But before you plunge into the depths of despair and fiscal inadequacy, think on this. Though it's tempting to get sucked into lusting after a supercar, strip away the image, status and prestige and the only hard currency any car has is ability. The ability to involve and entertain. The ability to challenge and reward in equal measure. The ability to put a socking great smile on your face after a great drive. It's these qualities, this evoness, that separates great cars from merely good ones. And it's this x-factor that enables a 'lesser' car sometimes to be the better one.

Take Subaru's Impreza, for instance. Blisteringly fast, incredibly able in all weathers, as flattering as it is challenging, not to mention cheap as chips, it was one of the best exponents of evoness. That is until it lost its way in the transition from much-loved Turbo to much-criticised WRX. Inexplicably the magic went missing, leaving us with a rather average Japanese saloon. Three cheers, then, for the Impreza WRX STi Type-UK, the most potent Impreza since the P1 and the car that shows every sign of restoring the Impreza to its giant-slaying best.

It would be easy to do the obvious with the STi; disappear into north Wales with the Scoob and an Evo VII, only returning when one has bludgeoned the other into submission. Fun for sure, but this time we decided to pitch it against a diverse group of cars positively dripping with concentrated driver appeal. Factory standard Civic Type-R and BMW M3 SMG; officially tweaked 'John Cooper Works' Mini Cooper; lower, stiffer, noisier, altogether sexier Porsche 911 Carrera; plus an aftermarket-tuned wild card in the shape of a Lotus Elise supercharged by Turbo Technics. Five utterly different enthusiast's cars encapsulating in different ways the most vibrant elements of evoness. If the STi can stand up to this little lot, Subaru is back in the big time.

With the cars decided, we needed an equally memorable venue. We needed a road with a mix of surfaces, lots of gradient changes and all manner of corners, from tight hairpins to fast open curves. We needed a place that put a premium on feel and feedback, and we also needed to know it wouldn't be foggy, icy or lashing with rain. As this is something Wales can't guarantee in high summer, let alone mid-winter, we headed for southern France, a region so packed with sensational driving roads you can almost stick a pin in the map and be certain of finding miles and miles of top-class tarmac.

Considerately, Subaru decided to launch the STi in Biarritz, on the south west coast of France. So while Harry and the intrepid evo crew travel down from Blighty, Andy Morgan and I collect the Impreza and head inland to our rendezvous point just north of Rocamadour in the Guyenne region. The hotel car park is quite a sight as the Impreza's headlights cast a spooky glow on the fat, silver-grey rumps of the 911 and M3, then the exotic curves of the Elise, followed by the box-like Civic and chunky Mini.

It's a bizarre cross-section of cars; a mix that makes the outcome of tomorrow's driving such a fascinating prospect. I mean to say, how will a 'Works' Mini Cooper fare against a 911? What chinks will the Impreza STi find in the SMG M3's dynamic armour? How does a 197bhp hot hatch compare with a 190bhp sports car for sheer driving thrills? There's only one way to find out...

By the time we arrive at our first destination, the pre-dawn darkness has lifted, fading almost imperceptibly to a soft, drab grey. Not the brilliant sunshine we'd hoped for, but Harry's smile does its best to brighten the morning, beaming from behind the windscreen of the Mini. He's made no attempt to deny his love of the Mini in the past, and clearly the John Cooper upgrades have only increased his passion for this enticing little car. As the cheapest car here it seems logical for me to try it first, then work progressively up the price scale to see what, if anything, you gain in driver appeal. So I prize Harry from the driver's seat with a crowbar and make my escape.

The Mini's driving environment is very inviting. You sit low and straight, with the broad, fat-rimmed wheel usefully upright. You feel part of the car ΂- in it rather than on it ΂- despite seats that offer little support. The gearshift and steering have more weight than you expect for a small, urban car. Thanks to its size and comparative lack of power, it immediately feels chuckable. It's a playful rather than an edgy experience, to the point where you just can't help but get the tyres squealing. It's also as direct as a Paxman interview, with super-sharp steering and a front-end that never seems to run out of bite.

You soon discover there's an abundance of grip at all four corners, but not at the expense of handling. It really is brilliantly lively, fluid and so adjustable, be it on turn-in, on the brakes or with judicious use of lift-off oversteer. As your confidence builds you find yourself pitching the little Cooper into corners at a pace you can scarcely believe. It builds your trust and backs this up with predictable responses and reliable feedback through the wheel and the seat of your pants. Unsurprisingly, it's Harry who's quick to pinpoint the effect this has on your driving.

'You can just sense its cheeky character shining through,' he says. 'I end up driving like a boy- racer every time I get in it, especially with this rorty exhaust egging me on. You'd have to show me the keys to something seriously exotic to tempt me out of it.' I think he likes it.

Because it rarely attains more than 80mph or so between corners you don't need to leave quite so much distance for braking. In fact it's the charge towards the apex that's the Mini's reason for being, the point into which all its ability is concentrated and where for sheer brio and entertainment it is unbeatable. Of course when the knotted tarmac unravels a little, the Cooper's lack of power becomes more apparent. Although the 'Works' package has certainly beefed-up the mid-range, once the formidable momentum it carries into the corners needs supplementing, you can't help but wish for a bit more muscle.

However, as Roger Green says, this doesn't detract from the overall experience: 'It's from 4000rpm when it comes to life. Throttle response is much sharper and it definitely accelerates harder. It's not oh-my-gawd fast but it's a noticeable improvement. It's the character change that's interesting in that it now urges you to push on, to really extract the best it has to give.' John Hayman concurs: 'This warm-up kit just livens things up a bit, complementing the Mini's already hugely enjoyable, rewarding chassis. It gives the Cooper a bit more spirit and doesn't leave me wanting much more power.' From a power junkie like Hayman, that's high praise, believe me.

Next up is the Civic. We've group-tested the Type-R before and, although it came off worse against the Clio 172, we were keen to give it another chance ΂- especially since we know that many of you are big fans of this particular Honda. Besides, with ample opportunity to stretch its VTEC motor and snap up and down its six-speed gearbox, the location should play to its strengths.
That said, things don't get off to a great start. Stepping into the tall, boxy Honda after the Mini is a bit of a culture shock. You sit quite high, and the unusually placed gearlever doesn't feel immediately right. Logic suggests these things should have no bearing on your perception of a car's dynamics, but when the contrast is so stark it's hard to ignore the effect that a car's interior has on your first impressions.

Once on the move, the gearbox redeems itself with a rapid, snappy action, and the odd position of the lever is soon forgotten. The gearing is well-judged too, and the engine pulls earlier and stronger than VTECs of old, although it still feels hollow and tinny for the first 3000 revs or so. Work it past 6000rpm and it really comes to life, though the kick at the top end is slightly muted, lacking the crazy on-cam/off-cam contrast of the old Integra Type-R.

It's easy to get absorbed into the power-band, especially after the mild-mannered Mini, but although you can revel in the mechanical violence of extracting its top-end power, the moments are still fleeting. They certainly don't compensate for the Civic's lack of genuine tactility, a crucial flaw in what purports to be a genuine driver's car. The steering comes in for the most universal criticism. 'Awful,' says Hayman. 'Weird stickiness around the straight ahead but no feel at all once you've applied some lock.' Green is equally unimpressed: 'Numb with a strange vagueness around the straight-ahead and a feel of artificial weighting,' is his verdict.

Clearly none of us can gain enough reassurance through the steering wheel to feel happy committing the Civic into corners with anywhere near the vigour of the feelsome Cooper. It's much more of a leap of faith, something that never enhances fast driving, and it's no surprise to discover that this sensory deprivation prevents the Civic from ever coming alive in your hands. It can be made to flow, but ragged wheelspin out of tight corners upsets your progress. It also feels surprisingly soft, not so much as the suspension compresses on hitting a bump, but as the springs and dampers rebound. The result is a strange, shuffling pogo motion that ultimately dictates the pace at which you can comfortably attack a road. All of which gives you the general impression that the Civic's chassis is out of its depth deploying the best part of 200bhp.

It might present excellent value on paper, but it's depressing to note that the savings have been made by deleting hardware such as the original Integra's hugely effective limited slip differential. Harry hits the nail on the head when he says: 'The old Integra had no real dynamic holes. Glorious balance, amazing traction and a very un-front-wheel-drive feel. That Type-R was an engineering exercise; this Type-R seems to be more of a marketing exercise. A great shame.'

Similar in terms of power output but diametrically opposed in every other respect, the Turbo Technics Elise is everything the Civic isn't. Low slung, rear-wheel drive, mid-engined and tuned for torque rather than top-end, it now has the sort of punching power many feel the Elise has always deserved. Combine this with the S2 Elise's much-improved chassis and you've got the makings of a sensational driver's car.

Remove the Turbo Technics decals and you'd be hard-pushed to spot its potential. I suppose that's the point of this stealthy, so-good-it-could-be-standard conversion, but a bit more visual distinction wouldn't go amiss. It's the same story once you've completed the usual Lotus limbo- dance to drop into the hard but supportive driver's seat. Only when you kick the supercharged K-series into life does the distant chuntering of the blower and an ever-so-slightly throbby idle hint at the work that's gone on behind the bulkhead.

Standard looks or not, this engine transforms the Elise. It feels so much stronger whatever the revs that the whole experience is of another magnitude. You know there's something boosting the performance, a kind of unseen hand pushing you up the road, but the effect of the blower is so linear it just feels like a bigger engine.

There's addictive surge from 3000rpm, and the faintest spooling and chuffing can be heard, but otherwise it sounds like a cooking K-series. Perhaps if it sounded livelier you'd get a bigger impression of speed, but when you get a chance to glance at the speedo you notice the Elise is pulling hard at 100mph where a standard car would be running out of puff at 80. 'The power is spot-on,' says Green, 'and the linear delivery is just about perfect. Combined with the short-ratio 'box [a factory option] it means it has overtaking punch in any gear. You no longer have to drop a gear or two to get past dawdlers.'

Because the delivery is so smooth, devoid of any sudden jump in power, the chassis feels just as sweet and delicate in the twisties. Wheelspin is a rarity, even on the exit of tight, second-gear corners, and, when it does come, the resulting oversteer is mild and easily controllable. You don't even rue the lack of a limited slip diff. If anything, the added power and torque tests the front end more than the rear. Through the sort of open, sweeping corners the standard Elise would have dispatched with the throttle pinned wide open and a completely neutral attitude, the supercharged car's effortless muscle needs modulating if you're to avoid the front nudging wide. It's nowhere near being a problem, but it does give the most subtle of hints that this is just about the optimum amount of power for the standard chassis to cope with, at least while fitted with those skinny, feel-enhancing front tyres. Close to the limit or not, the Elise still has amongst the most tactile steering of any car I can think of. Light, quick, uncorrupted and incredibly detailed, it is magnificent.

Grumbles? A few, but only those we'd raise with the standard car. The main one is the brakes, which simply don't have the feel such a pure, non-servo, non-ABS set-up should offer. There's not even a huge amount of bite, however hard you push the pedal. Work 'em hard and they can get a bit grindy and inconsistent, making it surprisingly easy to lock a wheel. A much less significant failing is the gearshift, which has a loose, stringy feel that's at odds with the steering and chassis. These are minor niggles though, because this is a truly great car.

lambering out of the Lotus and into the big, roomy Impreza is as big a change of scenery as the Elise was after the Civic. It feels good, your hips and ribs squeezed by a seriously supportive seat, feet resting on a set of well-placed alloy pedals. It all helps you to discover an immediate level of confidence. Some of this is undoubtedly due to the psychological effect of the Impreza's stout four-door saloon stance and the added security four-wheel drive gives. Whatever, freed from the nagging fears of excessive understeer or oversteer you're left simply with the task of driving quickly.

With front and rear limited-slip differentials, linked by a viscous centre coupling, the STi feels a very different beast to the standard WRX. The steering is a smidge heavier and while it still lacks the super-detailed, granular feel of the Elise, the stiffer suspension brings with it a greater sense of connection. Drive to standard WRX limits and you'll find the STi shares a similar desire to understeer. Don't be fooled. Get the nose turned in, keep squeezing on the power and you'll feel the steering weight-up in your hands, like torque steer only without the wild deflection from your chosen course. The nose does begin to straighten slightly, requiring you to flex your forearms to stay on line, but stay committed and you can feel the power get redirected through the viscous coupling towards the rear, taking that initial power understeer with it. From this point on, the STi's balance is tail-led. You feel each individual tyre working to find grip, each corner of the car pummelling and digging at the tarmac, generating sensational levels of drive and traction. This is where the STi gets in the zone, the point at which it feels most alive.

The thing that never ceases to amaze is the sheer speed you can carry into any given corner, on any surface in any weather. Quite simply, nothing can live with its ability to absorb such dynamic punishment and adapt to the ever-changing demands of an unfamiliar road. Bumps, crests and tricky cambers? No problem. It's so fast on such a wide range of roads you can't help thinking it shouldn't be allowed.

There's huge overtaking power, too. You just can't beat a turbocharged car for that raw, ballistic rush, and from 3500rpm the STi flies. By 7000rpm the real fire has subsided (thank the Type-UK's extra catalyst for that) but by then whatever was in front of you will be a receding speck in your rear-view mirror. The STi's six-speed 'box helps maximise the thrust, with the intermediate ratios able to dispatch any corner you care to imagine with a full-boost flourish. It's not as manic as an Evo VII, and it's all the better for it. Each gear has an added urgency over and above the standard WRX; an increased ability to strain the tendons in your neck as boost pressure builds. Third and fourth are really impressive and it's these that do most of the work, even on surprisingly sinuous stretches. It still cruises well though; there's less than 3500rpm on the dial at 85mph, so motorways aren't a chore.

Big four-pot Brembo brakes at the front (two- potters at the rear) give the Impreza enormous stopping power. Initial pedal feel is a bit numb and they don't really bite when you gently cover the pedal, but once you're into the meat of the firm pedal's travel you can feel the pads chomp into the discs with conviction. Super Sport ABS takes readings from a lateral g sensor to increase the car's ability in trail-brake situations, and you have to be going mighty hard before the pedal will pulse beneath your foot. They feel well able to cope with anything you could throw at them.

It's easy to tell who's just stepped out of the STi; the ruddy-tinged face, glazed eyes and drugged smile are dead giveaways. Even Harry, a formerly reluctant Impreza admirer, appears to have been converted. 'Astonishing. Absolutely astonishing. I even quite like the look of it! It's like the Integrale Evo ΂- you really couldn't imagine having anything but the wide-arched, winged 'Grale. Well it's the same with the STi. It just looks so much more serious than the WRX.'

Roger, too, is convinced we're once again in the presence of greatness (and no, he's not talking about Harry): 'For the money you'd have to say it's a bit of a bargain. If an M3 can question your need to buy a 911, then this questions your need to buy an M3.' Quite.

Ah yes, the M3. A huge hit at last year's eCOTY contest (in conventional manual form), we brought along an SMG-equipped car to see if the rapid-shift sequential transmission raises the M3's game as a pure driving tool.

The paddles certainly make a huge difference to the way you drive the M3. At first you feel clumsy, flipping up and down for no particular reason and with no particular rhythm, but relax with the system and your timing returns. The biggest problem with it is the paddles themselves. They're just not long enough, especially when they lurk behind such a fat-rimmed steering wheel. Consequently when you curl your fingers out for a shift with the wheel pointing straight, chances are you'll flash the lights or squirt the screen washers. More frustratingly, when you reach for a paddle while applying steering lock (surely the whole reason for the paddle-shift system) it's all too easy to forget which side to flip. Mr Montoya might like his paddles attached to the back of his steering wheel, but he never needs to apply more than half a turn of lock. On the road, where full turns or more are often required, paddles fixed to the steering column would be a better solution.

In almost every other respect the SMG system is highly effective, heightening the excitement and involvement of a high-speed blat. I'm not noted for my love of these transmission systems, but even I would have a hard time choosing between manual and SMG. So too would Roger. 'It works so well you rarely feel like you're missing out by not having a manual 'box and it adds to the package without dominating the experience. Would I have one over the standard 'box? Dunno, but it's certainly the first one I'd consider having.' Harry is more decisive. 'I can't imagine having an M3 without it,' he says. Hayman just isn't convinced. 'The SMG gearbox works a treat if you like that sort of thing, he says, 'but I don't, and would have the manual every time. The paddle-shift just makes an already frantic and manic car even more aggressive.'
Transmission aside, there's a satisfying weight to the steering and other major controls, enough to make you feel involved at any rate. It needs more lock than you might expect to get it turned in, which makes it feel slower witted than it actually is. And if you switch off the ASR, as you surely will at some point, the rapidity with which the tail submits to 338bhp is an instant wake-up call that will require rapid armfuls of lock to catch. Once caught, the M-Diff and the M3's excellent weight distribution make it a straightforward beast to hold on to, but the transition from grip to slip is sharper and earlier than with the other cars here.

The biggest failing is the brakes, which lack staying power, even in hard road use. Charging along our valley road, the pedal became softer, the pads and discs eventually grinding and squealing in protest. From experience we know that track work kills them in three laps. Disappointing for a car so thoroughly engineered in every other area.

The over-riding impression of the M3 isn't its raw, balls-out ability but its super-consistent delivery. It might sound perverse, but it's this meticulous attention to the dynamic 'big picture' ΂- the ability to carouse and cosset in equal measure ΂- that is its undoing. Feedback is on a strictly need-to-know basis, and as the chassis is so darned competent and controllable (at least with ASR engaged) you don't need to know that much about the maelstrom occurring between tyres and tarmac. Too supple to feel noticeably more effective as you hit fast, smooth tarmac, too big and weighty to excel when the going gets bumpy-twisty, it simply tackles any road you care to throw at it in the same efficient, calculating manner. Consistently brilliant, it lacks the ability to deliver those fleeting moments of inspiration which the Mini, Elise and STi can serve up.
So what about Porsche's new 3.6-litre Carrera, the ultimate car in our ultimate line-up? Well, first impressions are hugely encouraging thanks to an almost GT3-like stance. Sitting some 30mm lower than the standard 911, on shorter, stiffer springs, re-rated dampers and a set of 18in alloys, it looks the absolute business. A lift-reducing aero package, featuring a new front undertray, side skirts and fixed tail spoiler, adds to the visual drama, while slung out back is the rortiest sports exhaust system you've ever heard. Inside, there's a pair of leather-trimmed, fixed-back bucket seats and, er, no rear seats (a legal requirement if you have fixed-back fronts seats). It's a factory-fit options inventory that adds ΂£7436 to the list price, but if you like your 911s with attitude, this is the baby for you.

As soon as the flat-six clears its throat through the sports exhaust you can't help but fall in love with this car. That deep, chesty rasp is a magnificent soundtrack when amplified sufficiently and it immediately elevates this 911 above the rest of our group for sheer aural class. Combined with the lower stance, you almost expect the Carrera to accelerate like the GT3, but inevitably the added low-rev and mid-range shove of the new 3.6-litre engine fades at the point where a GT3 would really come alive. It's as though the more aggressive chassis makes a promise the engine can't deliver ΂- a crazy thought since the Carrera still has thrilling power.

The suspension is a serious step on from the standard settings, and though I'd be lying if I said it's anything but an uncompromising choice, it does give the 911 a feeling of connection with the road that the standard car can't match. There's a significant deterioration in ride quality but a moderate increase in steering feel too, which is welcome, as the new 911's helm is no match for the original 996's. If only some more of the GT3's geometry could be applied (impossible, sadly) this would surely be the next best thing to Porsche's last great road-racer. Mr Hayman would marry a GT3 if he could find one that fancied him, so it's encouraging to find that he approves of this particular 911. 'This suspension pack transforms the Carrera from what is now quite a soft car GT car into a sharper driver's car.'

I know what he means, but the more I drive it the less I'm convinced. While feel has increased, the Carrera's ability to parry bumps is dramatically reduced. Hit a series of bumps at speed and the whole car jiggles and skims where the standard car would steamroller. Alarming at first, the lack of wheel-travel feels worse than it is over moderate bumps and imperfections, but as your pace quickens and the surface deteriorates you can feel the front end run out of suspension movement, ultimately forcing you to back off. Brake hard on such a lumpen surface and it's no surprise to feel the efforts of the ABS system pulsing through the middle pedal.

To be fair, this is the most extreme chassis set-up, aimed at those who mix fast road driving with track days. We reckon the less aggressive sport suspension pack, which lowers the car by 10mm, is probably the optimum road set-up. What you can't ignore, even with suspension more suited to track than road, is what a wonderful challenge the 911 is to master. In terms of sheer point-to-point pace it has to give best to the STi, with the enhanced Elise snapping at its heels, but the thrill is still there. That rear-end weight bias still requires skill to exploit, as you have to master the 911's characteristic reluctance to turn in by backing off ever so slightly as you commit to the corner. Suss that bit and then concentrate on feeling the weight transfer to the rear whilst simultaneously feeding the power in to maintain the slide. It sounds hellishly tricky, but the addictive, rewarding and challenging process of learning the limits and traits of a 911 is still one of the best driving experiences you can have.
Bluntly the Civic Type-R isn't. We'd hoped that in a no-holds-barred pursuit of all-out thrills the screaming hot hatch would come into its own. What we found once again is that it doesn't have the dynamic polish its engine and gearbox deserve. Perhaps the Focus RS will restore the hot hatch's honour in the realm of great driver's cars. Let's hope so. The M3 is a harder call to make, but in the end its total ability somehow lets it down in this company. Capable of delivering 90 per cent everywhere, you end up craving a 100 per cent hit of something, even if it means a shift away from all-round competence. That's why BMW has to build the M3 CSL.

If the Civic is a disappointment, the Mini, Elise and Impreza are absolute heroes. All three deliver pure moments of amazing clarity and completeness, moments that define what a great car is all about. Whether it's the Mini's insatiable appetite for corners, the Elise's immaculate tactility and enhanced power, or the realisation that the Impreza's awesome pace and weapons- grade all-weather ability make it one of the fastest cars money can buy. Aspire to the Porsche by all means, but take heart in the fact that brilliance can be found on any budget.