Aside from the hereditary members of the House of Lords, who can no longer make laws for us “commoners”, it’s natural to treat anything possessed of a long lineage with a degree of respect, if not reverence.
Like the Toyota Corolla, Mini and Ford Mustang, nameplates that have been around for about half the time the motor car has roamed the earth, the Porsche 911 is such an established fixture that it’s difficult to imagine a world without it. That’s even allowing for the fact that the originals from the 1960s have comparatively little in common with their modern descendants, as in the philosophical puzzle now known as Trigger’s Broom.
The 911, though, also commands respect because it is, as it has always been, a powerful machine that makes more demands of its drivers than its drivers make of it. Hence the untimely death, on a California highway in 1955, of James Dean in his Porsche 550 Spyder, a forerunner of the 911, which he nicknamed “Little Bastard”.
So I’ve always been a little intimidated by the 911, to be honest, and much more so than I’ve been of many of its competitors, because of its past reputation, being that of a rear-engined, tail-happy, well, bastard.
I’ve also, I’ll admit, always resented how it pathetically became a mere “yuppy” plaything in the 1980s, a symbol of conspicuous consumption owned by people who struck me as little bastards themselves. So I didn’t really expect to enjoy the 911 as much as I admit I did, having not driven one much for some years. But I made friends with it, like you might end up cuddling a pit bull once it had gotten used to you and you to it.
It is, in fact, a deeply lovable car, though heavier, more complex and not so small these days, and it isn’t long before you gain in confidence and start to explore some of its considerable possibilities. Indeed, that sense of performance in safety is only enhanced by the suite of driver assistance that past generations of Porsche sports cars obviously lacked, and which make them, in that sense, more accessible than ever.
The car is much bigger and bulkier, but, like all the best sports cars, it shrinks around you, and does as it is asked, provided you’re polite. The “boxer” engine is still in the boot, the cylinders still laid horizontally in two rows of three, opposite each other, like boxers trading punches, but it’s now weather-cooled and drives all four wheels.
There’s a tiny bit of hybrid assistance to the GTS models (such as this one) to boost low-down power, plus the usual electronic interventions to help keep things nice and civilised.
The old 1963 original’s lines haven’t “scaled” very elegantly. There’s something about the distinctive styling of a modern Porsche that is instantly recognisable, but also makes it look unwieldy and unfriendly. It is anything but that to drive. So I do understand why it has developed such a loyal following, and why people want to spend, in this case, £168,145 to acquire one. It is an extremely accomplished cruiser that you can have absolute confidence in.
Porsche may be part of the VW group (technically they actually own it), and making SUVs and limousines too these days, but their entrenched expertise as a sports car specialist ensures that a cabriolet such as this version of the 911 feels as stiff and solid as its coupe siblings, albeit the extra bracing adds weight. Top down, the heating and aerodynamics will keep you warmish, and the engine sounds as evocatively rumbly as you’d have every right to expect – this is a sensual car in every respect.
Plus, it is still a quality product, and probably more so than ever. Porsche fans love their cars, and tend to care for them, but there’s another reason why there are so many classics – and every 911 is a classic – still on the road, which is that their build quality is unrivalled, maybe outside the few supercars ever manufactured by Toyota and Honda. In all fairness, no Porsche will ever be as beautiful as a Lamborghini (as it happens, a distant VW group cousin), so let’s just remember that too.
There are very few things in life that can do something so well for so long and inspire so much affection as a Porsche 911. It certainly looked after me for a few days. Not such a bastard, then.
