More often than not, limited edition hot hatches are like catnip to car enthusiasts. Of course they are a marketeer's wet dream (a democratised product made exclusive) but also, when taken seriously, they offer small OEM engineering teams the chance to make an already good product great - and because they know where all the compromises were made the first time round, they tend to turn out that way.
The excuse for Buy Harding our way into the segment this week is obviously the launch of the Honda Civic Type R Limited Edition, a car with somewhat lazy branding - but all the right moves where it counts. The recipe is certainly familiar: reduce kerbweight, tweak chassis, sprinkle styling confetti, restrict build number. Hey presto - a sell out product, baked to perfection.
Or near perfection. Honda resisted the urge to turn the dial up on its 320hp turbocharged four-pot, traditionally the go-to point of differentiation for exclusive hot hatches. Doubtless it would point to the Type R's unquestioned cohesiveness as a good reason for not doing that - but its rivals have frequently come to a different conclusion, with memorable results....
The VW Golf GTI Clubsport S is my very favourite hot hatch of all time. There, said it. Some of that is due to personal reasons, but also because of what it represents. This was corporate, sensible, sustainable Volkswagen, for crying out loud, set free for a little while (and just prior to the Dieselgate impact, thank goodness) to create a mesmerising hot hatch. A two-seat, 160mph, Nurburgring-humbling hot hatch, no less, gazumping SEAT while at it, with a bespoke front axle, more power than an R and a manual gearbox only.
The personal attachment to the CS comes from being able to do a behind-the-scenes exclusive with the car and its team during the Nurburgring development time. Karsten Schebsdat was there (with his 997 GT3), Benny Leuchter was there (driving unbelievably well) and I got to write my first magazine cover story from it. Even from the passenger seat the Golf felt special, disdainfully dismissing the worst the Nordschleife could throw at it.
Then I got to drive a Clubsport S, only this time in appalling weather at Donington; even then, it was sensational, secure and predictable like a Golf but feelsome, exciting and rewarding in a way they seldom are. Trying the car again last year was more of the same, the Golf still a tactile delight - the least VW-like Volkswagen in yonks - against even the latest Megane Trophy R.
So, er, yes, you could say that I'm rather fond of the GTI that people forget about (because there was a non-S Clubsport as well) or deride because it only has two seats or dismiss because it's just a Golf - their loss, quite frankly. This white one looks as good as they get; interestingly it's had three owners in less than 1,100 miles, suggesting they were looking for a quick profit that just hasn't happened, this one for sale at only a couple of grand more than they were new. And where the 150 UK cars been since 2016, really. Silly them, quite frankly, for ignoring the opportunity to properly experience one of the best hot hatches of the past decade. Let's hope the next owner doesn't make the same mistake!
The Ford Focus RS500 is not my favourite hot hatch of all time. But my abiding memory of driving it (from 10 years distant) is a cherished one nevertheless. The regular Focus RS had been the big man on campus for over a year before the run-out model was launched. It had won many friends. It was a carbuncle of burliness and was about as welcome on a quiet high street as a knife fight. But from the inside it was a hoot: two-parts adolescent thrust, one-part genuine RevoKnuckle-endowed talent.
The RS500 didn't mess with the formula. It celebrated it. Ford wasted no time on the chassis at all (unlike Matt Bird's precious Golf, it was built to accommodate spirited driving from day one) and barely touched the interior. Instead it reached into the engine bay and limited itself to a cheery rummage. When it was done the RS wore a uprated fuel pump, a larger intercooler, a chunkier exhaust downpipe and revised ECU, and outputted nearly 50hp more than it had started with. Then Ford had 3M in Germany wrap it, glued on some badges and announced itself done.
Of course it sold out immediately. Fast Fords tend to do that when the volume is strictly limited, even after its maker had inflated the price to £35,750. Some people questioned whether the model was worth the premium given the minimal fettling. But none of those people ever drove one because the RS500 was an unmitigated riot. For a car which claimed to only deliver an additional 15lb ft of torque, it seemed hugely faster in-gear than the standard RS (itself no slouch) and encouraged you to take the kind of cheek-sucking liberties with the national limit that you reminisce about a decade later.
Sure, it didn't solve any of the Mk2 RS's underlying shortcomings (as the Clubsport S unequivocally did for the Mk7 Golf GTI) but it didn't matter because you were too busy driving like a boss to notice. Its reputation and exclusivity when new - just 500 were made - has guaranteed not only ascending used values but also vanishing rarity. There is currently one left-hand-drive example for sale in the classifieds, and you'd have to want it very much to go to the trouble of getting it from Sweden. But if you did, I'd get it. The RS500 is that kind of car.
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