In truth, the Légende GT is largely unchanged in all these areas. The pleated-style caramel bucket seats – which are superbly comfortable, if fractionally high-set, and heated – do most to lift the interior atmos, though the benefit is offset by the copper-flecked carbonfibre trim on the binnacle cowling, vent surrounds and centre-console. It feels disappointingly cheap, and a little misconceived. 

The most expensive Alpine does better in the quality of its stitched leather dash and ‘metal-dipped’ trim. However, as in the regular car, both are undermined by the plastic panels where you wouldn’t expect to find them and some flimsy switchgear. It’s a shame because, with a some targeted improvements, the Légende GT could probably pull off ‘opulence’. If I were Alpine, I’d probably try to emulate what Alfa has done with the interior of the Giulia Quadrifoglio, only with more colour.  

As for the the driving experience, it remains as joyous as ever: the A110 is so light on its toes, so deft in its direction changes, and seemingly able to work hand-in-hand with the topography of any given road. Nothing in this class feels so… free when it’s on the move, though the adjustability works both ways.

This chassis isn’t quite so stable and forgiving as that of the Porsche 718 Cayman, so requires a cool head and calm hands on wet B-roads, lest some sudden weight transfer catch you out. It all adds to sense of involvement, though. Few car so instantly recognisable in their dynamic behaviour, and when the rear suspension is loaded up the car is just so communicative and biddable. Delicious.