Eek, graunch, oops, sorry. There will be a set of exclamations, crunches and apologies such as these if I'm driving a car that grinds its nose on a driveway ramp or speed bump or grounds out over an undulating road.
I apologise because I feel like I've let the car down. Yet, as time goes by, I'm less and less convinced that it's my fault.
So why the apology? Is it a natural part of being English? Like saying sorry to someone who happens to be wanting to walk through a door at the same time as me? Oops, my bad. Or like feeling similarly in restaurants when not everything will fit on a table?
Oh dear, what a muddle, let me move my drink and that little vase with the artificial flower in it-sorry-so there's room for the saag aloo.
How many times have I apologised like this over the years? Dozens, certainly. Hundreds, maybe. And I think I've had enough of it.
Not one of those times was I responsible for how low a car was or how small a restaurant table was. So why on earth was I apologising? Car makers know what the roads are like, just as restaurateurs know exactly how much their average customer is likely to order.
So, genuinely reluctant though I am to criticise a hospitality industry that needs all the help it can get, how about making the tables a tiny bit bigger?
And, more pertinently to my day job, why make road cars that can't be driven onto driveways, into car parks or over shoddy roads without significant risk of underbody gravel rash or, worse, cracked splitters or diffusers? Give it a rest; ease off the downforce a bit and give them more ground clearance, for heaven's sake.
Manufacturers may argue that they fit hydraulic nose lifters to avoid this sort of damage. And it's true that any time I get into a car that has a button that raises the front end clear of harshly angled driveways, I am, for a brief moment, grateful.
Yet then I'm also fearful. For one, exactly how low is this car? For two, how long will that nose lift take to actually raise? And at what speed will it happen? Some are painfully slow or will refuse until the car is moving at a crawl.



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The irony of modern supercars is that they’re engineered for the Nürburgring but spent 90% of their life in city traffic or parked. We see this all the time with the newer Artura or 720S models; finding a reliable McLaren garage in Dubai that can actually handle the software gremlins caused by extreme heat is half the battle of 'real-world' usability. It’s the same story with the Continental GT or the Huracan. People buy them for the thrill, but the moment you take them out of a climate-controlled bubble, the reality of Lamborghini maintenance or specialized Bentley repair kicks in. Ground clearance, cooling efficiency in 40°C+, and sensor reliability are what actually define a 'usable' supercar today, not just a softer suspension setting. Until manufacturers prioritize long-term durability over headline-grabbing 0-60 times, these will remain weekend toys rather than daily drivers.
How many definitions of a supercar are there?, why should a million pound car be anymore exciting that a ten thousand pound car?
Matt hits the nail on the head. As someone whose lifelong dream is to own a supercar, I’ve been trying to find one that is actually 'drivable' in the real world. I recently used OpenClaw to build a bot that aggregates owner feedback and reliability specs to find the best balance between performance and usability. The data completely aligns with this article: the 'sweet spot' really is the 997 or early 991 Porsche era—modern enough to be fast, but mechanical enough to handle a B-road without scraping the sump.
If you're curious about the data or the code behind the research, I documented my findings here a friendly OpenClaw guide. It’s definitely making me rethink buying that low-slung exotic!