Honda Civic Hatchback (2000 - 2005) 1.6i VTEC Sport 3d Owner Review

The Ultimate Guide to Turning a Meh Machine into a Rocket-Powered Wardrobe

When I first bought this car, I thought, "Yeah, a nice, reliable daily." Spoiler alert: It lasted about five minutes before slipping a bearing and crying like a toddler at best pets. Stock? 110hp, which is fine if you’re into eating plain toast and drinking room-temperature water. But let’s face it, life’s too short for mediocrity.

So, I did what any sensible person would do—I gave it a big turbo, forged the engine, and now it’s pushing 450hp. It’s basically a missile on wheels. Think of it like strapping a jet engine to your nan’s shopping trolley. It’s ridiculous. It’s unnecessary. It’s perfect.

Interior? Gone. Completely gutted. Seats, carpets, soundproofing—all gone. Why? Because who needs comfort. Boot space? Unreal. You could host a yoga retreat back there or start a small car meet. Forget groceries; you could fit a horse in there. You’d think losing all the comforts would be a downside, but who needs cupholders when you’ve got enough space to smuggle a baby elephant?

Now, let’s address the tyres. Did I cheap out and slap on some £40 budget death donuts? Absolutely not. I’m running Nankang NS2R semi-slicks for ultimate grip. In the dry, they stick to the road like a toddler to a tablet. In the rain? Good luck. It’s like trying to drive a hovercraft on a slip-and-slide. But does that matter? Not really. As long as you’re gripping in the dry and can confidently smoke chavs in financed BMWs, who cares if you end up in a hedge when it rains?

Now, let’s talk suspension—Meister R coilovers. Comfort? Nah, mate, it’s about as soft as concrete. Every bump in the road feels like a boss battle in Dark Souls. It’s harder than a GCSE maths paper you didn’t study for but does it look good? Oh, absolutely. Does it handle like a go-kart injected with adrenaline? 100%. Would my chiropractor approve? Unlikely. Every bump in the road sends a seismic event through your spine, but it looks amazing, handles like a dream, and scares off anyone who values comfort.

This car is not for the faint-hearted. It’s for people who dream of smoking every chav in their nans-financed Mercedes or BMW while they blast their £10 speakers playing last summer’s TikTok hits. Yes, Jamie Brooker, I see you. ((Side note: Tell your nan her biscuits were stale.)

Would I recommend this car? ONLY if you’re prepared to go all in. Don’t even think about buying one and leaving it stock unless you enjoy disappointment. This is a car for chaos, for glory, for people who laugh in the face of practicality and embrace sheer stupidity.

So, should you buy this car? Yes, but only if you’re the kind of lunatic who’s willing to rip out the interior, throw practicality out the window, and prioritise absolute chaos over comfort. It’s not for the faint-hearted. It’s for legends, rebels, and anyone who wants to make chavs weep

Oh, and a pro tip for anyone rebuilding these engines: do not—under any circumstances—let Thom Booth fit your pistons. This man will snap your piston rings faster than you can say, “What could possibly go wrong?” If you see Thom near your engine, run. Far. Far away.

In summary:

450hp of raw chaos. Guaranteed to scare your nan and attract traffic cops.
Boot space so big you could smuggle a family of raccoons or start a mobile disco.
Semi-slick tyres? Amazing in the dry, lethal in the wet. Drive carefully unless you hate trees and love insurance claims.
Meister R coilovers: Makes the car handle like a dream but guarantees you’ll feel every pebble, leaf, and possibly even the Earth’s rotation.
Thom Booth: Piston ring assassin. Do not let him near your engine unless you enjoy crying in your garage.
Comfort? None. Respect from other car enthusiasts? Infinite.
Chavs in financed cars? Fully humbled. Jamie Brooker, this is still about you.
Fuel economy: LOL.
People’s reactions? Split between admiration and concern for your mental health.
Buy this car. Embrace the madness. Forget about your spine and your savings account.
Buy it. Build it. Ruin your neighbours’ mornings. 12/10.