-consciously step up the pedalling and dial in some dynamism to this previously jaunty journey. All at once the Mirage seems to telepathically tell that things are about to get serious. The motor may be light on litres but it romps to the red line like a gasoline guzzling greyhound as the chassis chews up all that the aquiline blacktop can fire at its axles. Piling with purpose into an especially sinuous switchback I peel my paw from the power pedal and feel the mini Mit’s benign backend come into play. I simply catch it with a dab of oppo and I’m away.
The Mitsubishi Mirage 1.2 MIVEC 3 is a bitch. And I spanked it.
Troy Queef is Executive Associate Editor-At-Large for DAB OF OPPO magazine