Sting in the tale: Scorpion hunting in an Abarth 600e

This latest interpretation of the genre isn’t so far removed in its conception from some of the best of the breed. Take a humble, compact family hauler, add some power, beef up the bodywork, stick on some more competent rubber, stiffen the suspension, slap on some racy decals and away you go: it’s a recipe that rarely fails, and it’s one that can arguably trace its origins right back to none other than Carlo Abarth himself.

He might not have known what to make of this high-riding hooligan – relatively towering and tech-laden as it is, compared with the soapbox-sized racers he preferred – but chances are he would be pleased to see his name is still being applied to cars that major on fun and cheekiness above all else.

Hopefully, anyway, as the Abarth of today – in its characteristically shouty way – hasn’t been exactly shy about marking its 600e out from the Fiat on which it’s based. Aside from the unmissable ‘ABARTH’ graphics down each side, there are scorpion emblems on the nose, in the front splitter, at the base of the A-pillars, in the headrests, on the massive rear spoiler, in the wheels’ centre caps, on the steering wheel and in the rear bumper.

Oh, and there’s one on the key. I count 13 in total. That’s not to mention the angry-looking scorpion-tail pattern of the upholstery or the various warnings throughout the cabin to ‘mind the scorpion’ – an irreverent slogan that I can’t help thinking would be meaningless on literally any day but this.

As it is, it’s an MO I’m happy to adhere to as I approach Sheerness Dockyard under a rapidly darkening sky and make my way to the old officers’ quarters – a row of ornate Victorian townhouses seemingly lifted from a quiet Kensington mews and plonked incongruously in a corner of this working commercial port.

Here, I edge the 600e cautiously along the old, unfinished Church Road towards the disquietingly imposing silhouette of its unlit namesake. I’m invited by a resident to shut off all the lights and follow him on foot down a track along one of the old harbour walls, where we stand the best chance of meeting our new mates.