Morgan Aero8 Roadtest

Removing the foil wrappers from my Fabergé eggs was a big mistake, as was prising them open to get at the toy inside. The best offer I got was a fiver. And despite spending hours painting a couple of pre-war train sets in Virgin Rail colours to bring them up-to-date, I was still stuck with them at lunch-time; even though I'd painted the boxes to match. That's the last time I do a boot sale.

Mind you, somebody offered me £15 for my coffee mug. He'd spotted the Morgan logo and practically begged me to sell it. It seems he was one of the world's many thousands of Morgan tifosi who support the marque with a fervour at least equal to that witnessed at Old Trafford.

And having recently spent a fascinating afternoon at the company's Malvern Link factory, I can understand why the company enjoys a brand loyalty that most manufacturers would kill for (where legal). More than that, after a week in the Aero8, I admit to now counting myself amongst the faithful.

It was not always so. Until my stint in the Aero8, I had thought of it as slightly oddball, with perhaps nostalgia as its principal attraction. Like Gladly, my cross-eyed bear from childhood, its rather curious headlamp arrangement makes its 'face' look vaguely comical, but within a few short miles behind the wheel I realised there is nothing laughable about its performance and handling. On the contrary; a Le Mans racer in mufti, the Aero8 is one of those cars that has to be taken seriously. With a torque/tonne ratio some 11 per cent superior to the latest Posrche Carrera Turbo, and a top speed of 160 mph, Malvern's finest dramatically asserts itself as a contender in the super-car league. More than that, it's lovingly hand-built using know-how acquired from almost a century of competitive motorsport.

The first thing that confronts you in the Morgan reception area is a roll-call of race and trial victories from the Edwardian period, when the original 3-wheeled roadster was a force to be reckoned with wherever a trophy was to be won. In evident antithesis to the pace of their cars, things move slowly in the factory and changes are wrung from years of deliberation. But the cars themselves remain as quick as ever are seldom absent from any decent club event. And judging from the racing ephemera that covers the walls of the delivery bay, Morgan owners are ready to share their successes with the men that made it possible. The legend lives on.

The Aero8 evolved from the GT2, in which during the '90's a Morgan works team once again took up the motorsport baton, after many years' absence. That in turn morphed into the 2002 GTN Le Mans challenger, the first car to race in Morgan colours at the French circuit since Chris Lawrence's notable class victory 40 years ago. Even the car being prepared for next year's grid still bears a remarkable visual and technical resemblance to the car I drove.

But despite being accredited to world-class motorsport, the Aero8 retains a traditional feature that other manufacturers abandoned with fabric bodies and running boards. I refer, of course, to the ash frame beneath the curvaceous, blow-moulded, aluminium skin.

OK, there's less wood to be found than in a classic Morgan, but the cabin, doors and boot are ash-framed using wood cut, formed and finished in the Morgan factory from raw planks delivered variously from Norway, Denmark and Scotland. And contrary to what you might think, it's as tough as old boots and will absorb impact damage to a degree not possible in sheet steel. Like aluminium, ash has a 'memory', which causes it to spring back into shape after receiving all but the severest clout. I saw an Aer8 that had been involved in a tragically serious accident and the doors opened and closed as freely as a car that had just trundled off the production line.

This ash superstructure is firmly secured to the bonded and riveted aluminium chassis, which is so inherently rigid that anti-roll bars are considered quite unnecessary. Although the platform as stiff as a cast-iron bath, it is light enough to be easily handled by two men and even with the large, V8 BMW power unit in place, the whole car weighs in at barely over 1,000 kilos, hence the excellent torque/tonne ratio.

Yet there is nothing lightweight to the feel of the car. In best circuit-racer tradition the Aero8 always feels planted, even at walking pace. The starchy, fine-tuned suspension offers little in the way of compromise and that translates into an intimate, phrenological relationship with the road that's disturbed only when encountering the sort of patchwork repairs deployed by the Pikey Roadstone Company. And unlike most of its socially engineered 'rivals', the Aero8 delivers a tactile response at once both robust and sensitive. The pedals and steering are quite heavy, and the bolt-action 6-speed Getrag 'box is not for the limp-wristed, but the feedback penetrates the musculature like three-dimensional sonar, to be both felt and listened to as you might a symphony scored by engineers unafraid of revealing their emotions.

With all four wheels doing what they should - staying put - grip and traction borders on the remarkable, especially for a car that, on paper at least, should scuttle about like a startled rabbit. With 440 of Mr Newton's metres squirting through the back wheels of a car weighing less than a MINI, there's plenty of scope for mischief. But I swear if the car had a voice it would whisper " Trust me, trust me," as all reasonable limits of adhesion are reached and passed without so much as a flick of its half-timbered tail. For sure, you can defy common sense (for which the Aero8 makes huge allowances) but unless your intent is deliberately to strain the relationship between tyres and tarmac, where you point is where you go.

So called 'intervention control' is limited to three crucial things, all of them traditional. Firstly a limited slip differential in the rear axle, the archetypal must-have for all serious performance drivers. Next up are the huge vented discs with AP racing callipers to Morgan's own specification. The third, and arguably most vital, is an intuitive computer with sensors located at various extremities to measure visual, audio and tactile signals and respond accordingly. It is assumed that all Aero8 purchasers will possess one of these.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Aero8 in particular and the Morgan philosophy in general, I should point out that the car's inventory of emotional dividends includes a cockpit that transcends mere ergonomics. In a sort of interactive display dedicated to the morganatic marriage of tradition and progress, simple and sophisticated share one purpose in common - to ignite a vital spark of anticipation prior to firing up the engine. An array of cream and blue analogue instruments spread themselves across a hammered aluminium dashboard (fascia would be the wrong word) trimmed with a sculptured ash bezel. Above and below the instruments are various push-buttons, rotary controls for the air conditioning and a row of lights to indicate what's on, where.

Beneath the dashboard, and at a bit of a stretch, is the fly-off handbrake, just ahead of the hefty gear lever. The 'glove box', is a removable, monogrammed leather case and between the figure-hugging seats there is a small, electronic, switchable display to indicate both tyre pressures and external temperature.

Straight ahead, beyond the large steering wheel, exists a singular view along the tapering bonnet that intersects the broad wings. In such an environment, it takes very little effort to imagine yourself as a well-heeled gentleman racer off to rub shoulders, but not those expensive-looking wings, with the great and wonderful. The straight-ahead view is about all you get. The view to the nearside is restricted by a large interior mirror and rather awkwardly parked wipers. The rear view is also restricted by the shallow window in the fold-away, pram-hood roof, which has been upgraded for 2003 to provide a better fit and easier operation.

At just under £30,000 per occupant, Aero8 motoring doesn't come cheap, The car I drove, with leather seats and metallic paint, would set you back £58,000. But unlike robot-built production-car drivers, Aero8 owners get that crucial extra constituent that money alone cannot buy - all those hours of hand-crafted workmanship as old as the hills that look down on the scattering of brick-built Edwardian workshops. Even my complimentary coffee was made by hand. The metal-clad, state-of-the-art paint shop erected in the last decade seems almost an affront.

If ever you are faced with the need to fit a quart into a pint pot, it might be worth having a word with Chris Lawrence, Morgan's technical director and former Le Mans class winner. Somehow he has managed, along with Charles Morgan and other members of the design team, to shoe-horn the 4.4-litre, 286 bhp BMW engine into a bay scarcely able to accommodate its impressive bulk. Bordering on what engineers call an interference fit, the space is so tight that the cylinder heads partially project beneath the wings. Room to spare, there is not; not even for cladding to absorb some of the V8's lusty sound signature. But why would you want to?

For anyone accustomed to latter-day, soft-option motoring, the Aero8 is likely to prove something of a shock. In many respects it is the ultimate driver's car if what you seek is just that - driving pleasure - and not simply to be wafted along in an over-servoed, sensually remote pleasure-dome like a richly cosseted steering-wheel attendant. The Morgan's transmission clunks a bit in low ratios, the brakes are inclined to squeal and there is just about enough room for you and your aspirations, but not a lot else. The ride is hard, the power accessed via its electronic throttle awesome and the cabin laden with sensations of power and glory days that once again beckon.

One word describes it: unique. And it's no good; I must own one. But the only way that's likely to occur is if I persevere with the boot sales. So, anyone by any chance interested in a tatty old Picasso sketch? I've coloured it in nicely.