Renault 5 - long-term review

Mostly because Greg and I live 100 miles apart (and not at all because he’s selfishly hoarding Top Gear’s 2024 Car of the Year) I hadn’t spent any decent time in TG’s Renault 5. So I stole it.

I’d done plenty of miles in its tracksuit-wearing brother – the Alpine A290 – and been thoroughly non-plussed this was supposedly the future of the hot hatch.

Not fast enough. A promising chassis smothered by the inevitable EV bloat. Way less range for heaps more money, and its big-bolstered seats made it feel cramped inside. Overtake button on the steering wheel? Pointless. Verdict? A Gallic shrug.

So, having pinched the 148bhp Pop Yellow (£800 extra – ouch!) 5 for a few days, I set about seeing what it did wrong. You and I both know this is, on balance, an excellent little car. Cleverly styled, punchily priced – especially with the £1,500 government grant now applied – and like our much-missed old friend the Ford Fiesta, strictly better to drive than it needs to be. But it can’t be as near-perfect as Greg reckons… can it?

Where does it trip up? A quick-fire list:

Dislike 1: the seat squabs are too narrow

The first journey I used the R5 for was a 2.5hr crawl out of London. The bolsters nipped at my backside. Leave rock-hard boardroom chairs to the Germans. I want my French supermini’s seats as squashy as the ribbed headlining.

Dislike 2: the drive selector wand is stupid

It’s too long and cumbersome, and the reason it’s too long is because it has to take evasive action to miss crashing into the usual Renault mayhem of wiper stalk and 1990s volume control screwed to the steering column. There are already 15 buttons on the 5’s steering wheel, Renault – yet you need this afterthought stump cluttering up the rest of the switchgear?

Dislike 3: the position of the drive selector stalk, ‘on’ button and parking brake

While I’m at it, why is the drive selector stalk up near the ceiling, the ‘on’ button in the middle of the dashboard, and the parking brake tucked in a recess by the driver’s left knee? Starting a journey feels like you’re playing whack-a-mole, chasing around the cabin hitting checkpoints.

I suppose at this point you’re expecting me to tut at the petit rear legroom, but that’s a silly gripe because Renault has a solution for that. It’s called the Renault 4. There was a bit of motorway wind noise, but it’s a boxy town car, so that’s no biggie.

I liked the ride, the appropriate oomph, the crisp screens with interfaces I was getting along with immediately, and the efficiency of 4 miles per kWh. Greg normally gets 4.2, but like Lightning McQueen and The Stig I am speed personified, so I go less far on a charge.

I liked the steering and the physical climate controls. I liked how easy it is to mute all the speed and lane bong nonsense with just one button. I liked the build quality, the slither of duvet on the dashboard made of recycled jeans. Probably Sydney Sweeney’s.

Oh, one more dislike: the position and feel of the brake pedal

The brake pedal, like the latest Clio hybrid, it feels like it’s come from a single-seater downforce weapon. It’s too high, and rock-solid.

But I hate this less that I do in the Clio, because touching the brake pedal in any EV is cheating. You should either leave it to the one-pedal ‘B’ mode to decelerate for you, hoovering up re-gen in the process. Or you should be a better driver, anticipate what that wally in the Model Y ahead is going to attempt next, and try to coast as much as possible.

Otherwise… I’m sold. Stay tuned to see how Greg gets on tackling a frigid British winter with his ickle EV. This cheap and cheerful hero is living with TG for a year, don’t forget.

In that time it will be inundated with rivals. Umpteen Chinese upstarts. Volkswagen badly needs to react with the ID. 2 or whatever it’s now called. We can expect some sort of entry-level Hyundai Ioniq ‘mini too. In the meantime, the R5 has nothing to worry about – it’s got Actual Mini on toast.

Suppose I’d better give it back now. Merde…