Judith Hann, that lady with big hair from Tomorrow’s World, lied. In the 1980s
she said that in the far-off future transportation would involve hovering to
work in a giant chrome-plated chrysalis. That even by the Millennium cars
would no longer use the internal combustion engine but a new type of power
source weighing less than a satchel of kiwi fruit that could propel us to
100mph on compressed cow farts. Things haven’t exactly gone to plan. I
should have smelt a rat the minute she wiped jam all over a CD and told me
it would still play without a flaw.
So what has actually happened? Well, the internet, for a start. Millions of
folk now spend hours on Farcebook e-mailing people they used to grope in the
school dinner queue to see how big their house is these days or to check if
they’ve blossomed into a stunning divorcée. In the world of transport we
have a sprinkling of hybrids that look dull and aren’t half as eco-friendly
as the advertising campaigns claim. There are also lots of green pledges
from car makers and exhibits with flashing LEDs at motor shows, and Arnold
Schwarzenegger, the one-time Terminator, now governor of California, claims
to be building a hydrogen highway network for his Hummer H2H. Interesting,
but hardly The Jetsons, is it?
Meanwhile the price of fuel has risen 15p a litre in 12 months, the government
has stumbled on something called an emissions tax and the mayor of London
has developed an unhealthy obsession with “gas guzzlers” to the point where
he now wants to charge anyone driving one £25 a day to enter the capital.
So until hydrogen becomes available at the local BP garage and air-powered
Tatas can be bought for £4,000, the future of motoring is going to be
defined by something that was never mentioned on Tomorrow’s World: thrift.
Steptoe-spec small cars with huge fossil-fuel-burning efficiency.
This is where a small Korean car maker comes in. Hyundai has always struggled
to find a niche in the car market. In the boom years just gone, when
everyone was busy remortgaging their house to buy an Audi, its cheap and
cheerful cars just didn’t have the right appeal. Now, in these greener and
more frugal times, it has spotted an opening and is relaunching itself as
the manufacturer of small, futuristic transportation pods that make up in
price and prudence what they lack in prestige and power. The first of them
is called the i10 and it was launched earlier this month.
Things hadn’t gone too well on the day of the Hyundai i10’s arrival at my
house. After breakfast I walked to the bank, queued for an hour and then
realised I’d totally forgotten all of the necessary documents. Rain took me
hostage on the way home and then I was greeted with the pungent stench of
animal sick. The cat had resprayed the lower portion of the lounge curtains.
Instant dilemma. Shall I leave it to set or drown the lot in Dettol while
it’s fresh? Doorbell rings.
Opening the front door reveals a small car wearing this season’s must-have
design feature – the trapezial lower front mouth – and a poppy-red paint job.
The info sheet on the seat says this is a 1.1 Classic, the most
poverty-stricken version of the i10 range. So that’s what “classic” means
these days. Not a version with a Turnbull & Asser-styled interior but
the bog-standard, no-frills entry model. And what’s all this “i” about? It
wasn’t so long ago that “i” on a car simply stood for “injection”. Now it’s
all bloody iPod, Mitsubishi i, iRobot and Wiiiiii.
Feeling misled about its credentials, I gave the i10 “Classic” a chance to
redeem itself by helping me collect something called a Freedom office chair
(with headrest) from Pinner, in the western outskirts of London. The
interior of the car features what I like to call Korean dash: a random
combination of textured plastics that mimics reptile skin, wood and leather.
That’s a compliment, by the way. The i10 has the feel of a more expensive
chariot, which belies its £6,495 price tag. It also has electric power
steering, front windows that require zero elbow grease, real working disc
brakes and an indicator stalk on the correct side of the steering wheel.
I can officially report that Hyundai has provided plain fabric seats that are
not adorned with infant play-mat patterns and are comfortable for people
over 6ft (rare in a car this size). It also has more rear passenger space
than a Mini and a bigger boot than a Fiat 500. Linkin Park and the Beastie
Boys sound punchy through the six speakers but feel highly inappropriate.
A polite notice on the dash declares that there isn’t a rear wiper on this
preproduction mule but there will be on the ones you buy. Not that I care.
I’m too busy revving the little engine for all it is worth. On paper, beards
could grow quicker than the i10 goes (062mph is reached in 15.6sec) yet on
the road the 1.1 feels deceptively spritely. Up to 40mph at least, it’s
actually fun. I must just say something about the gearlever: Star Wars fans
will know that the highly collectable Darth Vader action figure from the
1970s had a cape made of very thin black plastic, which looked more like a
flasher mac. They were often lost in sandpits and surviving examples are
worth good money. A surplus stash of capes was obviously found by Hyundai
and put to good use as gaiters for the i10’s dash-integrated gearlever. The
idea works well and the slick little five-cog gearbox puts a lot of cars to
shame.
Okay, so it isn’t a thrill-a-minute Broad bruiser and I wouldn’t advise trying
to overtake anything unless you have half a mile of uninterrupted tarmac
ahead of you, but that is hardly the point. Nor does it look particularly
interesting, but then no one ever bought a supermini to be fashionable. At
the top of the range, the Style version has the addition of 15in alloy
wheels, a grained metal fascia, a rear roof spoiler and an electric sunroof,
but really that is like boasting that your grandad owns a pair of Converse
All Stars.
No, the real point of the i10, and its greatest strength, is its value for
money. Here comes the miser science. As well as its bargain-basement price
it also has a five-year unlimited-mileage warranty and can do 64mpg on the
open road. Because it exhales less than 120g/km CO2 it costs just £35 a year
to tax and (from October 27) escapes the London congestion charge scot free.
Classic? No. Intelligent? ii, Cap’n.
The Classic also caters pretty well in terms of extras: it has air-con as
standard (which you don’t even get on an £18,000 BMW 118i), four airbags,
Isofix child-seat mountings, electric windows, body-colour bumpers, central
locking and an integrated radio with MP3-compatible CD player. Its price
undercuts those of the Toyota Aygo, the Smart, the Vauxhall Corsa, the Fiat
Panda and 500, the Daihatsu Sirion, rubbish French microcars and the
bomb-worthy Reva G-Wiz.
Be warned, however – have eyes for only the Classic. The minute you pay more
for Style or tick the Comfort model auto-gearbox option, the CO2 threshold
is breached and bang goes all logical reasoning for i10 ownership.
But let’s be clear about this car: it is something you buy because you have
to, not a machine of passion. And if you buy one you should treat it with
disdain: wring its 12-valve neck, pinball it around cities and welcome the
scars from scooter handlebars. Don’t talk to friends about it, don’t show
pics of it on MyFace and don’t expect females to grin and drop their linen
as you fizz by. Instead think of all the carbon offset credits you are
accumulating. Credits that you can invest in a proper car at the weekend.
Come Friday evening it’s time to cash in and you should treat yourself to some
charisma. Bin the i10 out of sight down some back alley and uncloak a proper
classic. I suggest a pre1973, tax-exempt, Gordon Brown-baiting classic. A
V8, please. A 1950s Alfa, for example. A 1960s Jag or a 1970s fast Ford. My
poison? A 1964 Chevrolet Impala Super Sport Coupé. It’s 18½ft long, 5.7
litres and about as subtle as Siegfried and Roy’s garden rockery. And don’t
forget to rub it in the face of Porsche Cayenne lager louts who face annual
taxes of £950 if Alistair Darling gets his way.
The i10, then, is the ideal tender to a historic land yacht. It’s future-proof
for five years. After that (come warranty lapse) leave it outside a charity
shop and pop the V5 through the door.
And there’s nearly a moral to the story. A girl I know laughed at me when she
saw me drive away in the i10 after a game of basketball. Her boyfriend has a
new Audi TT on HP. I have a beautiful tax-free V8 weekend warrior and,
because of the i10, a clear environmental conscience. And no debt. Even
Judith Hann might be impressed.
Vital statistics
Model Hyundai i10 1.1 Classic
Engine 1086cc, inline four
Power 65bhp @ 5500rpm
Torque 73 lb ft @ 2800rpm
Transmission Five-speed manual
Fuel 56.5mpg (combined cycle)
CO2 119g/km
Acceleration 0-62mph in 15.6sec
Top speed 95mph
Price £6,495
Road tax band B (£35 a year)
On sale Now
Verdict Very cheap thrills
