Want a 911 with all the character of a 2.7 RS but without the associated headaches? Porsche specialist Paul Stephens reckons he has the solution, so we find out what's on offer.

“Take it and give it a damned good thrashing.” Not the kind of talk you normally expect to hear from somebody who's just handed you the keys to a car that's been a labour of love for over a year and is worth in the region of £60,000. But those are the words uttered by Paul Stephens when I climb into his white PS 240C – not an exact replica of a 2.7 RS, but, shall we say, an interpretation.

His fledgling business in offering all the period thrills you could ask for, while maintaining reliability and everyday usability, has captured the attention of almost everyone in the Porsche world. And for good reason. Paul has been running Paul Stephens Specialist Cars for many years and has listened carefully to comments made by his customers about what they really want from a Porsche in the modern world. So he's decided to offer them what they want and PS Autoart is it.

We covered some of these cars in our February 2006 issue (go to www.total911.com to order) but, just for the record, here's an explanation to the monenclature you see on his creations.

On the car you're looking at here, ‘PS' stands for, erm, Paul Stephens. The number ‘240' relates to the horsepower kicked out by the engine and ‘C' stands for ‘Classic' (the later, 964-derived cars are labelled ‘R' for ‘Retro'). Stephens is at pains to point out that these cars are bespoke creations and you don't have to go for anything you don't want. “Some customers don't want any badging on their cars and that's fine. Another wanted an exact replica of a 2.7 RS and we did that too,” he says. I've seen that 2.7 RS replica and it's absolutely spot on (the only giveaway being the customer-specified colour scheme of dark blue and orange and the dual-outlet exhaust), so don't be blinded by what you see here - if your pockets are deep enough you can have whatever you want.

Reliability and usability are the names of the game. Look at some 2.7 RS replicas out there and they'll have 30-year –old engines, running gear and brakes. They may have carb-fed engines that require constant fettling and they may be near impossible to live with on a day-to-day basis. There's no such problems here, though, because underneath the period panelwork is technology that's 15 to 20 years younger than the cars they seek to imitate. If you've got a tired 3.2 Carrera or SC, you could turn the bombproof qualities those cars possess into something like this. It makes a lot of sense to a lot of people.

The car I'm driving on this hot summer afternoon was actually the first prototype to roll out of the workshops after a laboured, protracted birth. Paul hadn't set himself the simplest of tasks because, while and SC or a 3.2 Carrera might look basically the same as a 2.4 S, there are subtle differences when it comes to the shape and size of the front wings, the front lid and the headlamp surrounds. Then there's the interior to deal with and here we have certain nods to the cars of three decades ago, with pull-straps to open the doors instead of handles and cloth-covered bucket seats. Undeterred when faced with seemingly insurmountable problems, the result is a fine-looking 911.

I first saw this one at the Classic Cars show in Birmingham last year. And, while I had to admit it was lovely to behold, I was desperate to hear for myself what this thing sounded like – something impossible within the confines of Stephens' exhibition space at the NEC. Today, though, I'm free to do as I please and I can't resist firing it up while it's still inside his Suffolk showroom. A quick, metallic whirr from the starter and BANG! The engine shatters the tranquil countryside for miles around as the raucous cacophony blasts its way outside through the open roller-shutter door. I'm grinning like the village idiot – this is what a sports car should sound like: raw, noisy and rude.

‘this is what a sports car should be like'

I ease the 911 out into the sunshine and switch off, much to the relief of the local wildlife, while Paul talks me through the 240. In a previous life this car was a 3.0 litre 911SC, taken in part-exchange. It was ropey and not worth much, so it was the perfect vehicle for testing new waters with the PS Autoart treatment.

Stripped of its mechanical and electrical components, the body was treated to a bare metal respray. While this was going on, the engine was overhauled, being lightened, balanced and blueprinted. It certainly sounds like it's indestructible. The interior was similarly treated, with only the bare essentials making it back into the cabin. The SC's dashboard remains, although it has been covered in fine-quality leather. The centre console has been ditched, along with the rear seats. The front seats, meanwhile, have been reupholstered with a combination of black leather and black corduroy inserts, which should provide plenty of grip on the twisty bits. To finish things off, there's a half rollcage, a Moto-Lita steering wheel and four-point racing harnesses for each occupant.

PS logos abound here. They're on the harnesses, the dials, on the sills, the wheel centre caps and the bodywork (the bonnet badge is actually solid silver). In fact, there's not a Porsche badge in sight and this is because, strictly speaking, it's no longer a Porsche 911 – it's a PS 240C. Paul consulted Porsche Cars GB about what he was doing and they had no issue with it, so long as it was no longer badged as one of their products. In the case of the full 2.7 RS replica, well you can't stop and owner doing what he wants once the car has left the showroom, can you?

Over the course of a couple of hours I connect with this car like few others. It upsets and delights pedestrians in equal measure and in the politically correct and sensitive world we live in, it's a great feeling to be doing something a bit naughty, a bit unseemly. Unlike most other photoshoots, this time I have the car to myself for some quality time. That's because I'm meeting the photographer later on to get some shots in the early evening, so I'm free to explore the countryside without having to move it half an inch at a time while he's doing his stuff.

I make the most of it, too. Paul's request for me to give the car a throttling was unnecessary because there's very little else you can do with it - it just begs to be spanked. Its light weight (just 1095kg) gives it levels of performance that are quite at odds with the numbers on its specification sheet. These days 236bhp just isn't a great deal, yet in a car that weighs so little, you wouldn't ask for more. And besides, the sheer physicality of driving something like this makes it feel as though you're going much faster than you really are.

It's the sheer responsiveness of the engine that really gets to me. Even the slightest feathering of the throttle sees the tacho needle dancing about and, above all else, it's this that separates it from more modern cars. When the engine was taken apart, Stephens had every single component machined correctly, meaning that when it was rebuilt, it had less tolerance for manufacturer error. This is blueprinting and it really does make an enormous difference. A lightened flywheel was added and a change to the metering unit was instigated, although Stephens remains understandable tight-lipped as to exactly what was done. These changes, together with a bespoke, stainless-steel exhaust system, enable the SC's flat-six to change its character – it's a total transformation. This car has never been officially timed but it has been tested on a rolling road, so the 236bhp figure is reliable. When Autocar Magazine tested it, they came up with some theoretical figures, based on its kerb weight and proven power.

They reckoned on a 0-60mph sprint of 5.8 seconds and a top end speed of 151mph. From where I'm sitting, that 0-60mph time seems on the conservative side – it feels quicker than that. And 151mph is quite sufficient around here, so I'm not exactly feeling short-changed today.

‘I'm sure I'd be deaf after a cross-continent thrash'

Apart from the extraordinary way this car drives, there's also the more modern running gear, suspension and brakes that the SC donor car brought with it. They give a greater feeling of security and predictability – especially the brakes which stop very well, indeed (hardly surprising given the lower weight). The car doesn't crash over uneven road surfaces and it's surprisingly comfortable, although I'm sure I'd be deaf after a cross-continent thrash (but what a way for your hearing to go!)

The interior (far left) hints a period feel but with modern accessories. Engine (above) revs freely and is lots of fun

Period door mirrors (above) can have electric operation. Wheels (near right) are PS specials. Door handles (far right) have the correct polished finish.

The only criticism I have is that the 915 gearbox is, at times, recalcitrant and difficult to shift through when piling on the speed, blunting some of the enjoyment because I'm constantly trying to make sure I'm selecting the right cog. However, as Stephens is ready to point out, a G50 transmission weighs more and would (possibly) affect the feel of urgency.

I'm afraid I'd live with that and have a G50 fitted. Interestingly, the feel of urgency would be adversely affected if a 3.2 Carrera engine was opted for in place of the SC unit; the bigger the engine's components, the harder it is to turn. So, my ideal 240C would be as it is, but with a more user-friendly transmission.

It's a funny old world, the world of the replica 911. No matter how accurate you make a car, there'll be a clued up purist ready to pounce on it, declaring it a fake because the numbers aren't right and the headlining is the wrong colour. The real beauty with these Paul Stephens creations, though, is that they're not pretending to be anything other than what they are: interpretations. I can see absolutely nothing wrong in owning a replica 911, whether it's a 2.7 RS, a 3.0 RS, a 930 SE or a 996 GT3. It's up to a car's owner what he or she does with it and, when all is said and done, they're only pieces of metal and plastic. It's not worth getting wound up over.

This car, that I'm head over heels in love with, has just been sold to someone who visited Paul's premises intent on buying a ‘proper' 2.7 RS replica. Despite the higher asking price, when he drove the 240C, it was this he decided upon, simply because it offered the real-deal experience along with better driver controls. He's a very lucky man and I'm extremely envious.

So would I go for one? Yes, I believe that if funds were available and I had a tired SC or 3.2 Carrera, I'd pay Stephens a visit. I'd probably delete all the badging and labelling on the outside, have it painted loud and proud, give the engine the full treatment and source a G50 gearbox. This, for me, really would be the best of both worlds.

Many thanks to Total 911 Magazine for their kind permission using this review... We're glad you liked it!