Monday 18th January 2010

Written by Michael Conroy (GQ Magazine)

The gutteral roar of prototype supercars devouring the tarmac at Millbrook Proving Ground, one of Europe's premier automotive testing facilities, fuels my anticipation for the afternoon's racing activities. The sound also gives me pangs of envy, as I'm here to experience an automotive far less exotic. Vauxhall's new British-built Astra may be critical for General Motors continued operation in the UK, but an Aston Martin it 'aint.

I forget my jealousy nearly the moment I climb into the Astra's cabin. Waving genially as to the marshal as he ushers me onto the track, I shift into second and – Christ! - the car pounces forward with unexpected power, plastering a smile across my face and earning me a finger-waggle and a scowl from the official. This is going to be fun.

Chastened but not subdued, the opening straight beckons. I floor it. My surprisingly eager steed tears through second, growls through third – this is brilliant! I gleefully shift to fourth and then, resoundingly - nothing much happens. Despite the early promise of the turbocharged 1.6L, 178 brake horsepower engine, the horses responsible for fourth and fifth gear seem a little undernourished. Great for city driving, then, but not much for drag-racing or exhilarating motorway driving. Sigh.

No matter, there's a corner coming up. I shift down, brake late and hug the corner tighter than a mere hatchback, or indeed my driving skills, should allow. As if to say " 'ere! You might want to mind the 40mph sign next time!", a blinking light on the dash indicates intelligent traction control has been enabled. How insulting. However, it does explain why I was able to pull off a Stig-like high speed corner rather than careening Hammond-like into the opposite crash barrier. 

As I wind down a hill, the town of Flitwick revealed before me, I note how tranquil the Astra's ride is. It has the arse-cupping comfort of a mid-size car, seemingly floating over the pebbles and potholes littering the track thanks to its FlexRide adaptive suspension. And quiet, too. It's a far cry from the bone-jarring judder of its competitiors, the Ford Focus and VW Golf, which seem to convey every coffee-spilling depression in the road. Today though, I'm at a test track, not the English countryside. There's nothing in my cup holder and the luxurious seat is ably supporting my buttocks. I enable sport mode to tighten up the suspension and handling, and attack the oncoming hairpin with gusto. The Astra zig-zags through the corners like an Olympic slalom athlete, then the track opens up to...another Astra. Crawling along at half the speed limit. I groan and shift down through the gears, as there's a strict rule on this test track: no overtaking. I tailgate my new companion in what I hope is a passive-aggressive manner.

The close quarters allow me to appreciate the distinct appearance the sixth generation Astra. I feel some pride in what the British designers have wrought: the ridged hood, understated lines, raked back and aggressive poise have brought out the beast within this formerly mild-mannered hatch. It's a car that needs to drive, not dawdle: ignoring the no-overtaking rule I swing out to the far lane and pass my puttering colleague, admiring the other Astra's slim-profile alloys and eagle-eye headlamps as they slip into my rear view. 

Too late, I spot the track official lurking at the bottom of the hill. He's seen me overtake and he's none too happy about it, waving me firmly to the shoulder. I pull over and look around the cabin, which isn't such a bad place to await one's fate. Amsterdam-red mood lighting illuminates the classy leather and subtle chrome trim, a sporty dash continues the exterior's aggresive form and a reassuringly tech-laden middle console extols the modern comforts of GPS, MP3 and all the rest. It's a spacious cabin, too. In fact, there's probably just enough room for me to climb into the boot and hide from the safety warden...tap tap tap. Damn. A stern warning puts paid to my feeble protests, and my fun's over for the day. What a killjoy - I don't see him pulling over any of the Aston Martin test drivers.

Resigned to my early exit and a few complimentary beers, I pull in to the parking lot just ahead of a VW Golf and a Ford Focus. It's a fitting ranking of the top hatchback competitors: the Astra might not posess the excitingly visceral, you-and-the-road feel of the Golf or the tactile handling of the Focus, but for a few hundred quid less it easily surpasses both with its pugnacious style, best-in-class comfort and energetic acceleration. 

It's the fun-loving yet fashionable escort you wouldn't mind being seen around town with. And out there, there's no pesky safety wardens to slow you down. 

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