As the specialist British sports car stares extinction in the face, one might have thought the Blackpool bastion of automotive biff would acquiesce subtly to contemporary pressures - adapt and survive. A spot of ABS, maybe; even a dab of traction control. Whatever it takes to connect with modern, high-octane consumer sensibilities.

But it seems not. Not in a million years. TVRs evolve differently to other cars, mutating with each generation into purer, more concentrated and extreme versions of what went before. When Ripley and crew in the film Alien get to study the first face-sucking predator, they're simultaneously afraid and awestruck: acid for blood, killer instinct with knobs on, a set of teeth that can drill a victim's throat. Nothing fancy, just primal fury and devastating fitness for purpose. TVR in a nutshell.

Consider the recent bloodline: Cerbera, Tuscan, Tamora. The Tamora could have been interpreted as the entry-level pass to TVR's 'grunt is good' front-engine/rear-drive universe. But the term is inappropriate. The smallest and least expensive TVR turned out to be just as hard, fast, loud and challenging as the others. No dilution, no easy option, no allowance for affordability.

And now here's the T350C, ostensibly the coupe adaptation of the Tamora. But, in truth, it's the TVR genus reborn once more. Many of TVR's best cars have had hard tops and the groundswell of opinion in evo's office is that the T350C - small, slippery, structurally stiff and powered by the fabulously fierce 3.6-litre 350bhp Speed Six engine - has the minerals and the means to be the most focused and effective reformatting of TVRness yet.

It costs ΂£38,500 in basic trim, which is a sizeable ΂£12K more than the Vauxhall VX220 Turbo. But then the TVR, with its high-grade trim, glass hatch and lined luggage area, is part GT. And the philosophy behind the lightweight, mid-engined 2-litre turbocharged roadster built by Lotus is that less is most definitely and decisively more. Boasting a textbook chassis layout and weighing a lean 930 kilos, the 197bhp and 184lb ft of torque generated by its four-pot 2-litre turbo Astra GSi engine should go a long way, though it's hard to see how it can make up a 153bhp deficit against the TVR. Or give 104bhp away to the altogether more fizzed-up 2-litre turbo four of the latest ΂£28,995 Mitsubishi Evo VIII FQ-300, even if the all-drive rally-rod does have four doors, a big boot and a huge rear wing to cart about.

And so it shapes up. Three contenders, two distinct and compelling counter-TVR arguments about how to get the job done, a classic clash of cultures, styles and engineering solutions. But our final combatant, the facelifted and thoroughly worked-over Renault Clio V6 255 (΂£26,995), isn't having any of it.

Closer to a compendium of optical illusions and conundrums than a category of performance car, the Clio to some extent has the drop on its rivals here before a wheel has turned. Its laterally distended hatchback bodywork - steel Clio shell, glassfibre rear wings, stamped composite door skins - is pure caricature but carries genuine supercar presence, eclipsing even the T350C for head-swivelling clout. Its midships layout is as purist as the Vauxhall's but power comes not from some tricked-up turbo four but a garglesome, naturally aspirated and relatively heavy 3-litre V6 with a 7200 red line, a respectable if not rampant 255bhp and 221lb ft of torque, and a sonic signature almost as extravagant as the TVR's.

Last year's Clio V6 had a weaker engine and a chassis that managed to feel both sloppy and edgy at the same time. It attracted roughly as much flak as Madonna's movie acting. A recent steer in the new one suggests that Renault Sport's raft of chassis improvements - from lengthening the wheelbase and widening the track to doubling the front roll stiffness - hasn't just reformed the wayward talent but worked it into something of a dynamic virtuoso. We'll see.

And we'll see on one of the world's great driving roads. We've paused in Penrith for a burger. It's raining and we try to talk up the weather for Saturday afternoon when we rendezvous with TVR's Ben Samuelson and the T350C. I've driven up from Evo Towers in the Mitsubishi and feel fine. Photographer Andy, Andy's brother Will and a bootful of camera kit breezed the M6 in Harry's Audi RS6 Avant and probably feel even better. As Dickie Meaden climbs out of the Clio, it's clear he's already been snagged by the car's quirky charms. And John Barker after four hours in the VX220 Turbo? 'I feel like I've been folded, Houdini-style, into a packing case,' he groans.

Tough for John but not a disaster for the VX. None of these will be bought for plying motorways. The reason we're this far north is the A686, 45 miles of sublime blacktop that runs between Penrith and Corbridge. We know the best stretches and they'll test the mettle of these cars comprehensively and in short order.

I scissor my ample torso into the VX for the short run to our hotel in Edenhall and try to imagine what JB's just been through. It isn't easy. My initial impressions of the 220 are nearly always good. It's a car you wear rather than sit in. The lean padding of the seats feels great to begin with, as does the dinky steering wheel, its perfect relationship to the other controls, the smooth clutch and easy precision of the six-speed gearbox and the remarkable quality of the low-speed ride. The simplicity and honesty of the man/machine interface shines through immediately. None of which detracts from the fact that JB needs a spell in the Evo VIII to forget about the pain in his arse, ringing ears from wind noise generated by the baggy fabric roof and gappy door seals, and irritation with sundry suspension noises that sound uncannily like loose floorboards.

Next morning it's still raining and we head for what the travel books describe as 'England's last great wilderness' and base ourselves just outside England's highest market town, Alston, with its heavily cobbled High Street and impossibly quaint shops. While Andy and Will crack on with the detail photography, the rest of us snatch whatever road time we can in the spare cars to establish the general plateau of talent before the TVR arrives just after lunch.

We think we know what to expect from the Mitsubishi - blinding pace and point-to-point ability given maximum stick, utter tedium rolling along in traffic, not much light and shade in between. But the latest FQ-300 isn't quite like that. All right, its engine sounds charmless, its tight and sticky six-speed shift is terminally unsatisfying and JB has an interesting observation from the previous evening, admitting that it felt quite agitated and over-alert hopping into it from the VX.

Once in the groove, though, it isn't the two-dimensional experience you expect. The chassis may be dominated by its grippy-as-Velco feel, even in the wet, but play with attack angles, trailing throttle and even a brush of the brake pedal and you'll discover gorgeously progressive transient manners, damping control and stability. Active Yaw Control (new for the VIII) lets you kick the tail out under power past the apex; the movement is consistent, fluid and satisfying. The engine's power delivery is smooth and progressive, too (save for a jerk if you suddenly pull out of the throttle when the turbo's on boost). With the throttle flattened, though, the Evo has simply murderous upper-end pulling power, sprints between legal and ohmygawd in the blink of an eye and makes you feel like a driving god. Dickie emerges from his first real blat with an equally positive outlook: 'Great steering, brilliantly linear delivery for a turbo engine - except for that nasty on-boost-off-boost shunt - fabulous brakes and the most natural chassis balance of any Evo I've ever driven. What's more, these are attributes you can enjoy all the time.'

The all-drive Jap zapper plants the marker but over the next hour or so it becomes clear that the mid-engined rear-drivers are far from overawed. 'Revelation' is a word we all use to describe the Clio. The previous V6 hinted at what a taller, boxier 911 might be like to drive before - more usually than not - pirouetting into the undergrowth. This one actually delivers. You're still aware that most of the weight is settled where the rear seats should be, but the damping and wheel control are so much better than before it almost beggars belief. Now the nose creams the worst crests and dips, tracks faithfully and feeds plenty of feel back through the rim.

Getting the best from the Renault is fairly straightforward so long as you remember to let the front end hook into the apex before feeding in the power and letting the rear weight bias pin the rear tyres to the tarmac. Traction is superb, the short-actioned six-speed shift peachy. And although the Clio feels like it could be more accelerative still (it trails the others by about a second to 60mph), its outright performance doesn't betray the miniature supercar looks. It's genuinely enjoyable. The loudest noise is a seductive one: the richly layered howl of the engine at full throttle as it passes 4000rpm. Ease off and the note melts into a low-level ambient whoosh which is in keeping with the comfortable, quite plushly-trimmed cabin.

Dickie isn't a fan of the Clio's interior execution, reckoning it needs some fixed-back Recaros and less grey plastic to convincingly fulfill the pocket-supercar role. He finds the driving position slightly awkward, too - the seat and wheel are set too high and the pedals aren't ideal for heel-and-toe downshifts. But over the course of the morning he grows to love the car: 'The roll and lift-off oversteer have been largely banished, so now it only comes into play when you want it to, rather than at every corner,' he says. 'You still don't feel comfortable entering corners with a trailing throttle, or backing off when the radius tightens, but the pucker factor is largely psychological - the Clio now stays with you rather than hanging you out to dry. It's an absorbing challenge, a car you would continue to learn new things about. It may not be the purest, fastest or most accomplished car here but it could just be the most memorable.'

It's time for me to meet up with Ben and the TVR in Alston, ten or so twisty miles away. There's little soul-searching over which car to take: the VX220 Turbo. Super-swift in a straight line it undeniably is, but it's the chassis' magic I crave. Its steering is deftly weighted but meaty and communicative, qualities put to stunning use by the heroic levels of grip and a fabulous cornering balance with a broad neutral phase. It's the fusion of sharpness and agility, litheness and suppleness that feels so special. Body motions are brilliantly controlled, even over single, sharp bumps. It's still pinging from a workout with Barker who now, 24 hours on, is more exhilarated than exhausted and happy to sing the Vauxhall's praises: 'The amount and detail of feedback from the helm is incredible,' says JB, 'yet it's so pure, so free of bump and thump. When the road is patchy damp, you can feel the light film of water under the wheels.

'The magic of the VX is that it flows so wonderfully over difficult roads, yet the balance is so carefully judged against grip that there's a pretty sharp edge to its dynamic envelope. I suspect that most drivers will rarely push right to that edge but in the wet it's possible to venture beyond it by misjudging a corner. You need to be aware - it can lead to a sudden loss of front-end grip, and ABS can only make the best of what front-end grip there is.'

The plan for the rest of the afternoon and next morning is to relocate to the car park of the Hartside Cross caf΃©, 2000ft above sea level. By English standards, this part of the country gives new meaning to the word 'steep'. Hikers understand. And the pockets of cyclists who pound the relentless five-mile hill in pursuit of fitness, fulfilment and some stunning views across the Solway Firth to Scotland. Well, when the hilltop isn't shrouded with mist and rain. In a sense, this is good news for us. Only the hardiest are pushing pedals and there aren't many today. Mostly the road is ours.

The T350C feels entirely different to the other cars, a high-velocity bullet of a coupe with a nuggety ride and a more aggressively vocal growl than the rest put together. It puts a smile on my face there and then.

On the first descent it's simply breathtaking company. Nailing it from rest seems the thing to do. The back end hunkers down, squirming gently as the rubber claws into the tarmac and the car launches like a steam sled. The push is punishing and sustained. It's the kind of grunt you can hardly get enough of.

This is TVR's thing: acceleration that's more akin to a force of nature; slam and fury, shift after heavy-duty shift of the five-speed gearbox. The experience is initially numbing, certainly addictive. It squeezes gaping distances into compact chunks so much more theatrically than the comparably accelerative (up to 70mph, at least) Vauxhall and Mitsubishi, and has a bellicose delivery that simply refuses to let up. It's lung-deflating push, the kind of aural and visceral onslaught that was once the sole preserve of 12-cylinder supercars.

It may be the smallest TVR but it's still a physical car to drive. The quick steering treads a fine line between beefiness and delicacy; it demands a firm grip but a relaxed attitude. It's feelful and allows the car to be placed accurately on these narrow bends but in the wet you've got to be on your mettle. If you want to push the tail wide, aggressive inputs will be punished in a way that would give the seasoned Evo VIII pilot a heart attack. A modest flick past the apex is the safest bet, though sitting on seats that offered better lateral location would help.

At the end of the day, the T350C has caused a small rift to open up between John and Dickie. JB would like the chassis to be a little less challenging (I agree), Dickie relishing its 'don't mess' aura. 'Perhaps most importantly, I wanted to drive it as soon as I saw it,' he says. 'Just as the Vauxhall defines sports car dynamics, the TVR defines sports car emotion. On these roads in these conditions, I expected the TVR to be a nasty, edgy animal of a thing, all snappy, unpredictable oversteer, hair-raising wheelspin and tarmac-scrapingly under-damped. What we have is a driveable, controllable, entertaining car. It reminds me of the Griffith, though it's sharper and more aggressively set-up. But it also gives a broader, workable window in which to play.' We all like the way the T350C is put together and finished, too, with its tight-fitting panels, glassy paint finish and well-tailored interior.

If you haven't realised already, these are all truly great cars. Picking a winner is near impossible, but when we finally get round to distilling our thoughts and adding up scores, it's the Clio that's made the biggest impression on our collective respect and affections. Given the quality of the opposition - including what we reckon is the best TVR ever made - it's a sensational result.

Three of these cars have very specific characters. The TVR is hardcore and horny, the VX arguably the best-handling roadster on the planet and the Evo a devastatingly effective way to travel from A to B. In the end it's about more than sheer ability. Take desirability, looks, charisma and cost into account and the Clio finds its edge. It delivers enjoyment on every level, including a temporal one where you have to learn how to get the best from it over time. You could have a very grown-up relationship with the Clio V6. It feels as special and charismatic as any car we can think of under ΂£40K. The Clio V6 has come good, and how.