This week I am feeling my age. It’s your fault, Vauxhall.
I’m driving a Corsa VXR and every under-21 year old is staring in rapt admiration for its body styling and street cred.
I, on the other hand, think it looks like it has been involved in a ram raid at Halfords.
At a time when most manufacturers hide their hot hatches under a cloak of, if not anonymity, then slight understatement, the Corsa mimics a little girl who has found mummy’s makeup.
It has driven through Bitz R Us and come out with every spoiler, air dam, silver plastic knick-knack and even a sooo tomorrow triangular tail pipe stuck to it.
All of which matters not a jot. I love it.The VXR is the stuff of ruptured spleens. It is hard-headed bare-knuckled adult driving that should only be sold in licensed sex shops. If you love motors this is why. It is, without a doubt, the sort of car that has the ox-cart tendency asking you to justify your very existence. Tell them to sod off.
Here’s the thing, though. With the irony of the old football adage that just when you learn to play the game your legs go, the VXR demands a high level of maturity. No, really, it does.
If you have mates you call Kenno, Johno and Ricado you will love the way Vauxhall has made the car in the image of a hooker’s fancy dress outfit. On the other hand if you do come from the generation that calls its sons Keanu you probably won’t be able to afford one. Not the £16,000 price, the insurance.
Flirt in a skirt
Yes,your bum looks big in this
Inside the Corsa's knicker draw
Brilliant seats
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