MAY 2019 | CARMAGAZINE.CO.UK^93

learly, my freshly minted argument isn’t going to hold

water. After a few hours swapping from low-slung Audi to

LMP1-serious McLaren and back again, I’m all set to hop

back into the Porsche and declare it lacking as an out-and-

out sports car. I mean, do they not have physics or history

books in Germany? Haven’t they read about how, some half a century ago,

the plucky British popped a ditch-pump in the middle of a single-seater,

rather than at the front, and gleefully brought about the mid-engined

revolution in Grand Prix racing (after a tease from Auto Union in the

’30s)? Don’t expect to compete when your engine’s at the back and you’ve

space for four – physics doesn’t negotiate. Honestly. A little homework

wouldn’t have gone amiss, lads.

Three minutes later, like a big-fee prosecutor whose entire case has just

been shot from under him by a rogue DNA result, I’m left in absolutely no

doubt that a fundamental re-think is in order.

This magnificent stretch of empty Lincolnshire B-road is doing almost

everything at once, generously scattering spring-stretching crests and

chin-scarring compressions upon an impressive bedrock of endless

corners: corners of every conceivable camber, radius and severity.

Just when you expect the Carrera S to start running out of answers –

when you push it to really excel and excite in the company of two true

mid-engined supercars, on a stretch of road that asks for grip, power,

agility and driver confidence all at once – it simply refuses to do so,

preferring instead to go to another level; one that, in the words of Carly

Simon, makes you feel sad for the rest.

Allow me to elaborate. First, imagine your dream driving position: butt

on the deck; great seats that are comfortable because they’re the right

shape, not because they’re fat with padding; and a wheel that feels incred-

ibly rigid – somehow engineered – in your slightly clammy palms. In front

of you, the new 911’s new touchscreen infotainment and similarly slick

frameless, floating driving instruments. Capable of showing everything,

from your nav route to a night-vision image of all the innocent nocturnal

mammals you’re bearing down upon, it’s nevertheless of no interest now:

you need only the huge central tacho. Twirl the drive mode wheel on the

wheel to at least Sport (ergonomically, the McLaren wins here – fussy

though its Active Dynamics panel is, it’s the only mode selection system

that doesn’t ask for a visual check) and depress one of the five central

toggle switches, with their deliciously precise, military finish, to slacken

the stability control leash. Into Drive on the lovely little selector, prod M

for manual shifting, go.

Great fast cars breed trust, and in moments you’d trust the Carrera S

with your life, the lives of your children and – no kidding – that of your

dog. As speeds and effort build, the Porsche refuses to relinquish its

composure. Body control is virtually absolute, with no roll and, thanks

in part to a new generation of more sophisticated PASM damper, wheel

movements are dealt with in a single stroke, with no lost motion to

manage or allow for. At the same time you guide the low, broad nose

apparently on thought alone, as if the intervening physical mechanism

• your arms and hands; the car’s wheel and electrically assisted power

steering – cease to exist. The front axle’s dependability under duress

is astonishing, and the biggest dynamic step forward over the 991. ⊲

C

PORSCHE 911 CARRERA S

In a word?

Emphatic