Morgan Aero 8 SupersportsIt is probably fair to say that both Top Gear and Autoscout24.ch are seriously bad for my health - or more accurately the health of my wallet. My Morgan fascination had dimmed slightly over the last couple of years until I had almost forgotten about the brand a few weeks ago. Then Mr "POWWWEEERRRRRR" and his chums celebrated all that was british - and for a few brief seconds showed a Morgan on screen.
That was all it took - and I was scanning through the classifieds on Autoscout. To be frank it doens't take too long looking at Morgans - with only 30 for sale you are hardly spoiled for choice. As I scrolled down my eyes rested on the Supersport - and then the price - a well specced B3x Touring price.
With time available this morning I headed out for a pre-arranged test drive - and I was fully prepared to regret meeting my hero. But then you wander around the Morgan - drink in the curves in the same way you would admire a beautiful woman. The dinky door opens to reveal a compact and distinctly old fashioned cabin. Roof removed and car driven out of the showroom it was my turn. Key turned. Bracing myself. Starter button thumbed.
I was suddenly taken back 70 years - to young men - donning leathers and goggles - pulling cockpit canopies closed - and firing a Merlin V12 into life. The Morgan's engine may have seen service in BMW's top end executive saloons - but in the Morgan the gloves were off - and the sound was the most intoxicating this side of a LeMans GT car.
Slipping the car into D and letting the ZF box do the work is a blessed relief. The compact footwell (with left foot rest) would be an incredibly tight squeeze should a third pedal be required.
Those first few minutes were a haze of wild sensations - the steering heavy yet light - causing the front end (seemingly in another post code) to dart at the slightest touch. The gearbox slipping from 1 ratio to the next without fuss. The suspension firm but supple in its responses. There was only 1 thing for it - get onto a stretch of motorway and let the senses get aclimitised to the barrage of information.
It didn't take long for me to dial into the car - the steering comes together as the speed builds - the rides moves from controlled to positively superb and the Morgan glides along like any other car. The fact the speedometer was completely unreadable above 70kmh was the first foible I picked up on. Diving off the motorway the Morgan begins to reveal a little more of its latent character. The brakes are strong - very strong. Big AP racing racing calipers gripping the front end with a good feel to the pedal.
By now the gearbox had been tapped over into manual and cruising through the little town of Dornach it was held in 2nd gear - while the side exit exhausts were issuing wake up calls to anyone who hadn't yet risen for the day. As the houses ended - and the urban traffic regulations ceased to hold back the Morgan - I gave the long travel throttle a healthy stab and the car came alive.
The first few corners were a blur - approaching in 3rd gear - on the brakes - nudging forward into 2nd - then throttle - throttle and more throttle. The ears, hands and eyes almost overwhelmed as the cars 1180kg weight was utterly dominated by 367 bavarian horses. The exhausts roared on each straight - not letting up as the next gear was tapped home.
It was quick to settle into the Morgans rhythm though - having not taken brave pills in the morning I wasn't pushing the (non-DSC) limits of adhesion, instead allowing the almost over specced brakes to shed the speed. The steering, that had at lower speeds felt other worldly, was now alive. Telegraphing each bump beautifully, giving you absolute confidence it where the front end was and where it was going. But the Morgans trump card is the suspension - it is tight, controlled but remarkably softly sprung - and allows the driver to push further than they initially thought.
An hour after leaving the garage we rolled back in - in 1st gear - the side exhausts spewing forth hell like venom - a complete and utter juxtaposition to its old world, almost chocolate box looks - the front anyway. Standing outside afterwards the car looks so peaceful - cotswold cottage at the front - Gotham City hero from the back.
You could so easily walk away from the Morgan focusing on its tangible failings that just don't exist in modern cars : visible windscreen bondings; lack of heated seats (although the diff/transmission did a good job anyway); a flickering air-con light; woeful air-con performance (although it was 27c outside); a terrible looking stereo; a complete lack of standard equipment. But the Morgan doesn't trade on that, instead it goes down the road less well trodden. It tugs at your heart strings with looks that only a mother could love; it serenades you with a soundtrack that Killing Joke would have been proud to have written; and it reminds you, without a shadow of doubt, that driving, real, unfettered driving, is about emotion. It is about making you smile. And in the case of the Morgan, it is about making everyone else who sees and hears it smile too.
I have heard about you Geordies, I need a foreign language course to venture there I believe. 
geddit? )
