Jeremy Clarkson - What Could Possibly Go Wrong...

I liked it enormously. It had more character than any hatchback since the Fiat Strada Abarth, the speed was immense and there’s no getting away from the fact that it looks really rather handsome. Many Mercs are overstyled these days, but on this one the creases and the fussy little details seem to work.

However, there are a few issues. Let’s start with the little ones. It’s needlessly bumpy. This has been done simply to make it feel sporty, not for any handling benefits. The chassis is so stiff that Mercedes could easily have softened the suspension without affecting the performance at all. It was a mistake.

Then there’s the width. Certainly you do not whizz through width restrictions the way you would in a 1-series BMW. You need to breathe in and grimace first.

Other stuff? The petrol tank is too small, which means you have to fill up every few minutes. And filling up with petrol is worse than trying on trousers.

Then there’s the interior styling, which is completely over the top. Who, for instance, thought that it would be a good idea to make the air vents red? This is a Mercedes-Benz, for heaven’s sake. Not a Gillette commercial. Red air vents are like red trousers. And there’s a blog for people who wear those. (Google it.)

But the big sticking point for me is the price. It’s £37,845. Of course, for an AMG Mercedes, this is extremely good value. But it’s a shedload for what, when all is said and done, is a hot hatchback.

It’s a whopping £9,000 more than you’re asked to pay for a range-topping Volkswagen Golf GTI. Yes, the Mercedes is a better car. But £9,000 better? With that ride, that fuel tank and those stupid vents? No. I’m afraid not.

As I write, the sun is belting down with a fury we haven’t seen for many years. Yet, after one of the coldest, most miserable springs on record, the countryside is still as green as an ecomentalist’s groin. It is truly beautiful out there and I am consumed by an overwhelming need to drive about in a sports car. But there’s a problem with that. You can’t actually buy such a thing these days.

The Mazda MX-5 comes close, but over the years it has swollen up and been given a bigger engine and a retractable metal roof, so that now, while it’s still delightful, it’s a bit too fast and a bit too sensible and a bit too grippy in the corners.

The Caterham 7 isn’t bad either. But these days it’s aimed mainly at the adenoidal track-day enthusiast rather than the chap who simply wants to slither about Oxfordshire in the sunshine. And it is extremely ugly.

The new Jaguar F-type is not ugly but it’s too expensive and too powerful. Which brings me on to the BMW Z4, a machine that is neither of those things. But it is too smooth and too polished. It’s lovely to behold and lovely to own but it’s not a sports car.

An Alfa Romeo Spider. That was a sports car. So were the Fiat 124 Spider and the MG. The Triumph TR6 was a sports car, too, as was the Sunbeam Alpine. These cars were built for fun, for a laugh, ha-ha, ha-ha. You could keep them by the racehorse that the Aga Khan bought you for Christmas. Even by the standards of the day they were not especially fast, but they were pretty and they all came with simple canvas roofs. They were like tenting but without the dysentery. And I miss them all.

I miss the days when handling mattered and grip didn’t. Today cars are built to go round a corner as quickly as possible. Which means you can’t indulge in a big four-wheel drift at 20 mph. And they have to be safe, which means they have to be heavy. And the one thing a sports car cannot be is heavy.

Sports cars are for long, warm summer afternoons. And on a long, warm summer afternoon you want a light salad. Not a dirty great meat pie. That’s why I was rather looking forward to the Citroën DS3 convertible.

I’m a big fan of the hard-top DS3, particularly the limited-edition Racing version. I’ll be honest: it isn’t much of a driver’s car; the gearing is too weird for that. On a hot lap of the Monaco Grand Prix track I stuck it in second about two seconds after the start and didn’t have cause to change gear at all until it was time to stop.

Then there is the suspension. That isn’t very good either. But all of these little issues are smothered by an interesting body, lots of natty decals and a sense of fun.

There will be a convertible version of the Racing in the months to come, but the car I tested was simply a chopped-down version of the standard model. And that’s fine by me, because who needs speed when the sun’s out and there are wildflowers to look at?

There’s more too. Before the car arrived, a chap at Citroën sent me a text saying that it was the world’s only genuine five-seat convertible – apart from the woeful Jeep Wrangler – that its boot was almost twice as big as the boot in a Mini convertible and that the roof could be opened at up to 74 mph. It all sounded good.

But when the car arrived, I discovered that, actually, it isn’t a convertible at all. It’s a normal car with a big canvas sunroof. Back in the Seventies my grandfather had a Rover 3.5 that had a Tudor Webasto sunroof. And that wasn’t a convertible either.

Then I discovered that if you push the sunroof button again, the back window flops down and the roof keeps on folding itself back. This was good news, until it stopped, completely obscuring the rear view. How can Citroën have thought this was a good idea?

Actually, scrub that. I know exactly how Citroën thought it was a good idea. Because its last attempt at making a convertible was the C3 Pluriel. And it came with a roof that detached all right, but only after half an hour of swearing and broken fingernails. And then, when it was off, there was nowhere to put it. You had to leave it where it was and hope it didn’t rain while you were out. It was the stupidest piece of design since the Ronco Buttoneer.

I think the problem is that in all of automotive history the total number of sports cars made in France is, let’s see… um… exactly none.

For a country where motoring is a demonstration of nonchalance and cheapness is king, it seems odd that they never combined the two things. And it’s doubly odd when you look at their love of motor sport. Their engines dominate Formula One. A Peugeot has just smashed the record up Pikey’s Peak in Colorado. They rule the roost in international rallying. And yet, despite all this, they have never made a sports car. And on the evidence this far, the DS3 convertible doesn’t exactly change things.

But let us plough on. Let us treat it as a pretty hatchback that comes with a big sunroof. Then what? Well, it will cost you some money but not much. Because whatever price is quoted in the brochure, you can be assured that, being a Citroën, it will come with 0 per cent finance, £1,000 cashback, no VAT, an offer of an evening out with the dealer principal’s daughter and £5,000 to spend on a holiday. You may need an incentive such as this because as a car it’s not very good.

First of all there’s the driving position. The steering wheel is mounted pretty much directly above the pedals, which means the only person who can get comfortable is someone whose arms and legs are the same length. To make matters worse, the seats were lined with a fabric that had the grip of KY Jelly.

That’s why I can’t tell you how this car handles. Because every time I tried to go round a corner with any gusto at all, I fell over. There were other issues too. There are no cupholders. And it comes with an entertainment system that couldn’t even find Radio 2 half the time. The satellite navigation system, meanwhile, was unfathomable. And even if by some miracle I did manage to type in an address, it would take me on a route of its choosing to a destination that it plainly thought was near enough.