When you daydream about French cars, as connoisseurs like us are wont to do, what comes to mind? Teardrop shaped hydro pneumatically suspended spaceships? Chic Parisien bash abouts with asymmetrical wheelbases? Snail shaped peasant cars with umbrella handle gearshifts and twin cylinder engines? It’s a veritable onion bag full of oddball engineering with the slightest sense of the French stubbornly doing things their own damn way. A sports car from France may sound like oxymoron, but the home of the revolution has a long history of doing just that.
Jean Redele was a wealthy Renault dealer in Dieppe who began rallying a souped up 4CV after the war, finding success at the Coupe Des Alpes (giving Alpine its name). Working with local coachbuilder Chappe et Gessalin, and the prodigious Italian designer Giovanni Michelotti, he shoved the 4CV mechanicals into a tiny, pioneering glass fiber coupe to create the very first Alpine, the A106 in 1955. Light weight and rear engine agility was key to these sylph like little cars outstanding performance in French rallies, although initially they were never meant for public consumption. Nevertheless the A106 was eventually turned into a road car with an ever evolving specification, until it was replaced in 1958 with the A108. In 1963 it was replaced with a slightly larger, more aggressive model that would cement the Alpine legend and become the beating heart of the brand – the A110.
Initially with 95bhp from it’s rear mounted 1.3 liter engine, continuous development and bigger engines turned the A110 into a formidable rally weapon. It won the inaugural World Rally Championship in 1973, but it was rendered obsolete overnight by the arrival of the purpose built Lancia Stratos a year later. Then, in an ironic twist of fate for a manufacturer of efficient, lightweight sports cars, the oil crisis tanked sales so Renault ended up buying Alpine outright. With the resources of the state owned mothership now behind them, the A110 was followed by the larger A310, which by the eighties morphed into the V6 turbo powered Renault Alpine GTA, a sort of plastic 911. The last of these rolled out of the famous Dieppe factory in 1995 and that was that for the storied French sports car maker. Until the release of the new A110 in 2017.
It’s Sort Of A French Lotus But Better
If all this talk of lightweight sports cars and doing more with less makes Alpine sound like a sort of French Lotus, when it comes to this new A110 you’re not exactly a million miles off. The original business case for this rebirth was centered on it being a partnership with another small volume sports car manufacturer. Way back in 2013 Alpine jumped under the duvet in a 50/50 join venture with Caterham, which at the time was stuffed with ex-Lotus engineers. Unfortunately for Alpine, Caterham in true Colin Chapman fashion had not been entirely honest about the state of their finances, leaving Alpine to pick up the pieces when the whole arrangement went ass over tit. Still the fundamental engineering for a modern, super lightweight, modestly powered sports car was well underway, so CEO (and ruthless cost cutter) Carlos Ghosn allowed the project to go ahead on the condition it paid for itself and didn’t lose any money.
Making cars lighter has long since moved beyond the stinky, creaky and slightly approximate construction of the fiberglass cars of the sixties. This new A110 has a folded and bonded aluminum frame, which means it doesn’t require the expensive press tools of a traditional stamped and welded one and is much cheaper and less labor intensive to manufacture than carbon fiber. Hanging from each corner is bespoke double wishbone suspension with identically sized (more cost saving) front and rear brakes. Sitting in the middle of the chassis is the 1.8 turbo four from the Megane RS making 252 bhp and 236 lbs. ft. And it is tiny: at 164” (4181mm) long, and 78” (1980 mm) wide, it’s 6” (200 mm) shorter and half an inch (14 mm) narrower than a Cayman. With the curvaceous body also being aluminum, all up this little sports car weighs 2430 lbs. (1103kg), over 500lbs (260 kg) lighter than the Porsche. You could probably bugger up the power to weight ratio by driving it after a hearty lunch.
I try to be a conscientious writer and not knock this stuff out when I’ve been on the sherry all evening, so I watched and read a few reviews to understand what everybody else thought. Then I could write exactly the opposite, to be my usual mercurial self (just kidding). The overriding thing that came across was how well this car rode, which shouldn’t be that surprising because if there is one characteristic French cars are known for, it’s the ability to float across any road surface without knocking the ash from your Gauloises. However my first few days behind the wheel that didn’t prove to be the case at all. I thought it rode like shit, thumping into potholes and joggling over speed bumps.
I found the steering too light and not exactly talkative either. Huh. This was not what I was expecting, so the Alpine and I were not off to a good start. Compounding the annoyance was the almost total lack of storage space inside, the glitchy wireless CarPlay connection unless I took my phone out of my pocket and put it in the slot on the center console and a view from the rearview mirror that was like spying on your hot neighbor through their mail slot. It must be said though apart from that outward visibility is excellent.
Ok Now I Get It
To see what all the fuss was really about, I spent most of last weekend on the bendy roads between villages near my house driving like a complete and utter helmet. In keeping with the Alpine’s lightweight mantra, there are no adaptive dampers. I imagine the French suspension engineers arrogantly decided they know what’s best and you’ll like it. You need to get some load through the suspension and steering to make it come alive, as if the car being lightweight on its own isn’t enough to get it all working properly. Start leaning on it, really leaning on it, and it will talk to you. The steering, inert if accurate around town, is suddenly transmitting every crease in the tarmac and white line up through the rim. Weirdly the ride seems to soften up, but it remains incredibly composed and communicative when pushing, remaining utterly unflustered despite my cack-handed helmsmanship. The body starts moving around – not to warn you but to help you. Sport mode, simply accessed by a button on the steering wheel, sharpens up the throttle and gearbox, backs off the traction control, gives you complete manual control of the changes and makes the exhaust nosier. You can crack down the box on the way in with the engine popping, stand the Alpine on its nose while you turn, and as you clog it on the way out of a corner, the rear squats like a shitting dog and off you go.
And you do go – 252 bhp might not sound like a lot, but the gossamer Alpine takes off like a Rafale M hitting the burners off the deck of the Charles De Gaulle. 0-60 can be achieved in a launch control assisted 4.5 seconds, and top speed is limited to 155 mph (other fruitier versions can crack 170). I’ve driven cars that are probably faster (Civic Type R, M240i) but I didn’t drive them as fast as I drove the Alpine, because it was so capable and confidence-inspiring, helped by its diminutive size which is spot on. Honestly, I kept going quicker, braking later (and then sometimes not braking at all) until I became acutely aware I was one errant tractor away from sitting in a pile of smoldering blue wreckage in the middle of a field.
Throughout all this tomfoolery you’re held in place by excellent standard Sabelt seats. Unlike the earlier versions of the A110, they’re no longer fixed buckets, being tweakable for height and backrest angle. It’s plenty roomy, easy to access, and ergonomically where this car shines is its simplicity and clarity of purpose. There is nothing you don’t need. Standard equipment runs to single zone climate (with knobs), electric windows and mirrors, cruise control, CarPlay and Android Auto, and that’s about your lot. Most of what you can touch is nicely finished, but the dashboard upper and lower, along with the main door panels won’t be worrying Lexus anytime soon. There are some lovely touches of French pride though – small Tricolores on the insides of the doors and outside on the C pillar, the (optional) reversing camera superimposes red, white, and blue guidelines on the screen, and the gear selection buttons also illuminate in the colors of the French flag depending on what mode you are in.
About that gearbox. It’s a seven-speed DCT, and no doubt some of you will be howling a car like this should be a manual. In his book ‘Inside the Machine’, the project director and chief engineer of this car David Twohig says this:
Another contentious choice, and one that many of the more hardcore motoring journalists would later bemoan – the lack of a manual gearbox seen by some as a compromise for a focused ‘driver’s car. It was a choice that I would patiently defend later in a hundred discussions with journalists and enthusiasts – explaining that a modern double-clutch gearbox is actually lighter than a manual equivalent, when looked at as an entire system of gearbox, clutch, controls, and even the mounting brackets for the clutch pedal and gearlever. Equally importantly, the double-clutch gearbox with paddle-shift gear controls behind the steering wheel was well adapted to ‘less expert’ drivers. This was always a difficult point to explain – most drivers certainly most enthusiast drivers, and even some professional automotive journalists, tend to overestimate their capabilities behind the wheel. I, or the other hand, had been lucky enough to sit beside enough professional test drivers by now to understand that most normal people (like me) have very limited skills…
This is very much an engineer’s point of view – in measurable, empirical metrics a DCT is objectively better. But as designer, I also think in terms of things that cannot easily be quantified: feel, emotional engagement, and a smug sense of superiority. But to be honest, the fact this car isn’t a manual didn’t bother me personally one bit. In fact it was a boon commuting into Coventry every day. In Auto mode, the changes are nice and slurry, and modern engines have such a good spread of power you’re never left floundering when booting it. We’re not talking about an old GM400 three-speed treaclematic for God’s sake.
Understanding Why It’s Such A Good Design
One of the reasons I wanted to borrow the Alpine was not because I wanted to ponce about showing off for a week (there used to be at least two A110s living in my town, so I’m a day late and a dollar short as usual) but because I wanted to talk about its design, which I consider to be an exceptional piece of work. Something that comes up regularly is that we shouldn’t judge older cars by the standards of today, and design is subjective. The A110 gives me the perfect opportunity to demonstrate in one way why that is not the case: that we can objectively understand whether a car has correct proportions or not.
What do I mean by proportions? Volumes is a fancy designer way of talking about the silhouette of a car. It means the various parts like the hood, trunk and passenger compartment. The proportions are how these things interact with each other. If you’ve ever watched a designer starting sketch on YouTube, they nearly always start with the wheels. Why do this? Because using the wheels as a guide allows you to ballpark the overall proportions of a car. Here take a look:
You can see, despite the 54-year gap between them, the overall proportions of the old and new A110s are essentially identical. The overhangs are a bit tighter on the new model, and obviously the pillars have to be thicker for crash regulations, but it’s remarkable how well the new car captures the essence of the old one without descending into pastiche. The surfacing is clean and simple, and the detailing is bang up to date – I particularly like how well the auxiliary lighting is integrated into what we designers call the down-the-road graphics (DRG), the car’s signature front-end appearance that makes it recognizable and identifiable to observers of the car. One of the main design objectives was for the A110 to generate its rear downforce without need of a bolt-on spoiler, and enormous effort was spent on surfacing the complex rear fenders to include the merest hint of a lip while making sure they could be stamped without tearing the aluminum – a feat that Twohig says wouldn’t have been possible were Alpine not a small skunkworks team operating outside the conservative design and engineering departments of Renault proper.
And this car could never have existed had it been conceived and created within Renault itself. Large OEMs are too unwieldy and too dogmatic in their processes to push through such a single-minded car past all the design gateways and engineering hurdles it would encounter.
It’s A Pint Sized Supercar Without The Supercar Compromises
For all the admirable dietary rigor, don’t be thinking this is a compromised machine. It’s not a stripped-out bathtub like a Lotus, or a high-maintenance carbon fiber coffin like an Alfa Romeo 4C. The Alpine is a much more rounded, everyday experience than that. It occurred to me that at the start of my week with the A110 I had it all wrong. Sure, the urban ride is a bit stiff but in nearly all other respects this is a car you can happily daily – I know because I did. I even took it to get groceries, although because neither the front nor rear trunk are especially capacious one of my shopping bags had to travel in the passenger footwell. But then, when you’re in the mood it becomes a pint-sized supercar. It’s roomy, refined, comfortable, supremely easy to use and see out of, and because of that low curb weight incredibly economical. Over a week and 300 or so miles of urban trundling, fast dual carriageways, and a couple of afternoons driving like Esteban Ocon with the raging hump, I got 40 mpg (34 imp mpg). Forty. Due to the A110’s compact size the fuel tank, mounted behind the front axle is on the small side at 9 (US) gallons (45 liters) but still, bloody hell. For a car of this performance that gas mileage is insane.
There’s even more good news. As tested the car Alpine lent me lists for $76,678 (£59,515) including $1082 (£840) for the dark metallic Abyss Blue. The hero color Alpine blue is $2357 (£1830) which feels a bit cheeky, as does $605 (£470) for the triangular-shaped storage pack that sits on the bulkhead between the seats, as this is the only way you’re getting anywhere to put anything in the cabin. There are a few other upgrades available including an active exhaust, and an upgraded Focal stereo, but mostly it’s cosmetic stuff you really don’t need. Bog standard in washing machine white (the only standard color) the A110 will require a check for $70,515 (£54,490) a price that includes taxes and delivery. Considering it’s possible to spec a Cayman/Boxster up to nearly six figures, that’s a complete bargain. And you won’t have to put up with seeing these everywhere like a bloody Porsche either. It truly is the connoisseur’s choice.
Alpine have promised that future models may be coming to the US. Let’s hope that turns out to be the case. Otherwise, it’s a shame you have to wait another 18 years to import one.
- The Alpine A290 Electric Hot Hatch Is Reasonably Light And Has Its Own Driving Minigames
- The Alpine A110 San Remo 73 Is A 300-Horsepower Love Letter To Rally Domination
- Alpine Is Coming To The United States And Appears To Already Be Screwing It Up
- Here’s All The Details About The New Renault 5 E-Tech And Yes It Has A Baguette Holder
That explanation for the DCT is either him completely missing the point of a modern manual transmission (which is unlikely, given the nature of this car) or the most patronizing marketing-speak ever. Manuals haven’t been faster or more efficient for at least a decade. That’s not why people want them. I’m not sure it’s why most people wanted them even when they were faster and more efficient.
You couldn’t afford to develop both a manual and a DCT and you think you can sell more DCTs. That’s the explanation in its entirety. The rest is a load of BS with a side of condescending asshole.
/rant
I think that’s unfair. As I said in the text it’s a very cold, logical, engineering based point of view. In an ideal world, we would have got both. But my suspicion is the take rate for a manual would have been low.
In which case we’re back to he completely missed the point of a modern manual, but I still find that difficult to believe given the nature of this car. It’s not like Alpine is completely unaware of how enthusiasts feel about manuals and why they like them. Hint: It’s not pure performance.
And then there’s this:
which is basically him telling us we’re not good enough to drive the manual. Oh, and a little humblebragging that he knows real drivers.
And that’s the part that really gets me, I think. If you have to be a professional driver in order to “deserve” a particular thing then this car shouldn’t exist because none of us can drive it at 10/10s, DCT or no. It’s a nonsense and mildly insulting explanation for something that boils down to exactly what you said: the take rate for a manual would have been too low to justify the cost. Which sucks, but at least is honest and not talking down to the customer.
That may be the pure engineering take, or it may be the PR answer instead of “we couldn’t afford it.” But looking at the whole-vehicle concept (a car designed for fun, not intending to set lap records), a manual would fit that ethos way more.
I completely understand and respect the lotus-esque quest for lightness at every turn, but at some point a couple pounds would have been worth it for that massive change in driving experience. It’s two entirely new points of contact between the driver and the car, in the clutch and the shift knob. Make the manual one of the core building blocks, and do everything else possible to shave the pounds.
I still love this car. It, along with the new Jimny, are the top of my “import at 25” list. But a manual would have made it my true dream car. As it stands, the A110’s cousin, the Evora, takes that spot as it’s available stateside and shares many of the themes that make the a110 special.
Otherwise great writeup. Interesting to hear your takes on the rough ride at low speeds. Hope I get the chance to drive one someday.
I don’t think you’re wrong, but I do think dismissing a car simply because it’s not manual is misguided. Ultimately fringe cars like this have to make some business sense, I made this explicitly clear in the review. If they’d stuck to making it manual (likely a more costly endeavour than using the Megane RS powertrain) the car would have ended up more expensive to buy and had less appeal.
Unfortunately the intersection of what enthusiasts say they want, and what will sell is increasingly narrow. What’s also left out of the discussion is the need to hit emission and noise regulations, something that an auto/DCT is much better at doing.
By the time I’d be able to import one, I might be too old to actually enjoy it. Possible I might be now.
Every time I read the reasoning behind not offering a manual on a car like this it seems they’re completely missing the point. Maybe it’s cold calculated engineering objectives that are devoid of emotion OR maybe it’s made up BS from the PR department to pretend there’s performance driver oriented reasons to justify only selling it with the less polarizing transmission choice. And don’t get me wrong I have no problem with them offering it with DCT, but I think it’s sad they don’t offer both. Many of today’s insanely fast 500+ hp cars you can sell me on a stick being superflous, but in a car with less than 300 hp I’m not buying it-reminds me of Alfa selling the 4C with DCT only (in a car without power steering no less)
There is no way this car would be quicker with a stick. I’m nit sure why you think less than 300 bhp requires one, especially in a car this light.
Oh I know it won’t be quicker with a stick, I’m sure quite the opposite. Just saying (as someone who admittedly hasn’t driven a whole lot of fast modern cars) that it seems as horsepower and speed go up I think my need for something to be manually shifted goes down…but I admit I haven’t driven enough truly fast modern cars back to back with a DCT vs a stick for me to die on that hill.
Maybe to put it in perspective of a couple cars I’ve driven recently. Drove a friend’s current gen Supra with an auto and it was great-but I couldn’t help but think it would be even better with a stick. Around the same time I got the chance to drive a f80 M3 with the DCT and that car was so fast and “edgy” that I’m not sure a stick wouldn’t just be more to stay on top of, at least on the twisty mountain road where I was driving it.
I agree, and I’d own an Alfa 4C if it had a stick. It genuinely has nothing to do with performance. But it does have a lot to do with the feeling one gets when eeking out all the performance one can with their own skill controlling the transmission.
One of my favorite driving experiences of all time is in a BMW E36 328is, five speed manual. That car begged you to get it up high in the revs, the sounds, the way it built power, the ergonomics of the cabin, they were built to enjoy the manual experience in my opinion.
The thing is modern engines don’t need to be wrung out like that. My Ferrari is the same. It really doesn’t get out of bed until about 4500 rpm, and the torque is something like 200lb ft. It would be awful with an auto. That E36 would have been the same – all the power at the top.
The A110’s design and engineering are gorgeous, truly the stuff of dreams, and I still can’t let go of the manual’s absence.
Everything Twohig said is true, but you don’t buy a tiny, RWD 2-seater that’s slower than a comparably-priced AWD sedan because it’s objectively better, you do it for fun. I’m sure it delivers that, just as I’m sure it could have been even more.
I’m not here to bitch about the car we got, because it’s great. I’m here to mourn the even greater car we didn’t get.
In a sports car, whose entire existence centers around the word want, statements like “you don’t need a manual” are entirely out of place. Need is not a word to be wielded against an object of desire.
Hence my comments rebutting his statements. But I suspect there wasn’t the money to make a manual as well.
The A110 is such a gorgeous car, in my opinion. Timeless, distinct, beautiful. Like a Lamborghini Miura or Mercedes 300. A car that I would park, and stare back at as I walked toward the grocery store.
Bugatti would like a word..
They’ve always been super cars or luxury cars, but I take your point.
…………..I got 40 mpg (34 imp mpg)……………. HUH ? ! An imperial gallon is bigger than american. I learned this in London Ont in 1979.
Yeah I screwed up the maths there. 34 imperial is the actual number, so you have some homework to do.
Mr Twohig sir, you have all my respect and support in your choice of transmission. I’ve long held the view that people who needed to accomplish something by driving other then simply driving(i.e. a faster lap time, grocery runs, commutes, etc.) , are better off choosing a modern automated transmission.
I also find it a bit hypocritical how manual enthusiast limit their passion to “being connected” to the car to the manual transmission and exclude chokes, timing levers, hand cranks, oilers, etc.
Yeah, it’s bullshit gatekeeping of the highest order. Not everyone is able to drive a manual either. Mother Dearest had to be dragged kicking and screaming from a manual car when her arthritis got too bad.
Having driven a Model A Ford truck, all those other items really spice up the experience. Controlling ignition advance and double clutching the sliding gear manual really is a ton of fun. I like mechanical analog things though.
I’ve been bored driving a manual as well, the current Ford Bronco with a manual is awesome, but it’s overly perfected to the point of having almost zero character, it feels more like required shifting on a arcade video racing sim.
I absolutely fell in love with the design and philosophy of the revived A110 when it was first announced and bemoaned lack of access, having moved back to the USA a couple years prior. I hope they take the risk of selling one here. I will still complain (a little) about the lack of ability to row one’s own, but this is a car I would make the conscious choice of going to try and it may peel me away from my current daily.
How can I be this covetous of an 8 year old sportscar? Porsches are great, but they seem just a bit like settling. Other options include spending deep six-figures for a museum piece, shallow six figures for something that might work, importing something that may be a “car” from another market. Maybe I can import one for my 60th birthday.
Woo the luggage test! Although pricey imo, it looks like a super fun car.
My RC gear is in the loft as I’ve taken a sabbatical. I figured my trust North Face carry on would be a more useful reference.
I clicked the link for “asymmetrical wheelbases” and saw a lovely pink car, but no mention of asymmetrical wheelbases.
Renault 5 used a torsion bar rear suspension, with one rear wheel mounted slightly further back than the wheel on the opposite side. Hence the asymmetrical wheelbase
I have owned an A110 GT for the last 9 months. My thoughts.
– For an 80 grand car the interior is cack. The switchgear comes from a Clio and the steering wheel radio controls from a 1998 Mk1 Scenic.
– Someone at Alpine should read books about ergonomy. The cruise control / speed limiter is next to the handbrake and nowhere near sight line. The buttons on the steering wheel are not retroilluminated so at night you never know if you are cancelling cruise control or engaging sport mode.
– The infotainment is rubbish and sometimes plays up.
– The engine is not especially insipiring or exciting and at low speeds sounds quite badly. If you push it improves. However without much weight to carry around 300bhp are plenty.
– Would it have been more involving with a manual? Most probably, but the dual clutch works very well, both portling around town and when going for it. Quick, smooth and allows quite aggressive downshifts.
– The ride is absolutely superb. Of course it is firm, but it feels very polished and the car doesn’t crash over bumps and potholes (like for example M BMWs).
– The handling is also great, changes direction quickly and is very agile. It is true that the front end is not “massively talkative” but you have to trust it is there and it will respond. You can round tight corners in the accepted dab of oppo manner but there is alot traction. However, be careful with lift off oversteer.
– Final (dynamic) mention for the brakes. Aside from stopping the car in a timely manner and resisting fade, pedal feel is magnificent.
– And now finally, practicality? Ok there is not much storage space and both boots are not very big (and opening the front one is a fuss as you have to open it like a bonnet). But for me more than enough.
Overall would definitely recommend as it is a great drivers car with very accessible performance. For its price range is hard to do better if you want to drive. But bear in mind it is not comparable to an M240i or a Golf R. It is a proper sportscar with (some) sportscars compromises.
Excellent article, Adrian! The detail about the lip spoiler is one of the reasons I read the Autopian. I’ve always appreciated this vehicle, knowing I could never own one.
Thanks for teaching me about the Venn diagram approach to style analysis.
A good article, I want one now.
Renault should arrange a long term test with you.
With serial updates it would be interesting to see what you manage to break and if the fun ever wears off.
I couldn’t work it into the article, but servicing one of these should be a snap, because it’s thoroughly engineered and the powertrain is well proven. A 4C needs a service every year to have all it’s chassis bolts tightened.
I think it is annual service or every 12,000 miles. Pretty regular.
Sure, but how many baguette holders does it have?
Just the one pictured. And it’s optional.
Oh hell yes. The Alpine would be my dream driver’s car. So much more liveable than a Lotus, and nearly as good as a Cayman for a lesser price.
The new Caymans are aerodynamically wasteful in comparison. Only the 987C Cayman truly compares, and it has more cylinders than the A110 AND a manual. Unlike the current gen, the first gen Cayman eschews all the useless aggressive/angular stylizing bullshit of its current successor in favor of sexy curves and minimalism all in the interest of aero slipperiness, getting a 0.29 Cd value. The current 2024 base model has a 0.33 Cd value, thanks to more aggressive styling and needlessly larger wheels/vents(the 2007 Coupe has 17″ wheels, while the current 2024 has up to 20″ wheels).
I’ve thought of snatching a 1st gen up when I get a place to keep it, but I will have an IMS bearing issue to address. It would make for a superb EV conversion as well if for whatever reason the transmission went out.
The current A110 has a Cd of 0.32, but less frontal area than a Cayman, so it balances out to a CdA value that compares or is slightly improved over a 1st gen Cayman.
All of which are fat, overweight pig-bricks compared to the A110 of the 1960s.
The late 987 S models get the 9A1 (DFI) engine. I hear it’s not as noisy (“character”) as the M96, but the 9A1 is considered trouble-free and comes with a commensurate price hike in the used market. Doesn’t help that the update happened in 2009, right after the Porsche buyer pool dried up. As a result, 9A1-equipped 987/997 cars are harder to come by, but probably worth the markup over a 987.1.
I would say dynamically it is as good as a Cayman, but the approach is different.
The A110 is softer and perhaps less effective, but the performance is much more accessible. It is never a car where you think “oh god I am going to die”, even when pushing hard.
My previous car (M140i) was a lot scarier.
Y’know, I’d almost be happier if this weren’t such a good write-up. Now I get to spend the weekend in a state of painful envy.
Misery is my business.