Telling people that it was a Clio with a 3-litre V6 stuffed where the back seat should be was always fun, though sometimes, particularly on early acquaintance, the consequences of this minor modification were not. Yes indeedy, the Clio had 'challenging' handling. Steering which was up with the very best for feedback and turn-in was let down by a slow-witted rear end. The technique for making decent progress was to turn in slightly below what might seem the maximum speed for a given corner, wait for the rear to follow, lean, load- up and settle (much strumming of fingers on wheel while waiting), and then use the V6's prodigious traction to sling-shot out of the corner.

Even then, really committing always remained a teeth-and-everything-else-clenching exercise - especially in the wet. The classic nightmare scenario was driving at night in heavy rain on a dark unlit motorway with standing water lurking; I soon found that sitting back and letting people- carriers and 4x4s blast past me was the safest way of getting home. At speed in these conditions the Clio felt for all the world as if it was running on badly adjusted supermarket trolley wheels. I guess that the need for two new rear tyres at 7500 miles suggests that I did eventually get the hang of slinging the car around.

A day at Jonathan Palmer's Bedford Autodrome for a Clio group test saw the car acquit itself surprisingly well. To my mind, the V6 is much more suited to open-road blasts than the sudden directional and loading changes track driving demands and I was pleasantly surprised to be able to ease away from the boy Bovingdon in his 172 Sport on the extremely tight and twisty East circuit, though I didn't see which way he went in that pesky Clio Cup upstart.

Both the smaller Clios highlighted a lack of top-end rush with their big brother, although their squeaks and rattles also highlighted how well the V6 was screwed together, the car feeling completely solid and rattle-free after a day's hard use on and - just occasionally - off track.

I had been prepared for a few problems to go with owning such an outlandish, limited-run car but right to the end of its days with me the Clio remained a 100 per cent faithful companion. In fact it showed no inclination whatsoever to return to supplying and servicing dealer SMC Renault in Woking. Apart from a 1000-mile oil and filter change (not required according to Renault, but I'm old fashioned) and a 12-month service, no oil was consumed and the only fluid added was to the screen washer reservoir. What little work was required SMC carried out well, the car returning from its service both with a definite edge restored and shining like new.

All the more frustrating, then, that the large silencer box so prominently on view at the rear of the car let the side down. It started to pit and corrode within weeks and very soon looked truly gruesome, only getting worse and worse with each passing month. The situation was finally resolved by a visit to Quicksilver Exhausts, who produced a new stainless steel box together with associated pipework and tailpipes which looked fantastic. Contact them on 0207 6272271, but bear in mind they can adjust the noise to suit your preferences - whilst sounding awesome, my box was probably too 'boomy' inside the car for day-to-day use.
Though lightly stressed at 230bhp, the big old
3-litre V6 returned a frankly disappointing 21.9mpg average. Compare that with my 338bhp M3, which is currently returning 24.8mpg.

An even more sobering figure was the car's trade-in value of ΂£16,000. That's an eyewatering drop of 40 per cent in less than 18 months. I don't suppose the announcement of a more powerful, supposedly better handling MkII version has helped (who remembers the Clio Williams MkI, II and III fiasco?) although if you're considering the new version bear in mind that, at the time of writing, there are still some new silver MkIs available and - last I heard - dealers were selling them at ΂£19,995. Makes you think - particularly if, like me, you paid your deposit, patiently waited three years, and then paid full price. Talk about kicking loyal customers in the whatsits...

So, reliability and build quality aside, and financial doubts highlighted, was it a practical day-to-day car in terms of usability? For me, yes. Not having to use the car to transport children or a dog, I only needed two seats and, viewed as a two-seater, the Clio was surprisingly practical with quite a reasonable, if slightly leaky, boot up front, space for smallish squashy things behind the seats and loads more space for largish squashy things on top of the engine cover. It even had a rear hatch. The Recaro seats were comfy and gave a good, if slightly high, driving position and air-con and multi-CD player came as standard. No spare wheel, though, just two cans of foam. The only fly on the windscreen of practicability was the serious lack of ground clearance - the front spoiler making something like an Elise look like a 4x4 by comparison. Oh, and the turning circle was, erm, vast.

Would I do it again? Despite the unpleasant taste left by Renault's pricing games, yes. The Clio was a truly special car - whenever the evo team got together, even that hard-bitten seen-it-all group expressed an enduring fondness for the V6 despite its foibles. They always wanted just one more quick run. And I seemed to spend my life telling people that it wasn't wildly fast, handled in an 'interesting' manner - but that I loved it.

There's no doubting that my M3 is in a different league performance and handling-wise and, as all kindred spirits out there know, today's exciting new toy always eases the pain of parting with the old but, even so, seeing the Clio go was a big wrench. Renault should be applauded for building this car.

If they hadn't and you heard that a guy down the road was building a special based on a Clio with a 3-litre V6 in the boot, what would you have said?