Hammond’s icons: Lotus Elise MK1

Right, so it’s a small, plastic car with a Rover engine and an aluminium chassis, glued together rather than welded. Sounds like something James May might build at 1/12th scale on his kitchen table. There’s no carpet, radio or aircon, and the options list – what there was of it – included luxuries like door pockets and Perspex headlight covers. And in 1996, climbing into it for the first time, I assumed that this curvy little critter would turn out to be a full-bore psycho-racecar experience, an experience I would contemplate from the comfort of the tree where it deposited me on exiting corner one.

Words: Richard Hammond 
Photos: Justin Leighton

This feature was originally published in the May issue of Top Gear magazine

Couldn't have been further from the truth. If the bare aluminium floor and spartan interior suggest that this is one for seasoned pros only, driving the thing leaves you convinced that inside you beats the heart of an F1 star. Of course now, 15 years later, it can never have the same effect, surely? Yup, it does. Hop in, fire the 1.8-litre K-series engine into life, grab the plain little steering wheel and slip straight into a world of fun; pointable, squirtable, steerable hilarity. It flatters, makes you feel good, drive well, believe that you're a superhero and smile until your face aches.

This was the car that marked the return of Lotus, and at the time, much was made of its adherence to the ideals of Lotus founder Colin Chapman - adding lightness and keeping it simple. This could have been manufacturer bollocks, but it wasn't. It was years since we had been presented with such a creature, and if people were puzzled at first, initial timidity was soon replaced with rampant lust. The Elise was an instant classic, but not as an object. This is not a car for looking at. There are no details to pore over, no fascinating little features.

The bonded aluminium chassis was an industry first, yes, but it's just some metal and glue, so hardly the stuff to put you in a heated sweat - unless you're James May, obviously. The body is shaped for aerodynamic efficiency rather than bar-room admiration, the engine sits sideways behind the seats, driving the rear wheels. There's nothing else to it. The lightweight Stack LCD read-out showing fuel and coolant gauges might have caught your eye back in 1996, but a mobile phone was more interesting, even back then. So might as well hop in and tear about.

And that's exactly what it's about. The steering is unassisted, the better to feel every lump in the road. It made just 118bhp, I've got kitchen implements with more, but at just 755kg, the Elise is lighter. The flyweight construction is the key to squeezing every last bang out of the little K-series engine: 0-60 flits in 5.8 seconds, and if there's a corner, there's really no need to lift, just keep your foot in and turn. It doesn't blast or charge - it scampers, lean and lithe. Cheap to run, too. Thanks again to that feathery kerbweight, it could be relied on to return at least 40mpg, even with a bit of hooliganism.

The composite body and ally chassis won't rot, so the Elise can be left outside and treated like the naughty puppy it wants to be. And that's good news today, because a sound one can be yours for between eight and 15 grand. So, the Elise. It was ground-breaking in 1996, but even right now, it's hard to think of a better motoring treat. Something to be taken out, savoured and then popped away again until the next time you feel the need to grin.