First Drive

The stalwart Vauxhall Astra will, finally, get a fully electric model later this year – a big move for the British firm that it hopes pushes on sales of its already popular family hatch and which boss James Taylor says is “almost the last piece in the puzzle” ahead of its EV-only lineup coming in 2028.

And as questions are raised about the future of the firm’s sportier models in this upcoming electric age, especially since it killed off the GSi performance brand (and even hotter VRX-badge models which is still yet to get an electric rebirth), we welcome this: the Astra GSe.

Launched alongside the bigger Vauxhall Grandland GSe crossover, the Astra GSe (for Grand Sport electric), is the future of the warmed up Vauxhalls, the brand says, as it rises from GSi ashes –  a 40-year legacy which included the Nova GSi, Manta GSi and Mk3 Astra GSi.

So, an electric hot hatch then to kick off the named “electric” subbrand? Nope, you’d be wrong there. In a different approach, the British marque has instead launched GSe with a hatch powered partly by dinosaurs with a sprinkling of electrical aid.

What that means is the same 1.6-litre turbo petrol engine (assisted by a 107bhp electric motor and 9.9kWh battery) as found in the standard 178bhp Astra PHEV, but now uprated to 222bhp. An eight-speed automatic ‘box – which sadly doesn’t hold onto manually selected gears long enough - sends this to the front wheels.

The Astra GSe sits above the Astra Hybrid 180 in the range and additionally gets a more dynamic suspension set-up, with a 10mm-lower ride height, Koni frequency-selective dampers and a more permissive stability control system. Standard equipment is also pretty generous, with a head-up display, matrix LED headlights, wireless charging and a suite of driver assistance features. Visually, it’s marked out as the GSe by unique 18in alloy wheels, a unique front bumper and a black roof.

Billed as Vauxhall’s answer to the Volkswagen Golf GTE, it delivers nippy-ish performance, sprinting to 62mph from standing in 7.5sec (compared to the Golf’s 6.7sec) and pushes all the way to 146mph. Although it doesn't have a plethora of power, it’s nice to know you can deploy it all without ending up on a speed awareness course. This might all sound disappointing, and if you were hoping for a more ecologically responsible VXR successor, it will be. 

But, there are plus points: on the road, it pulls well. With the chassis tweaked for stiffness and steering tightened compared to the standard car, the GSe feels at home on British B-roads – especially with Sport mode enabled, which weights the wheel and keeps the engine primed. It takes corners well, aided by this pleasingly direct steering, which leaves a satisfying, rather than excited, feeling. Yet, this new stiffened set-up means it loses its soft, comfortable nature in normal driving, feeling harder than the standard car. It’s not horrendous by any means, just a tad on the noticeable side.

Yet, sadly, that is where any sort of engagement ends. For with a sporty model, what you need is connection; that feeling. And this powertrain just doesn’t deliver it. Yes it has some warmed-up poke, but where is the sound? There really is nothing to make you want to tickle the accelerator. Visually, there’re not even any visible exhausts.

This is a real shame, as the rest of the car makes you feel like you’re in a top-spec model. For those who’ve been in the new Astra, the Astra GSe is a collection of very familiar elements. Inside, it’s the same brilliantly laid out cabin (as part of the firm’s new Modern Solid language), but materials – such as padded leather and metal touchpoints – are more in line with its just over £40,000 pricetag. It’s no BMW, but it’s a nice place to be. 

Sadly, the only nod to the hatch’s sportier credentials are two GSe badges, both just under the headrest that can’t be seen when actually sitting in the car. As we’re talking about those new sporty seats, clad in Alcantara, they could also have done with a tad more lateral support, too.

Yet, at that rather premium price, buyers will, understandably, be comparing it to the £38,000 Ford Focus ST, and even the £36,000 Hyundai i30N. Both are similarly sized, but offer buckets more involvement, feel, and are true hot hatches. 

As it stands, the GSe is only £150 more expensive than the similarly equipped but slower 180 Hybrid Ultimate, which renders the latter slightly redundant. The GSe is still not cheap, mind, but it's better value than the equivalent Volkswagen Golf GTE, Peugeot 308 or Cupra Leon hybrid.

One question, then, remains. What is the point of this car? It feels confused, but maybe that’s unfair, especially when the buyer of this car is considered. That’s because that buyer will be one who will most likely be settling rather than choosing. It will be one who sets out to buy a true hot hatch – like the above mentioned – but after totting up the tax, commuting fuel cost (even with a quick hoon, it averaged around 40mpg – and will do even more in hybrid and full-electric modes), and the dreaded insurance bands, the Vauxhall becomes the much more affordable option. 

Sure, maybe I’m being a cynic and there will be buyers who truly want an Astra GSe, but to me, it feels like a missed opportunity, and translates as more of a top-end trim level rather than the debut model in a new electric performance brand. As we noted in the car’s international launch, don’t be fooled by the sporty badge: the Astra GSe isn’t.

You might well wonder why any of us should get particularly excited about the new Porsche 911 Sport Classic, driven here in the UK for the first time.

This is yet another limited-edition (and sold out) supercar that costs a fortune and, even in the narrow context of the 992-generation 911, doesn't actually debut anything fresh beyond some admittedly delicious details. A whiff of style-over-substance emanates from the 1250-off Sport Classic, even if it does look oil-spill slick.

Its core elements are well known. The body is 911 Turbo specification, hence the Christina Hendricks hips. So is the engine, although for this application Porsche has detuned its twin-turbo 3.8-litre flat six from 572 to 542bhp, 110lb ft of torque also being lost in the process. At this point, it’s worth remembering the Sport Classic costs a full 718 Boxster more than the epic Turbo, at £214k.

The manual ’box and suspension are also familiar, and if you spent enough on a Carrera S, you could get close to recreating the offbeat cabin, down to the lovely open-pore wood dash trim. Note, though, that the green-hued tacho referencing the phosphorus of the original 1964 911 is unique – and plain beautiful.

Note also that this car, despite the asking price, isn’t a creation of Porsche’s GT division. That’s why it doesn’t get the double-wishboned front axle from perhaps the only other 911 that matches the Sport Classic for specialness, the GT3, nor that car’s heavenly 9000rpm 4.0-litre flat six. It’s instead a product of Porsche Exclusive Manufaktur, which has always been openly concerned more about matters of style.

All of which means it comes as a surprise to discover that not only is the Sport Classic overflowing with its own authentic dynamic character but also that it’s possibly the most rewarding road-centric car the 992 generation has yet yielded. Think of it as a 911 Turbo crossed with a RWD Carrera GTS, only with better ride quality than either and an exquisitely well judged level of real-world shove. Few if any sports cars this rarified are so approachable, exploitable and enjoyable in everyday use.

The reason the Sport Classic feels so sweet on the road stems from Porsche's removing of the front driveshafts from the Turbo donor chassis. The result of this isn’t just on-demand oversteer (which the Sport Classic will absolutely do, although with 315-section rear Pirellis, it isn’t permanently primed for mischief, there being enormous traction on offer). Less weight at the front means it can run a lower spring rate, and at the same time, that substantial engine from the Turbo isn’t exactly light – or weedy.

This combination of a delicate nose and a sledgehammer rear gives the Sport Classic something of an old-fashioned 911 handling balance, only with levels of control and finesse that are bang up to date.

It’s the car’s gait that’s truly brilliant, though. That softness at the leading axle makes it so plush seemingly on any road you point it down, and while it doesn’t exhibit the GT3’s whipcrack turn-in, those who do properly use their Sport Classic should welcome the trade-off. Body control is still outstanding, though – strict but never severe and with a butteryness on corrugated roads that reminds one of the old 911 GT3, before it went He-Man.

Of course, there’s no GT-division firecracker in the boot, but the 3.8-litre Turbo unit does fizz with induction roar at the top end in a way the Carrera’s 3.0-litre motor doesn’t. The modest but noticeable turbo lag can in this age also be chalked up as a character-enhancing asset.

Pushing against 1570kg, a peak of 443lb ft (a neutered figure to protect the gearbox) also feels just right on the road: not so much that you’re afraid to pin the accelerator in second but enough to rotate the Sport Classic through bends with a little weight transfer on the way in. This engine simply makes you work less hard than the GT3 one and the handling, when you really get stuck into it, is super-forgiving and almost ridiculously malleable.

Less lovable (but only slightly) is the gearbox. The action is well sprung and the overdrive is excellent for touring, but more of an analogue sensation – of linkages shifting – would set things off, because the steering and pedals are very intuitive and engaging (although there’s auto-blip, if you want it). As ever with the 911, tyre roar is also considerable, although the Sport Classic is a church compared with the GT3 Touring.

As for the styling, well, it’s all there to see. The cartoonishly big Fuchs alloy wheels, the gold lettering, the houndstooth upholstery, the Carrera 2.7 RS-esque ducktail (with a ram-air intake at the base making up for sealing the Turbo’s signature arch intakes).

Whether you love this car's looks or consider it chintzy overkill, it’s underwritten by an old-school swagger that becomes apparent only once you’ve slid behind the wheel, which is what makes the Sport Classic unexpectedly covetable. It doesn’t do much that a judiciously specified Carrera S wouldn’t do but has a X-factor, both dynamically and aesthetically.

There is about £2500 between the list price of this mid-range four-cylinder diesel example of the new Volkswagen Amarok and the equivalent Ford Ranger with which it shares so much. Both pick-ups are arriving in UK showrooms at roughly the same time, are built in the same South African factory and have the same ladder-frame chassis, suspension and powertrain hardware.

However, while Ford continues to bowl at the volume pick-up market with the Ranger, its new commercial vehicle bedfellow VW is sticking with the Amarok’s familiar ‘lifestyle pick-up’ premium positioning. And, on the evidence of our first UK drive, the VW may just about carry off that billing.

The funny thing is, the Amarok has a broader derivative range now than it did in first-generation form. It’s offered as a double-cab only, but you can have one with a manual transmission and a 168bhp 2.0-litre diesel if you like for less than £35k before VAT. Or you can go the whole singing-and-dancing warthog on a £58k Aventura V6 TDI. But even if you only get as far up the range as a mid-level, 202bhp 2.0-litre twin-turbo diesel Amarok Style, you’ll still end up with a very pleasant and well-mannered pick-up.

The double-cab interior provides decent space for adults in both rows (VW says leg room has grown significantly with the new-gen model’s longer wheelbase) and up front the Amarok Style’s electrically adjustable seats offer good comfort and a fine driving position.

The cabin includes recognisable elements from both Ford’s parts bin (gear selector, door switches, indicator stalks) and Volkswagen’s (steering wheel), but they come together fine. The ambience is quite upmarket by pick-up standards. There’s some material variety and richness to it – a faux-leather dashtop and some decorative trim – although elsewhere there are a few hard and shiny mouldings.

The Amarok uses a lightly reskinned version of Ford’s Sync 4 infotainment system and it works respectably well, although it could still use a physical cursor scroller as an alternative to touchscreen operation. The digital instruments are rendered very clearly, and the steering wheel controls for the trip computer menus are proper buttons rather than touch-sensitive ones, which will suit glove wearers.

The 2.0-litre diesel engine isn’t as quiet or smooth as the V6, but it’s still impressively mechanically refined by pick-up standards. It idles quietly, has only a small amount of a distant clatter under load, and when revving, it’s much better isolated than the bigger four-pot of a Toyota Hilux, for example.

The 10-speed automatic gearbox has some of the feel, on the road, of a continuously variable transmission – that gentle initial engagement (useful when you’re carrying heavy loads, towing or driving off road) and the tendency only to rev 500rpm or so between upshifts when accelerating on part throttle. It’s smooth, though, and gives the Amarok all the on-road performance that a vehicle of this size and brief really needs.

For ride comfort and handling, since a mid-spec Amarok Style runs on 18in wheels with chunky-sidewalled ‘mud and sand’ tyres, it deals with UK country roads reasonably well – better, certainly, than the range-topping Aventura V6 TDI we tried (which has heavier 21s and lower-profile rubber). The ride is initially firmer and slightly fussier than that of most pick-ups, but its damping and isolation are better. Body control is quite good by class standards too.

If you want a new flatbed with some passenger car refinement and sophistication, the new Amarok’s raised game ought to put it in strong contention, but you would be wise to avoid the priciest engines and trims.