The little Seven is so powerful, it scores a perfect ten

A perfect car for the track, the Seven combines outrageous power with a featherweight frame.

For some, the natural evolution of the automobile is to travel with as little effort, exertion or interference as possible. To this end, manufacturers looking to set the benchmark in comfort and class have introduced double glazing, to cut out road noise, and space-age gizmos to protect the drivers sensitive hindquarters from the merest grain of gravel and take such tedious tasks as parking and even braking off their hands. Such cosseted drivers would hate the Lotus Seven, for there is no car ever made that has brought the driver closer to road, with all its potholes and pitfalls.

The Seven was introduced in 1957 primarily for use as a racing car. In order to be competitive, it had to be light, and this meant every luxury was stripped out, including such indulgences as doors and a boot. It was so light, in fact, that the motor of a kitchen whisk could have propelled it to a decent speed, but its creator, Colin Chapman, chose a 40-horsepower Ford engine instead. Not only was it light but it was low. The driver slid (with an action not dissimilar to entering a canoe) into the cockpit, his bottom only inches from the road. The trade-off for the adoption of this awkward posture was that the car did not roll - at all. The Seven made corners inconsequential. And if it rained, you got wet.

In 1973, Lotus sold the rights of the Seven to Caterham Cars, which still builds a version today. But it became widely available as the quintessential kit car, under various names from various makers. Through the 1970s and 1980s, in garages up and down the land, amateur racers would bolt on body panels and tune up engines, while their wives returned home from the supermarket in dull and dreary saloons. Some owners perked up their Sevens with larger, more powerful engines. And so emerging from these dusty garages came supercars quicker than any Ferrari, Lamborghini or Porsche.

Westfield then had the absurd idea of shoehorning a 5.0-litre Range Rover-sourced V8 into the Seven's tiny frame. The result was a car so fast that a NASA course in G-force training was a necessary prerequisite for a spin around the block. Reaching 0-to-60 kilometres per hour in less than four seconds was never in Darwin's plans for evolution of the species, but it was for the Seven. And the quoted 2.88 seconds, for the latest 263hp R500 model from Caterham, is verging on unethical.

As a sports car, the Seven is literally in a class of its own, with a power-to-weight ratio ordinary production cars simply cannot aspire to. So if you want a car to pick up your grandmother from the bridge club, look elsewhere. If most of your miles are spent picking up the kids from school, go for an SUV. But if you want no frills with plenty of thrills, the Seven is the only car for you. [e-mail]