I was making a fast, third-gear exit from a roundabout onto a dual carriageway, young Bovingdon in the passenger seat nursing a sackful of quarter pounders for the evo night- shift, when the M Coupe's hitherto hunkered-down tail snapped around in vicious fashion. Only a hasty McFlurry of opposite lock saved us from burying the Beemer's beak into the barriers.

I wouldn't have minded, but I hadn't touched the ASR traction control button. Subsequent experimentation has revealed that the system reins things in smartly at low speed but is slow to react to the 3.2-litre motor's ample power at higher speeds in slick conditions. Consequently you can find yourself looking out of the side window unexpectedly. Roll on winter. Not.

In a masochistic way, though, this is the essence of M Coupe motoring. It's raw, rough-edged and mighty, mighty quick. Its chassis is certainly crude in comparison to the iron-fisted M3, but there's a lot to be said for a car that keeps you on your toes. There isn't another evo long-termer I'd rather be running.