Audi RS 3 Sportback
It’s Windsor Half Marathon time again this morning (where did those 12 months go?), the forecast for which is unseasonably warm. Not the best news for those 6,000 of us running the hilly 13.1-mile course but excellent news post the finish, when it comes to an excuse for a serious rehydration session in the pub.
I love running, it’s the best thing I have ever done. I have never experienced anything else that comes close to helping me relax, switch off and reboot the old grey matter – almost immediately.
It’s humble and honest, with very little kit and fuss to hide behind. It’s also doable any time, any place, anywhere. But it does have one major downside: running has taken a shocking toll on my body.
First, is it any good? The short answer is yes, as well as verging on practical
Sitting behind the wheel for the first time, I was genuinely excited. The RS 3 is not what is referred to as a warm hatch, a hot hatch or even a super hatch but rather a hyper hatch
Since I began training for my first marathon – in secret, almost four years ago – everything below my waist feels like it might shatter or splinter into 1,000 pieces at any moment. Worst of all is the excruciating, never-ending, middle-of-the-night bum-ache.
That’s right, bum-ache, it’s total agony. Even as I write, I can feel an ever-present nagging, stinging, searing, red-hot poker of pain pulsating from deep within my right buttock, shooting down into my thigh, out and around my knee before setting fire to my calf and shin.
All of which is apparently caused by a little muscle called the piriformis being squished into something more akin to beef jerky than human tissue. Dr Phil tells me it’s down to my running style and the fact I don’t raise my knees high enough to fire up my glutes.
The more I thought about the cost, the less I could believe it was the right car
The upshot of which is the biggest muscles in my body are bypassed, leaving the two little Davids above them to do all the heavy lifting. What happens next is the beef jerky rubs up against the sciatic nerve and a whole new world of discomfort is unleashed.
This is mostly why I have been lounging on the sofa at home this week, catching up on series eight of Curb Your Enthusiasm (the funniest and often most inappropriate comedy ever made) instead of succumbing to my usual last-minute maranoia and useless panic-training.
That is, when I could wrestle control of my smartphone back from my wife. Mrs E left hers out in the rain, you see, after a recent drinkcident on holiday. That was almost a month ago, but now she won’t buy a new one until the iPhone 10 is available.
That’s the same iPhone that is spelt X, which everyone is pronouncing Ex instead of ten. The X is meant to represent ten, as in ten-year anniversary of the iPhone, but nobody gets that.
Why Apple bosses ever thought we would beats me. They’ve only ever employed the Arabic numbering system up to this point, so how are we supposed to make the connection to the romantic X all of a sudden?
No such confusion from Audi this week. The car that I was sent was clearly the new RS 3, plain and simple. Although actually not that plain in the flesh at all. It sits lower than ever before, it has chunkier wheel arches than ever before, bigger tailpipes than ever before and is now lighter and more powerful than ever before. It’s also ridiculously more expensive than before. But more of that in a mo’.
First, is it any good? The short answer is yes, as well as verging on practical. The boot is respectably accommodating for a hatchback, three kids seated comfortably in the back shouldn’t be a problem, and neither should two fairly substantial adults in the front.
The power, all 400hp of it, is palpable immediately, regardless of what mode is selected
Access all areas seems to be easy enough, too. The trim is cool and classy, a simple but effective canvas of mostly black, tastefully broken up with little red flashes of excitement, subliminal messages of ‘beware, mischief is on the menu if desired’.
Sitting behind the wheel for the first time, I was genuinely excited. The RS 3 is not what is referred to as a warm hatch, a hot hatch or even a super hatch but rather a hyper hatch, with only three other cars ever mentioned in the same breath: the Mercedes-AMG A45, BMW M2 and mighty Golf R.
Once fired up, the new lightweight 2.5-litre, five-cylinder turbo is happy to rasp with the best of them, sounding like the precocious love child of a ménage à trois between a Ferrari 458, Aston Martin Vanquish and Mercedes-AMG C63.
Not nearly as loud, of course, but with more than enough front to sail through the first audition. The power, all 400hp of it, is palpable immediately, regardless of what mode is selected.
Most extreme is Dynamic, with a launch feature available if you simultaneously deselect electronic stability control. Straight from the off, what feels like an infinite supply of welly is waiting to be told how much and how soon. Gear changes are instant and exciting in both paddle-shift and automatic.
The most fun I found was letting her slip into seventh in auto and then jumping on the throttle. This seems to take the Audi by surprise, necessitating the need for a huge gulp of air, followed by a dramatic Hitchcockesque pause before everything frantically explodes into action and… whoosh, off you go.
Steering is tight, direct and responsive. Grip and handling, via the short wheelbase and Quattro four-wheel-drive, redefines the term ‘on rails’. This is a car that is going to struggle to get out of shape, no matter how talentless the numpty at the wheel.
Once fired up, the new lightweight 2.5-litre, five-cylinder turbo is happy to rasp with the best of them
The ceramic brakes are immense, as one might be entitled to expect. After all, they top the options – at £4,695. And it’s when we begin to peruse this extraordinary list that an alternative Audi reality begins to take hold. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t really want to be paying extra for any option prefixed with the letters R and S.
Like the RS Design Pack at £895, or the RS Sports Exhaust at £1,000. Surely if you buy an RS, everything RS should come with it? Can an RS without an RS Design Pack and RS Sports Exhaust even be an RS in the first place? Something’s going on here. It’s like the RS 3 has become addicted to its own narcissistic options list. There’s even £1,600 in there for a factory upgrade to the top speed from 155mph to 179mph.
The more I thought about the cost, the less I could believe it was the right car. It’s nice-looking – for a sporty hatchback. It’s very comfy – for a sporty hatchback. And it’s extremely quick – for a sporty hatchback. But is it really worth £43,610 plus delivery, road fund licence, half a tank of fuel, number plates and registration fee, adding up to another £1,885, which equals £45,495? Anyone? Bueller? Anyone?
Let’s imagine some of you just answered yes to that question. In which case, let me tell you – that’s without the rest of the extras fitted to the car I drove. Pile those on top and the figure you end up with is a staggering £59,475. Does anyone have the first clue what the heck that’s about? Because no one I’ve discussed it with does, not even remotely.
For a car that’s not nearly as bonkers as many people would like it to be, it takes the biscuit for the most bonkers price tag of the year. And I thought last week’s Range Rover Velar was a touch on the strong side.