While I’d not yet say my relationship with the Polestar has entered the difficult second album stage yet, the honeymoon is definitely over. As a result, some of the less wonderful realities of living with what can be quite a moody companion have become significant of late – to a point where every now and again I’ve found myself doing that thing: questioning the entire wisdom of going down the EV route in the first place.
Don’t get me wrong. Fundamentally I’m still a major fan of ‘my’ Polestar 2. It remains one of the most unusual and enjoyable cars I’ve driven in many a year, and I continue to be blown away by how easy it is to live with as a daily driver too.
Its raw performance is also a source of constant delight. I don’t use all the beans very often, hence the reason I’m still in possession of a nice clean driving licence. But on the rare occasions that I do introduce the back of the accelerator to the carpet, it never ceases to amaze how much energy – and pure acceleration – the Polestar can unleash, seemingly within the same time it takes my brain to ask my foot to apply more pressure to the throttle. You think it and the Polestar pounces, whumpf, as cleanly and quickly as that. From this specific point of view it is consistently amazing.
