And information is the RS’s secret. As a result, I resolve to give myself information overload by driving everywhere with the dampers hardened up. It’s strangely addictive and not nearly as masochistic as I feared. Because this car is about driving, you don’t worry about anything else. As a result, I’ve no idea what the sound system is like, nor did I bother with the new Pit Speed function. This, not the wide boy Turbo S, is the ultimate 911. It compels you to concentrate, to just press pedals and turn steering. And the reactions you get from the controls are so instant, so perfectly tuned into your movements that you and the car flow together, accelerating, braking, turning. And repeating. Ideally ad infinitum. Or until the petrol runs out.
You find yourself celebrating the skips and bumps, because nothing appears to be able to throw this car off line. You relish the ruthless attitude, as you’re so absorbed in the driving. And you don’t have to be a great driver to enjoy it, you just have to give yourself over to the car. It feels bombproof, both in its abilities and its mechanical robustness, a hunkered-down gutsiness underpins the whole car. And the cabin. It might have a lot of equipment, but I can’t think of a better driving environment.