When it first hit our fair shore's roads in 1993 it was, in all fairness, a bit of a howler. And remember those froggy goggle-eyed headlamps? Eurgh!

Anyhow, it wasn't long before a few tweaks here and an aeroplane wing-spoiler there and there and there, oh, and the addition of almost unbridled horsepower, turned the Impreza into more of a howitzer than a howler.

But with great power comes great responsibility. And with that I am having a go at a fellow motoring journalist who deprived me of a go in the WRX STi version of Subaru's best selling marque.

You see, the person who had the car before me neglected their responsibility, underestimated the power in their hands, and promptly mashed the Scooby into a million pieces. That'll learn him eh?

And so I had to settle for the WRX version which is a full 70PS short of the STi and another mitful of torque shy of the deluxe version. But at 230bhp, it's not exactly slow.

But nowadays, Subaru don't really want me to harp on about the Impreza's raw power. They don't want me to mention the Airfix-kit look of their previous Scoobys.

In fact, in this latest incarnation of the bank robber's chariot of choice, Subaru have created something of a sober saint.

Gone are the plethora of wings, bulges, flairs, muscles. snouts, growls and barks.

And in are the rounded rear end, the child safety seats, ABS, stability control, hill-start assist, pedestrian accident buffer zone in the bonnet - I could go on.

In essence, they've taken away everything the Impreza is famous for - or infamous.

People will say of this facelifted version: 'It looks like a Focus. I don't like the rear end. It's not an Impreza anymore.'

And they'd be right.

You see, Imprezas have a following. A zealous, anally retentive, over-geeky, terribly enthusiastic and damn committed bunch who sleep with their cars for fear of said bank robber borrowing their baby for their next heist.

Ask an Impreza owner about their car and, you will have a mouthful of initials and numbers sneezed all over you. You will then realise you have grown a beard, you have tinnitus and you smell somewhat.

Meanwhile, the gleeful Impreza owner will still be breathlessly spouting off about their turbo-charged pride and joy, while a helicopter will be hovering overhead after your family have reported you missing.

They love their Imprezas. But I'm afraid I can't see that love affair continuing. The Impreza just got bland. It just turned into a hatch. But it's more of a hatchet job than a hot-hatch job. Why oh why?

People expect an Impreza to kick over their garden fence and defecate in the flower bed. Now though, it's more likely to sell you cookies on your doorstep and help your granny over the road.

So it seems that Subaru are pitching the Impreza at a more mature, sensible, softer audience, perhaps with a few more quid to spend.

But mention a Subaru Impreza to my granny while she's umming and erring between a Honda Jazz and a Skoda Fabia, and she'll either phone the police or assault you with her tartan brolly. Mention the £20,000 price tag and she might mothball you to death.

It's going to take generations before Subaru can convince the more discerning motorist that an Impreza is a safe and sensible alternative.

I can't yet go as far as to say Subaru are waving their white flags at the Evo boys at Mitsubishi. Until they've fixed that STi, and I've given it the once-over, I will reserve judgement.

But I sincerely feel the Scooby is in danger of becoming an Evo snack.