The Lamborghini Huracán is a great supercar, no question. In just about every way imaginable it is miles better than the Gallardo it replaces.

And at 'just' £180k it also happens to represent decent value beside the Ferrari 458 and McLaren 650S, if not the 911 Turbo S or Audi R8 V10.

But there’s one thing it does that will either drive you mad or won't matter one iota, depending on what sort of driver you are. It understeers, basically.

On the surface you can understand why Lamborghini has set it up to do so.

The Huracán, claims Sant'Agata, is designed to appeal to a broader audience than any other Lamborghini thus far, so it needs to be as secure as it is sensational to drive; as predictable near the limit as it is fast in a straight line.

Well it’s certainly predictable on the limit inasmuch as you know exactly what it’s going to do at all times. But the trouble is what it does do is understeer to varying amounts at the front.

The harder you push it, the more its nose runs wide – until eventually it just washes out completely. And beyond that there is no more to its handling repertoire, period.

On the one hand, this is good because it means the average Huracán owner will never, ever be able to spin their car, no matter how clumsy they are with the throttle or the brakes mid-corner. But on the other hand, it does render the Huracán somewhat inert in terms of its ultimate chassis response.

I’m not saying that Lamborghini should have set the Huracán up to oversteer so that idiot road testers like me can perform lairy tail slides that look good on camera – because I know that this is entirely irrelevant to what happens out there in the real world, and on the public road. I’m saying that they’ve simply gone too far in the opposite direction.

In its desire to make the Huracán idiot proof, Lamborghini has, I believe, blunted the car’s appeal so drastically that, on a circuit at least, people who know what they are doing will find it peculiarly unentertaining.

Why? Because Lamborghini has taken away all the options from whoever is behind the wheel. Just take a look at the video below and you'll see what I mean.

Drive the Huracán at medium speeds on a circuit and it feels fine. Drive it a bit harder and the nose starts to push. Drive it harder still and the front end starts to feel like a shopping trolley – until eventually it runs wide and you go straight into a gravel trap/run off area/fence/someone’s front garden.

At least, I suppose, it means you will see your destiny as it comes towards you. But surely it shouldn’t be like this in a Lamborghini, not even one that’s been designed to appeal to someone who might otherwise buy an Audi R8 or a 911 Turbo (both of which are miles more trusting of their drivers’ skills by the way, and are way more playful as a result).

To me the Huracán, great machine that it otherwise is, feels worryingly like the supercar world’s equivalent of the Peugeot 207 GTi; the moment at which its manufacturer lost trust in its customers’ ability to keep their cars on the island, and then went OTT to prevent it from happening.

I’m probably going a bit over the top myself in this instance to make a point. And remember, such criticism only really applies to what happens on a circuit. On the road, you would rarely drive the Huracán hard enough to realise that the comedian within has left the building.

But it’s still a shame to discover that a car as good to look at and, for most of the time, as great to drive as the Huracán has, ultimately, gone soft on the inside. 

Ah well, my loss, their gain I suppose. Move on.