What is it like on the inside?
Open one of the doors. Note how perfectly they open, how light they are in your hand, but how solidly they close. This really isn’t easy to achieve. It’s the reason many small car companies have doorless cars. Moving on. Door open, you absorb the leather. It’s more than just observing it – there’s a warmth and depth to the colour that seems to give it an inner glow of health. The cows come from Florida, apparently. It’s wrong to say it looks like new – no E-type ever left the factory looking this good, this fresh and energetic, this well finished.
Eagle drops the floorpan, moves the pedal box and rear bulkhead to liberate more space in the famously cramped cabin. You slide down and in. The door aperture is small, but you don’t feel hunched inside, instead you feel at ease, well supported in Eagle’s own seats, eyes casting ahead admiring the instruments, the view out over the long bonnet. You automatically want to touch and feel everything, because you just know the action of the toggle switches and window winders will be perfect.
Two things jar. The stippled aluminium console is period correct, but I’m not a fan (apparently it’s also a bugger to make, aluminium rolled under huge pressure by a holey-roller), and the small air vents work beautifully, but look more like the overhead vents on an Airbus. Of course, there are other options. Provided Eagle agrees and they’re in keeping – buyers requests have been known to be turned down.
There’s space behind the seats for stowage and the boot - although oddly shaped as it also houses the fuel tank - is big. Further practicality: thin pillars and a low rear deck mean you can see out easily and although it’s not particularly designed to, with machined brackets holding it in place, the roof can be removed. You could – and absolutely should – use this for weekends away. For long-range road trips. Because things look so much better when viewed from the cabin of a Lightweight GT.