The Peugeot 205 Rallye is the most fun FWD car ever | Thank Frankel it's Friday

Corfu? Not so much. There were a few 2CVs, including a British registered one I’m hoping was driven out, and a Series III Land Rover, but nothing else of note in a week and a half of searching. Until, that is, our very last day when I drove our hateful Citroen C3 hire car to the Aphrodite Bakery to buy the morning bread for one last time when I spotted a small, old, white Peugeot up a back street about 100 yards away. As you might imagine, small, old, white Peugeots are fairly plentiful out here, but this one looked somehow different, a little lower, a touch more purposeful and then there were the wheels. It was a 106 Rallye.

I found myself wondering what car I’d prefer to go hooning around the island’s steep hills and narrow lanes in more than this. The rally homologation special 106 Rallye was a great little car, especially in its earlier Phase 1 form with its high output 1.3-litre motor rather than the lazier scarcely more powerful 1.6-litre unit in Phase 2 cars. Neither was a patch on the car that preceded it, the absolutely awesome 205 Rallye.

I first came across one of these as a cub road tester in 1988, and even though by then I’d already owned a 1.6-litre 205 GTI, I could barely believe how responsive the Rallye was. If ever a Martian fell to earth and asked you the difference between fast and fun, you could do no better than direct it to one of these.

It would have been easy to use the 1,360cc engine already employed under the bonnet of the excellent 205 XS, but that would have missed the 1.3-litre capacity maximum for that category of both Group N and Group A rallying. So instead, the 1,124cc engine found in the 205 XR was bored and stroked to give a 1,294cc capacity. It came with a beefed-up crankshaft, a hot cam and GTI springs, dampers and brakes. But, and here’s the big difference, while the GTI was even by the standards of the day a flyweight hot hatch, the Rallye was more of a fleaweight. With almost no equipment (not even a passenger door mirror), it weighed 793kg, almost 100kg less than the 1.6 GTI whose suspension it shared. It also came with steel wheels and skinny 165-section tyres.

And what a hoot it was. Breathing through rude Weber 40 DCOM carburettors and with no power to speak of below 4,500rpm, it was loud to the point of being raucous, ridiculously peaky, completely pointless when driven slowly. But, when properly on the boil, it was perhaps the most fun front-drive car I have ever driven. Still.

It only had 104PS (76kW), a risible amount of power by modern standards, but with a super close, ultra-slick and very low ratio gearbox. If you could keep it fizzing away where it was happiest between 5,000rpm and 7,200rpm it never felt even slightly underpowered. It felt like a more modern version of a mid-1970s Alfasud 1.3Ti, and if you’ve ever driven one of those, you’ll know what a compliment that is.

Because it ultimately wasn’t that fast, but had such startling chassis abilities, it was one of those cars where you rarely had to slow down for anything. You’d approach corners at impossible speeds, sling it in on a trailing throttle, then dance it through, hands and right foot working in seamless harmony to maintain the line.

Ever since I sold my 1.9 205 GTI I’ve been thinking about getting another 205, and this is the only one I’d consider. But there are two problems. First, finding one. According to How Many Left there are fewer than 40 taxed examples in the UK at present. Second, which makes the first feel like a doddle, is finding a good one. So many have been rallied that even those that haven’t been rolled into a ball at some stage in their lives may still be full of holes where roll cages and suchlike have been drilled into their structures.

And then if you find one, you’ll have to pay for it. At the time of writing, I could find precisely zero good cars that were currently available in the UK. I asked a friend who has one, and who’d know, and he reckons bids would start at not much less than £30,000 which is a very great deal to pay for a small French hatchback made out of crisp packets. Until, that is, you drive it. Then, I suspect you may still feel you’d acquired something of a bargain.