Woman Maths: Audi R8 GT

Today, my world has got a little bigger. I have now met some millionaires, even a billionaire or two. I could probably afford my own Hyundai i10.

But I haven’t forgotten how much I disliked that R8. So when Tommy started muttering about an R8 GT, I was immediately against the idea. Twenty-year-old me knew they were awful, and I knew nothing real about cars. All I cared about was pizza ovens and fast saloons, apparently.

You see, the R8 GT only came with the R-Tronic transmission, so as pretty and mythical as it was to me, it felt like a bad move, especially as we already have a first-gen V8 manual R8 that’s comfortably appreciating and wonderful to drive.

So, Tommy’s mind is whirring and all the signs show he’s building himself up for a purchase. I’m getting more nervous. And then the hammer blow. Ricky from RE Performance tells Tommy the first-gen R8 GT is the best R8 ever made.

They are the experts and we know our fate is sealed.

So, I asked company founder Ricky Elder: why the GT?

‘The R8 GT is the best R8 because it had a bespoke chassis. No other R8 is as different to the rest of the family as the GT and no other R8 drives like a GT!’

Audi pushed the boat out with this car. It didn’t just throw a load of carbon fibre at it and call it a day. It has an entirely different chassis code. It weighs 100kg less. Weight was shaved from everywhere: carpets, glass, a lighter battery, lighter brakes, polycarbonate windows and CFRP body panels. And they increased the power from 518bhp to 552bhp.

Up to 85 per cent of the torque could go to the rear wheels, it had a locking differential and a Sport mode that let you oversteer under acceleration. The coilovers were manually adjustable and 10mm lower, too.

And what about the dreaded R-Tronic?

For those that don’t know, R-Tronic was a robotised manual, replaced by the significantly better dual-clutch S-Tronic for the second generation. But its R-Tronic isn’t simply the same gearbox with a different map. It has different hardware, too, making it much more refined, whilst keeping the savagery.

It adds up to a particularly special car, more so than I had remembered. Suddenly, Ricky’s argument was starting to make sense.

Only 333 were made and the UK got 33 of them. Tommy has already started the spreadsheet for those. He’s only made one other spreadsheet for his cars and that was for our forever car, the Mercedes-Benz CLK 63 AMG Black Series. So, it’s serious.

So serious, in fact, we visited Girardo & Co to collect his new R8 GT. A UK car with 7000 miles on the clock that has been babied its entire life. One previous owner – the King of Malaysia.

But to get it, the 458 had to go.

You will gasp. I am genuinely nervous to admit it. But the truth is the Ferrari was too nice, appreciated too quickly and, by the end, we’d stopped seeing it as something to enjoy. And yes, of course the 458 market will be even stronger next year.

So, an R8 GT and a downstairs bathroom filled the gap. It was about time we had a real shower.

But what is it like to drive? And will we sell our R8 V8 manual?

The R8 GT feels like Audi taking the R8 formula and asking, ‘what happens if we stop worrying about making it easy?’

The brakes are beyond impressive. I do love a car that stops. Combine that with a naturally aspirated V10 and you’ve ticked most of my boxes. The gearbox makes me grin. I can feel the gear changes, but in a way that adds character to a clinical German car. Somehow, what I liked least about the standard V10 has transformed this one. I also think it’s beautiful. There is something about its small, pebble-like shape that reminds me of the Veyron. Perfect shut lines, glossy paint, an attention to detail going beyond Mercedes and BMW of the time.

I promise I’m not wearing my rose-tints. I went into this truly believing I’d hate it. But perhaps what it represents is something I didn’t know I’d miss: an era of car that didn’t need to pretend to be something else, an honesty of purpose, a car that wants you to push on and won’t scold you for doing so.

That feeling you get knowing you are master of your own destiny, and that destiny could quite easily end in a hedge if you’re not careful, but the car is willing you on anyway.

Which means, inevitably, the manual V8 is going to have to go too.

And, somewhere, 20-year-old me is standing next to a pizza oven wondering what the hell just happened.