BMW’s designers must regularly frequent a five-star hotel that has its sole sun lounger in a fenced-off recess under a small, sharp-edged flight of stairs. That, at least, is the only reason I can imagine to explain why the absurd access to the i8 was deemed tolerable.
A knack for graceful entrances and exits does gradually develop over time, but the i8’s doors still occasionally elicited a sigh – particularly on those nights when you’d traipse off a jam-packed train, into the car park and find it hemmed in by other cars.
Going to be using it regularly? Invest in some yoga classes to prepare yourself for when you need to post yourself through a tiny aperture to get into it (see inelegant demonstration below).
That, however, proved to be about the only major issue with using the i8 – an advanced carbon fibre-tubbed hybrid sports car, lest we forget – on a daily basis. That, in itself, is no mean feat. And once you’d got into the i8, you were in for a far more comfortable experience. The seats are supportive and foible-free, road noise isn’t overly intrusive, and the climate control effortlessly and unobtrusively maintains the desired temperature.
Other facets of the i8 have impressed in its time with us; its daily duty consisted primarily of a 110-mile motorway commute, during which its average consumption hovered around the 35mpg mark. The only thing it has needed is windscreen washer fluid and, as we speak, it’s still indicating 5000 miles until its next service – meaning minimal fuss for those entertaining higher annual mileages. The rear tyres are just about spent, however, so a £400 replacement pair is due soon.
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