Volkswagen Golf R

Back when Volkswagen introduced the Mk6 GTi to the fraternity of automotive scribblers, they provided us with a small but perfectly formed shoal of Mk.1 cars to sample. However, initial glee at first glimpse of a taut, pugnacious form that hasn’t been bettered in any subsequent iteration rapidly turned to horror after just 30 seconds behind the wheel.

The tartan seat upholstery-sponsored experience was, frankly, ghastly. An absence of power steering meant that the simple act of leaving the car park required arms like condoms stuffed full of walnuts; the GTi proved nothing like as fast as memory served; and the stopping power of the brakes was right up there with rubbing a small block of well-oiled mahogany against the carriage sides of a passing express train.

All of which serves to reinforce two points. Firstly, that each successive generation of Golf has been a better drive than its predecessor, and, secondly, as demonstrated by the woeful Mk3 and 4 models, that the same absolutely does not apply in the looks department.

To this jaded eye, the seventh generation Golf looked pretty much perfect, whilst the Mk8, here in R guise, is decidedly a step in the wrong direction. The front is, to put it bluntly, no longer good looking. The overworked headlights look mean spirited rather than simply mean. And the lower half is styled on the mouth of Aardman Animations’ Wallace on learning that the cheese has run out. 

On board, whilst a perfectly sized perforated leather helm, large paddle shifters that should be metal and a snug, supportive sports seat gang up to give the ideal driving position, the rest of the experience is ruined by everything glossy black that also ails the standard Mk8.

That means twin 10-inch screens, touch sensitive air-conditioning and radio volume controls that don’t illuminate after dark (it’s hard enough to hit them on the move by day), and haptic feedback steering wheel-mounted switchgear that’ll keep your eyes off the road long after you’d have expected to learn your way round them.

How clever of the engineers to locate those A/C and volume controls exactly where you’ll want to rest your fingers to hold steady the one digit with which you’re trying to accurately stab the screen whilst on the move…

And sadly, what used to be a get in, buckle up and drive experience has now become an ecstasy of fumbling to be repeated on every visit to the hot seat.

Firstly, you can’t turn off the stop and start system at all. Then you must fiddle around in touch screen hell to switch off the lane keeping assistant. At the start of every journey, mind. Lane keeping assistance in a Golf R, for God’s sake… That should be off for ever once it has secured the Euro NCAP fifth star. There is a button at the end of a stalk which reveals the system status when prodded, but it won’t actually deactivate it… Thus making it the stupidest button to have made its way into a car since, well, ever.

Once you have again lost your rag again turning off all of that which you turned off at your last visit to the car, then, the only sensible button in the whole boiling comes into play; the R button on the steering wheel…

The car I drove is fitted both with £785 Dynamic Chassis Control and a £2000 ‘Performance Pack’. The latter not only affords you larger, 19-alloys, a taller rear wing and a de-restricted top speed of 168mph, but also two extra drive modes: to Comfort, Sport, Track and Individual are added Drift, which speaks for itself, and Special, which, emblazoned with a Nurburgring logo on the tab, speaks for itself.

These six modes will unlock every manner of electronic trickery at the disposal of an all-wheel drivetrain that now benefits from a torque-vectoring rear differential -power seamlessly distributed both left and right as well as fore and aft to the extent that R grip and traction levels have moved from admirable to, frankly, astonishing.

The one element of the R that has remained straightforward is the 2.0 litre powerplant; four turbocharged cylinders delivering 316 bhp and 310 lb ft of torque from just a whisker over 2000 rpm via an predictably oleaginous 7-speed DSG gearbox and large flappy paddles that are still set a little too far inboard on the helm.

Idiotically, Sport is now the default mode at start up, but the transmission remains in D rather than S which means you have the tough love of the sports ride but it’s allied to the somewhat sluggish throttle response of a daily driver.

The R’s great strength has always been its ability to potter comfortably to the corner shop one minute and lash you to death with your own quiff the next. Why muddy those waters unnecessarily through unhelpful standard settings. If it works, fix it?

Alas, moreover, the much vaunted £3100 Akrapovic titanium exhaust system is all but inaudible inside the car in Sport mode; the overrun pops and bangs merely sound as if there’s a pheasant shoot going on in an adjacent field rather than being something you’re actually towing along with you at the behest of your own right foot.

You’ll have to reach for the R button for the noises off to intrude sufficiently to stir the senses. And this is important because, delivering maximum shove long before your reach the red line, this really is a glorious engine that deserves to sound a good as it goes…

I realise I’ve just reeled off a litany of gripes entirely unbecoming of a four and half star car, but I do need you to appreciate just how much of a pain in the arse the R can be while you sit stationary for what feels an eternity frantically trying to find the configuration that delivers the best of everything with minimal attendant nannying.

Happily, once preparatory faff akin to swimming in Wellingtons has been waded through, the Mk8 R does indeed prove to be a better drive than its predecessor; the only attendant nannying of interest being that provided by all-wheel drive technology which dictates that pretty much whatever you try, the R just sticks and goes.

The steering’s light, precise and plenty informative; the brakes are pleasingly progressive, yet immense when required; and the gear change when you’re pushing hard is blink quick and smooth as a freshly-buttered banister both up and -thanks to blipped downshifts courtesy of the Performance Pack- down the box.

Lob in an all-wheel drive system that’s as busy as cheese on your behalf and the twisty stuff becomes more fun than a clown on fire. The harder you push the R from the apex, the more firmly it digs its heels in and shoves you out of the bend -not a chirrup from the rubber, front or rear, no dash flash signalling electronic intervention, just astonishing agility and oomph.

To push the Mk8 hard on a favourite road is to forgive it everything, including the desire to ask the question: Why is the R suddenly trying so hard not to be the only car you’ll ever need? True, it still has the capability to effortlessly fulfil the roles of both Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde that has long validated said supposition.

Trouble is, the mirthless mithering now needed to effect that metamorphosis is guaranteed to rapidly wipe away the smile so recently planted on your face by the same car’s outrageously engaging abilities.

As, in many cases, will the price. A whisker shy of £40,000 in standard guise, the options bolted to the car I drove pushed the damage closer to the 50 grand mark, including £770 for the blue paint that is, surely, enough of an R trademark to make it onto the standard issue list.

One trusts VW is not losing interest in safeguarding the R’s credentials as the definitive affordable all-rounder.