There’s no escaping the fact that the cabin lets the TF down. Badly. More than any other element, it serves as a reminder of how far things have come in the world of automotive interior design since the building blocks of the car were put in place in 1995.
The key issue, more than the lack of quality or the age of the design itself, is space. On the road the lack of girth is a real plus, but it does the car no favours whatsoever inside.
With the roof up, anyone over six feet tall will brush their head on the lining and find it impossible to read the top half of the instruments (which are pretty poor to look at anyway it must be said).
And although the steering wheel moves up and down (though not forwards and backwards), the driving position is deeply compromised. You still feel like the wheel is brushing the top of your knees, and you still find your right knee clouting the hinged ignition key from time to time.
All of which is a pity because, for such a small mid-engined car, there is an unusually decent amount of luggage space in the rear boot, even if space in the nose is obliterated by the fitment of a full-size spare wheel.
Lose this and replace it with a can of get-you-home tyre foam, however, and the TF could easily accommodate enough well-packed luggage for a week’s holiday.
Compared with its more recently engineered rivals, roof-up touring in the TF is somewhat noisy, with road and wind noise creeping in through the single-skin hood and window seals. There is, however, the alternative of a lift-off hard top.