Under the bonnet, beneath the snow-shoe heating ducts, there is a 2.5-litre five-cylinder Volvo engine. That does not sound like a particularly enticing starting point but you only have to look at how delightful it became in the Ford Focus ST to know that silk purses can be made from sows’ udders.

And for the RS it has been given new pistons, a new management system, a new turbo — a new everything, really, so that the end result is a whopping 300bhp. That’s nearly a hundred more than you get from the Golf. And that’s before we get to the 325 torques: 119 more than you get from the Golf.

No one has ever put a 300bhp engine in a front-wheel-drive car before. Not that long ago, most car companies argued that 175 was the maximum. Any more and you’d be in a world of lost traction, torque steer, burning rubber, pain, misery and death.

To get round this problem on the last Focus RS, which delivered only 220bhp, a front differential was fitted. This didn’t work at all. Put your foot down hard, the steering wheel would lock in your hands and you would spear into the nearest tree.

On the new RS, there’s a new type of diff allied to a new type of suspension setup called the RevoKnuckle. It is extremely boring and it doesn’t work properly either. You still get torque steer and the wheel doesn’t half feel weird in the bends.

However, there is no doubt that you can go round corners in the RS at a speed that can boggle your mind, and then use g-forces to squeeze it out of your left ear. What’s more, you can put one of the driven wheels into a puddle while cornering and the little hatch will still not deviate from the line you’ve chosen. Around Ford’s test track, we are told the RS is actually faster than the 5-litre GT.

Do not imagine, however, that it’s some kind of stripped-out racer with all the interior fixtures and fittings removed and replaced with air. Instead of scaffolding in the back and carbon fibre, you get a voice-activated command centre that handles the satellite navigation and the stereo, a sunglasses holder, air-conditioning, a million acres of leather and plenty of dials telling you all the things you don’t really need to know.

It is as luxurious in there as it is in a top-flight Mercedes. And about as comfortable. No, really — despite the tyres, which sit on the wheels like a coat of paint, it rides nicely. Which is a good thing because the bucket seats, finished in the same colour as the exterior for added vulgarity, offer lots in the way of lateral support but not much protection from bumps for the buttocks.

I loved this car in the same way that I love nearly all fast Fords. Once, in the dim and distant past, I even ran an Escort Cosworth, which was no shrinking violet either. But something has changed since then. Maybe it’s me, or maybe it’s the world. I don’t know. But I do know I could not ever drive an RS on a day-to-day basis. It would sit outside my house about as well as a ceramic collie.

You may be different. You may not want the Golf because you want people to see how well the tanning salon business is doing. You may like to signal your arrival at parties with a Colonel Bogey air horn. You may choose to wear your hat back to front, and your trousers in such a way that we can see your pants. You may admire Wayne and Coleen. If so, you will love the RS.

Me, though: I just wish they did a Cotswold version. Exactly the same but in olive green and with seats made from the Duke of Edinburgh.

Ford Focus RS

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