.jpg)
It’s 1990 and the world is on the final stretch to a new century. Two World Wars, disco, the Berlin Wall, rationing and “big hair” had been and gone, while video games, shell suits and raving were all due to pick up in a massive way.
Over the last decade of the 20th century a lot changed (for better and worse) and one car had a short but glorious life: the Lotus Carlton. The car they tried to ban.
Vauxhall’s Carlton (or Opel Omega for European buyers) was a decently sized executive saloon. It came with a big boot, legroom in the back for either important business colleagues or growing children and shiny toys such as ABS and heated seats. It was a car for the businessperson on the go. Stylish, reliable and sensible. Until, that is, Lotus got its hands on it.
Predating the tuned-by-Porsche Audi RS2 by a good four years, Lotus/Vauxhall/Opel’s take on turning something sensible into something truly ridiculous takes the sledgehammer route. It is needlessly… everything. Lotus took Vauxhall’s 3.0-litre straight six and upped it to 3.6 litres before throwing a couple of Garrett turbochargers on board. That gave it a not insignificant 377bhp.
That power figure, today, is available in a small German hatchback, but back then… The contemporary Ferrari, the 348, kicked out fewer than 320bhp. The prancing horse could only seat two people with a small amount of luggage; the Vauxhall could take four on holiday. It’d get them there quickly too: 0-60mph takes a mere 5.2 seconds and its top speed is officially 174mph, but according to a Lotus release “it was widely known to be capable of 180 plus”.
It wasn’t cheap, retailing at £48,000, which was a fair whack for the early 1990s. Adjusted for inflation it’s well over £100,000. However, it was quicker than a supercar and for just under 1,000 people throughout Europe that was enough to get them in the hot seat.
Its speed and practicality made it popular not only with enthusiasts and owners alike, but thieves as well. See, in 1993 a Lotus Carlton was nicked in the West Midlands. Registered “40RA”, its new custodians took it on a series of early morning ram-raids. The group made off with more than £20,000 (more than £41,000 adjusted for inflation) of cigarettes and booze and were never caught. The Carlton was simply too quick for the cops to catch.
The car caused such a stir that the UK government took notice and questioned whether a car capable of such speeds should even be allowed for public consumption. The Daily Mail launched a campaign to ban it from sale as well. Thing is, cars had been able to go at silly speeds for a while before that point. Ferrari’s F40 had already broken 200mph, so why did people not like the Lotus Carlton? Was it the four seats? Or, perhaps, the fact it looked like the kind of thing a normal person could have on the drive? Who knows? And, frankly, who cares?
The Carlton’s aged well. Its huge boot spoiler probably helps that, to be honest, as do the rather conspicuous air vents in its nose. Inside it’s all very… 1990s. Where today there’d be carbon-fibre inlays and big shouty badges, here there’s wood and subtle Lotus badging. A cassette player sits on the upright centre stack, with big, chunky buttons above to work things such as heated seats. A long gear lever stands proud, boasting six forward speeds, while a massive metal throttle pedal glints invitingly at you.
Cast your eyes to the rear seats for a view of what family cars looked like before crash regulations were such a consideration. Legroom, huge swathes of glass for children to peer out of, not a sniff of a curtain airbag… It’s familiar but quite alien.
Twist the key and its 3.6-litre straight six fires up with the song of its people. It’s not aggressive on tick over, a little more burbly than one would expect, but not angry. Its clutch is surprisingly light, though its Chevrolet Corvette-sourced gearbox is a touch notchy. The throttle is a little slow to respond, but it’s a turbocharged family car from the 1990s… razor-sharp gas pedals weren’t essential kit. When you’re moving through town, while the oddly long throw ’box takes a bit of getting used to, it’s a fine thing to cruise around in. That might be because the Carlton on Vauxhall’s heritage fleet has covered fewer than 37,000 miles and has been kept in pristine condition since it rolled off the line. No part of it shows any signs of wear and tear and everything feels as solid as if it were new. It’s all a bit time capsuley.
Pootling around town is one thing, but getting out to the wild shows just how silly the Lotus Carlton truly is. When driving with, ahem, urgency the Carlton comes in to its own. Now, while its 0-60mph time is a little on the slow side compared to today’s hyper hatches, what the numbers don’t tell you is just how damn fast it is in the mid-range. You’ll fly through first, second will vanish swiftly, third will be gone in the work of a moment, but holy hell… fourth gear just doesn’t stop going. It’s really quite something. It’s at this point you understand the reason for its stratospheric top speed: its gears are ludicrously long. At the speed limit, sixth gear sits below 2,000rpm, meaning its turbos are deadweight and acceleration is a labour. To make sixth work for you, you’ll have to be on an autobahn or running from the cops after a ram-raid.
Once you’ve finished playing with the seemingly endless speed on offer, run out of space or somehow become bored with cruising at the same pace as a light aircraft, you’ll need to explore the brakes. Now, while it was quite the endeavour to make a road car crack 170mph in the 1990s, it was a task Lotus managed with aplomb. The same cannot be said for the brakes. The pedal is spongy and if you plan on going fast just make sure to keep a decent distance from the car in front. Just in case.
Taking it to some twistier roads rather shows its age. The steering doesn’t give you much confidence compared to newer tech. While it does change the Carlton’s direction you have to play a little guessing game as to how much, though if the road does get a little damp the fact it is very long, rear-wheel drive and slow to respond does mean some gentle fun can be had.
What with a recession and a huge price tag for the 1990s, the Carlton didn’t sell quite as well as Vauxhall/Opel would have liked. It did, however, make a lot of people hanker after a Vauxhall, which can only have been a good thing. It was the ultimate Q car, something that looked humdrum yet would rip the face off 99 per cent of other cars out there. And, frankly, anything that pissed both the government and the Daily Mail off at the same time deserves a gold star.
Why the Lotus Esprit is the last affordable classic supercar
Six classic supercars that are surprisingly affordable
The Honda NSX: the Ayrton Senna-approved (everyday) supercar revisited
