SHOCK THERAPY

Testing an electric Fiat 500, and the idea of EV-converted classics, with a drive across the capital

- CHARLIE CALDERWOOD

"Mummy, look at that old car!" says a small child as the little Fiat pulls up at the red light of the pedestrian crossing on Hyde Park Corner. The noise of some hundred other people, and some hundred other cars, fills the air, but as the light turns green, the Fiat pulls forward with both a silence and an urgency unlike any normal 500 at just a brush of the throttle. "Oh my God, it's electric!" exclaims the child's parent.

You'd struggle to come up with a car more likely to gather approval from passers-by than this cheeky Fiat. In a delightful pastel blue, the Italian combines diminutive cuteness with stylish chic. Only a Mini gets close to this level of classless urbanity, but the tiny Fiat one-ups the legendary British compact by replacing the lingering, Bovril-infused stuffiness of mid-century BMC with Torinese elegance.

That's true of any Nuova 500, but whereas the typical edition of Dante Giacosa's minuscule masterpiece might draw ire in the 21st century for the noise of its clattering twin-cylinder engine and its nitrous-oxide-rich exhaust fumes, this Fiat does no such thing. Cars are often said to ruin cities, whether through visual clutter, noise or air pollution, but this electricconverted 500 avoids all three sins to a degree not even a modern-day Tesla can match.

That's particularly welcome on a warm day, when the Fiat reflects its Mediterranean origins: once its windows are open and the cloth sunroof flung back with ease, those inside become part of the community of a given street as much as a pedestrian, cyclist, street-seller or dog-walker. Even the most ardent car-hating city-dweller can't resist this 500's charm, and it's equally guilt-free to drive.