Driven: Gordini Renaults

Why is there much ado about white and blue? We see if a paint job makes a pair of fast Renaults any better

Quite often with a review, it is the custom of the relevant scribbler to hold back the verdict, the idea of course being to grip the reader. Today, however, I am going to throw away the Road Tester's Car Review Rulebook (and only partly because the title is far too alliterative for its own good). Because I am going to deliver the verdict (all right, opinion - because this is going to be pretty subjective) that I really don't see the point of Gordini Renaults.

Until recently we had rather avoided dropping our collective office backside into any Gordini products, largely on the basis that we knew that they were dynamically identical to existing Renaultsport products, and so we didn't really see the point.

But we do love a Renault hot hatch on PH (Renaultsport really do know how to make a fine chassis) and, well, we hadn't driven one for a while, so we thought we'd bite the bullet and try out a couple of Gordinis - the Clio and the Twingo models.

Let's be clear, my beef with a Gordini Renault is nothing to do with the way the cars drive - the Clio is as much of a giant-slaying cross-country terrier as ever, while the Twingo could put a smile on the face of Jack Dee.

No, the problem is that, should you choose a Twingo or Clio Gordini, you are merely paying extra money, as far as I can work out, to make yourself look like you drive a cross-between a training shoe and a bottle of WKD Blue.

In the case of both the Clio and the Twingo, you are paying a sizeable chunk extra for little more than a few gew-gaws and glitzy bits - smatterings of pseudo-luxury on cars that are at their utterly brilliant best when pared to the bone, with perhaps a decent set of seats thrown in and nothing more.

In the case of the Clio you get some blue 'n' white trim on the steering wheel, a sparkly Gordini gearknob and some leather chairs, with accompanying metallic blue paint and white stripes on the outside. Considering that you can pay less than £17k for a base Renaultsport Clio, the fact that Renault charges £19,870 for its Gordini bits does seem rather cheeky. But then they have made just 500 of them.

It's a similar story with the Gordini Twingo, to be honest. This time there are only 200 of them, but they get the same Paint-and-wheels-and-interior-trimmings treatment. Specify the more hardcore cup chassis (which is pretty much essential as it transforms the Twingo from nippy warm hatch to genuine hoot courtesy of a lower ride height and 30 per cent stiffer springs and dampers) and you'll pay £15k for the privilege. Given the fact that the standard Renaultsport Twingo can be had for £12k new, this again is not good news.

The problem for Renault is perhaps that Renaulsport has already co-opted the rally car skunk works glamour of which the original Gordini Renaults were the epitome, leaving a resurrected Gordini badge with little to offer other than offset white stripes on a blue paint job.

Call us harsh, but perhaps Renault should leave the marketing nonsense alone and stick to what it does best - making damn fine hot hatches. Because I'd have the Twingo or the Clio in a heartbeat if I were in the market for either. But not in blue with white stripes...

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