Do supercars sparkle in the rain? The answer, somewhat sadly, is no not really. But they still stand out, especially when presented on the lawns of Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire. For the aspiring aesthete, you would struggle to find a trinity quite as holy as the Vanbrugh designed palace, the Capability Brown gardens and some of the finest cars ever made. We are, of course, at Salon Privé.

Regardless of the rain or the shine (and on Wednesday, it was very much rain), this was still the place to be last week, and the lineup of four-wheel wonders was as sublime as ever. Here are five takeaways from the show.

Form is temporary, class is permanent

So the old saying goes, and the McLaren F1 certainly has the latter. Some 34 years after it first rolled out the doors of the factory in Surrey, the F1 still turns heads wherever it goes, and Terry Bramall’s example from 1995 was a worthy first winner of the new joint top prize, the Concours d’Excellence.

Restored by Lanzante to its original factory specifications, Bramall’s silver F1 held pride of place in front of Blenheim and was never without a crowd of fans desperate to have a look inside the record-setting three-seater hypercar.

One thing that ever gets old about the F1 is how modern it looks. Even today, it looks profoundly more aerodynamic and futuristic than its modern counterparts. As Salon Privé chair Andrew Bagley said: ‘In an exceptional field, this particular F1 stood out as a superb example of a car that fundamentally changed our understanding of what a road-going supercar could be.’

The other top-prize winner was Amir Ravan and his Lamborghini Miura P400 S, which took home the esteemed Best of Show Concours d’Elégance. The first true supercar, this was a glorious example in gun-metal grey.

‘For me, the Miura represents a genuine turning point in automotive history,’ Ravan said. ‘The engineering, the proportions and Gandini’s extraordinary design came together to create something that still feels remarkably special nearly 60 years later.’

Either the F1 or the Miura will carry the flame for Salon Privé at the Peninsula Classics Best of the Best in January 2027, against winners of other concours such as Villa d”Este, Cavallino Classic and The Quail.

Big does indeed mean beautiful

The first thing you notice about the 1935 Duesenberg SJ Gurney Nutting Speedster is its sensational black and orange colourwork, which pairs beautifully with its whitewall tires. The next thing you notice is the size. In true American fashion, she is larger than life.

Every Duesenberg is special, but this one is certainly more special than others. A one-off commission for Maharajah Holkar of Indore, it is the only chassis bodied by the celebrated coachbuilder Gurney Nutting. It was a winner of the Peninsula Classics Best of the Best in 2023, continuing a rich tradition of picking up top prizes, after it was awarded a 99.5-point score at the Eastern Grand Classic in 1963.

Highlights among the whitewall tires, the covered wheel arches and sensational bodywork are the red and blue lights mounted on the front wings to indicate whether it was the Maharajah or his wife travelling in the car. In a surprise to absolutely no-one, the car also won this year’s prize for Most Exceptional Coachwork.

Polestar position

I’ve long been a fan of Polestar and their delightful mix of speed and practicality. Salon Privé was the first time I laid eyes on the new 5, their extra-sporty Grand Tourer, and I was suitably impressed. It’s muscular in all the right places, sits on a gigantic pair of wheels and features a full four-door layout. It’s aggressive but chic, everything a proper GT should be. I’m looking forward to seeing a few on the road sooner rather than later.

Silent style for the Lady Mayor

One of the great joys of Salon Privé is that there’s always a surprise lurking around the corner. You expect the McLarens and the Lamborghinis and the Ferraris, but who could possibly expect to see an electric 1973 Rolls-Royce Phantom VI created for Alderwoman Dame Susan Langley DBE — the 697th Lady Mayor of the City of London.

And yet, that is exactly what Electrogenic turned up with. The Rolls is the official limousine of the City of London Corporation, and its electrification is part of the Corporation’s drive to achieve net-zero emissions from its own operations by 2027. It comes with, among other things, a 120kW electric motor, 310Nm of torque and a 62kWh battery pack, as well as a dedicated ‘ceremonial’ driving mode for ‘slow-and-stately progress’. Quite right too.

‘We were honoured to be asked to electrify this significant motor car, and to play a part in the City of London Corporation’s journey to net zero,’ said Electrogenic CEO Steve Drummond. ‘When it was launched in the late 1960s, the Rolls-Royce VI was the most refined and dignified limousine on the road. Now, thanks to electrification, its core character has been enhanced further: it is whisper quiet, effortless to drive with swift performance, and emits zero tailpipe emissions.’

Bristol is back

It’s not easy to make a lot of noise at a show like this, but the return of Bristol Cars made a racket in more ways than one. Metaphorically, the unveiling of a newly completed Fighter was quite something, and was more than a reasonable birthday present for the company’s 80th anniversary. Physically, the machine is powered by an 8.0-litre V10 engine from a Dodge Viper, produces up to 600bhp and a claimed top speed of 210mph. Noisy stuff indeed.

The Fighter was originally conceived in the early 2000s and was the firm’s final production model before manufacturing ended in 2011. The chassis on display at Salon Privé is one of five that were preserved and are now confirmed for a limited continuation programme. Each car will be hand built in the UK, available in either left or right-hand drive, and if you want to know how much it costs, you can’t.

‘Bringing Bristol Cars back is about far more than reviving a name; it is about bringing back the spirit of a marque that has always stood apart,’ Paul King, director of Bristol Cars, said. ‘Bristol has a remarkable story, from its roots in aviation and engineering to the extraordinary and exclusive cars it crafted. We want to honour that heritage while giving Bristol a future that is every bit as distinctive. To bring Bristol back to making cars in Britain, and with Richard Hackett returning to the company, we have brought together an exceptional combination of heritage, knowledge, engineering and craftsmanship. This is the beginning of Bristol’s return, and there is much more to come.’

We very much look forward to seeing it.

My father was never too interested in cars, but he has always liked things. Contraptions fascinate him, whether they are aircraft from the Second World War, or lawn mowers, or CD players. If it spins, or vibrates, or moves, or takes an input and produces an output, he will stare at it with a watchful gaze, processing the motions of its mechanics, not always particularly interested in how it works, but seemingly overwhelmed with gratitude that it does.

My father is 79 years old. He is retired and lives in the countryside, while I am not retired and live in London. Time spent with him is rare and will get rarer, because that is what happens when people get older. What it also means is that he has seen a great many things; the Moon Landings, the assassination of JFK, the Falklands War, the trial of O. J. Simpson, and so on. What he has not seen, and was almost certainly not even aware of, is a Bugatti Veyron.

As we prowled the tiered parterre garden behind Heveningham Hall in Suffolk, weaving in and out of various Ferraris, Porsches, Bentleys and Astons Martin, I had the pleasure of being his tour guide. We stopped by the new Ferrari F80, which was described as ‘looking a bit like something from Miami Vice’. I explained how the Cosworth V12 in the Gordon Murray T.50 is one of the fastest and highest revving road-car engines ever made. I tried, and likely failed, to explain the difference between AC and Shelby Cobras.

We compared the elegance of both the original Mercedes 300 SL ‘Gullwing’ and its more modern interpretation, the SLS. I droned on about how a Ferrari F40 was the last car that Enzo Ferrari had ever signed off on, or how a Porsche 911 with lots of modifications and a big wing at the back wasn’t actually a Porsche at all, but something called a Singer DLS Turbo and how it cost many millions of pounds. I pointed at a Peugeot Type 15 Double Phaeton from 1898 and asked my father if that was the car he grew up in, because we like to have a laugh every now and then.

All of these things were interesting to me, but what was fascinating to him was the Veyron. I explained that it was the first production road car to produce 1,000bhp, and it was powered by two V8 engines welded together to create something called a W16. I told him that the indicator stalks were made of magnesium. He nodded and his eyes were wide. ‘And how fast can it go?’, he asked. ‘About 250mph,’ I replied. ‘Wow’. And then we moved on to the next thing.

Heveningham Hall is one of Suffolk’s finest buildings, and as much as it is the work of Sir Robert Taylor and James Wyatt, it is mostly the work of Jon Hunt. He purchased the Grade I-listed house in 1994 and has since spent millions on restoring and renovating the building. He also returned the gardens and grounds of some 500 acres to original plans laid out by Capability Brown. As ‘large country piles’ go, it is difficult to think of one in better condition than Heveningham, and it is also why it is such an apt landscape for this particular concours. The themes of restoration, renovation and elegance are consistent, from the front bonnet of Nick Mason’s Ferrari 250GTO to the Grade I-listed orangery. It is worth having nice things and there is value beyond money in looking after them.

A ‘Concours d’Élégance’ is a zoo, and the exhibits are made out of metal and meat. I have been to plenty and they roughly follow a similar pattern, which is that various millionaires and billionaires show off their prizes of great value and provenance and then have a lovely party at the end to congratulate themselves. At most, there is an invisible barrier between ‘us’ and ‘them’, but that is also part of the allure. Like a zoo, or museum, these are things that we do not expect to see, but take pleasure on the rare occasions that we do. The other difference is that when you go to look at a nice painting in the National Gallery, you wouldn’t expect to find its owner standing next to it, enjoying a nice glass of Champagne. Like Halloween, a concours is when that invisible line between us and them is at its most transient, and at Heveningham it is very transient indeed.

Much of the great and the good of Suffolk are here this weekend, as the show runs concurrently with the Heveningham Hall Country Fair. While the restrained magnificence of the car collecting world hides behind the main house, out front, JCBs dance and steam engines roar and whistle, while young children with faces painted like tigers bury their faces in spun sugar.

Conservation and restoration is more than just looking after old fancy buildings and old fancy cars. In this period of nationwide malaise, where it feels that so much isn’t working the way it’s supposed to, it’s also about preserving, restoring and conserving a sense of community. Not only does the Heveningham Concours and Country Fair give the locals something to do, but it also raises money for various local charities.

Further afield, the nearby Wilderness Reserve is also under the auspices of Hunt, who aims to conserve and re-wild the 4,500-acre Sibton Park estate, underwriting the efforts by providing high-end luxury guesthouses where sheep will wander in through open doors and the windows vibrate with birdsong. It sits in stark contrast to the formal lawns and pastures of Hunt’s home; an ecological yin to the man-made yang of Heveningham.

The concours event is not large and it is not long before my father is tired and in need of a glass of Pimm’s. We find a space to sit overlooking Horsepower Hill, where various drivers compete to reach the highest top speed along one of the private roads that webs across the Capability Brown parkland. The winner this year is a Porsche Taycan Turbo GT Weissach, which rips up to 127mph. A disgruntled spectator complains that an electric car is ‘cheating’ and I am sure plenty in attendance are inclined to agree with him.

Electric Porsches aside, the grounds resonate with the sound of petrol and pistons, as everything from an Aston Martin Valkyrie to modified Ford Fiestas fresh from a McDonald’s carpark races up the hill in a cloud of tire smoke. Overhead, a P-51 Mustang, the ‘Cadillac of the Sky’, swirls, dipping its wings at the assembled spectators below.

I ask my father what his favourite car of the day has been. Was it the Best-in-Show winner Bentley Blower No. 1, from 1929? Nick Mason’s Ferrari 250GTO, one of the world’s most iconic cars? A Jaguar XK120 Roadster perhaps. But his mind returned to the Bugatti Veyron. He wasn’t particularly interested in the price, the provenance, or how it worked. It just looked quite cool. It was a contraption, a machine with a purpose, that spins and vibrates and drives very quickly, but could also play his Bob Marley CD. It didn’t win a prize, and it wasn’t the most exotic car there, but that wasn’t the point. It was something he’d never seen before, which at his age, is a gift that is difficult to give.

My father was never too interested in cars, but I always have been. I remember when the Veyron first appeared, as whispers, then in a triumphant roar, in 2005. The idea of a road car having 1,000bhp was beyond exciting to a 12-year-old, who would spend his Sunday evenings watching Top Gear while his parents played bridge downstairs. It was one of many posters on my walls, and I have never got bored of seeing a Veyron in the flesh.

And so what was just another car show became something more special. A moment where my father finally understood why it was that I cared so much. As we paced up and down the immaculately presented tiers, and I pointed and explained the things that made each car special, I could see a genuine interest in his eyes and a sense of wonder. I never cared that he didn’t care about cars, but for one afternoon, we were on the same page. A special moment, in a special setting, surrounded by special things.

Heveningham Concours and the Heveningham Hall Country Fair will take place on June 26-27, 2027.

Whenever I drive one of my vintage cars, I make a bet with myself that at the first traffic stop someone will lean out of a modern car and gravely assure me: 'They don’t make them like that any more.' This is undeniably true. But then they also don’t make electric light bulbs or radio sets, or so many other things, like they used to, so why do we car enthusiasts drive — and by choice, in all weathers — cars of such great age?

This is an easy question to ask, but has many answers. For me, the first reason is that I like it. Vintage motoring is fun. Old cars are all characters, some good, some bad, whereas modern cars, with several notable exceptions, do not possess such charisma. Most look alike, many are alike. They are totally bland, suitable for a sanitised society, where to conform is too often considered too important. Cars, like clothes, mirror social and political change.

When the old cars that I prefer were new, the world was a livelier, larger place and the cars made then reflect these characteristics. In addition to such famous makes as Rolls-Royce, Bentley, Bugatti, Delage and Alfa Romeo, there are many others less well known. All have their own personalities, often stemming from the attitudes and outlooks of their entrepreneurial designers and manufacturers.

What motor manufacturer today, for example, would proudly advertise his tiny two-cylinder car as having 'The Pull of an Elephant and the Appetite of a Canary'? Or, in describing its performance, would claim, 'With Spurs, would climb Trees'? Jowett from Yorkshire did for years, and in its day was very successful.

Then there was the enormously long Burney, designed in 1930 by the R100 airship engineer, Sir Dennistoun Burney, with a wheelbase of 13 feet and 5 inches, and an eight-cylinder engine hanging out for several feet beyond the rear wheels. At another extreme, the Trojan ran on solid rubber tyres, powered by an engine lying on its side under the front seat, and behind a bonnet empty except for the petrol tank. And what modern car, even with ABS braking, possesses the style of the mighty American Duesenberg, whose driver could adjust the brakes as he drove with a control marked Dry, Rain, Snow, Ice?

These days, my old-car driving is mainly confined to three cars, in order of seniority: a 1935 Auburn cabriolet, a 1936 Cord roadster (both made by the firm in Indiana which produced the Duesenberg), and a 1937 Jaguar SS100.

The Cord has a coffin-shaped bonnet, blunt as a blue-nosed whale; the sort of car Toad of Toad Hall would have enjoyed. The little SS100, so called because it was made by the SS car company, later Jaguar, and could reach a speed of 100mph, is light-footed as a mountain pony, slightly built and, in the wet, skittish as a trainee ballerina.

No one could deny that the Cord is well made. Clutch and brake pedals move on roller bearings, every nut and bolt is plated, and after 50 years, the body of high-grade metal is still free of rust. It was also the first American car to combine innovations such as retractable headlamps, independent front suspension and an engine and gearbox built on a special frame for easy removal.

The Cord had an integral body, totally soundproofed and without running boards, a built-in radio, rheostat-controlled instrument lighting, variable-speed windscreen wipers, headlamp main-beam warning light, concealed door hinges, and many more examples of ingenuity. But it had — and has — a weakness that neither time nor the expenditure of large sums of money by subsequent owners to experts of various kinds has been able to cure completely. This is its means of changing gear.

As an early front-wheel-drive design, the car has the gearbox laid out in front of the engine and front wheels. Gear changes are made by moving a tiny electric switch in a miniature gate on the steering column. No doubt, this seemed a very good idea at the time, because it did away with any need for complicated mechanical linkages. This switch activates solenoids, to open and close valves controlling vacuum servos, which, in turn, manipulate a lever that actually changes the gears. Many a garage mechanic, contemplating for the first time this nest of magnets, wires, valves, tubes and levers, must have echoed Shelley’s words: 'Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair.'

I have often felt this despair acutely when, after half a century, the solenoids suddenly show their age and I realise with alarm that I cannot engage any gear at all. I coast around roundabouts or across intersections, usually in rush-hour traffic, with irate drivers hooting, my V8 engine racing away, but not transmitting any power whatever to ever more slowly turning wheels. Then, miraculously, energy returns to the stricken vehicle, and the gear changes as slickly as ever.

The Auburn takes its name, not from the colour, but from the town of that name where it was made, and provides another kind of vintage motoring. In contrast to the Cord, it is as temperamental as a superannuated building society clerk. The engine’s eight cylinders fire obediently in line, pistons the size of flower pots pound up and down, and the car’s sheer size metamorphoses even the shortest drive into a stately progression.

An ingenious device, controlled by a small lever in the centre of the steering wheel, enables the driver to change the back axle ratio as he drives. This has the effect of doubling the gears available (six forward gears instead of three) and also enables him to drive long distances without changing gear manually — useful in the conditions for which the Auburn was designed, tooling leisurely along broad American highways under a high mid-Western sun.

The Auburn was intended, after all, for a big country and an unhurried time when in the USA petrol cost less than the equivalent of 2½p per gallon — and in Britain not much more than 5p. At such prices, who but a miser would complain of the speed at which its Carter carburettor drinks the 20 gallons of petrol which the tank contains?

While the SS possesses such a narrow cockpit that driver and passenger sit thigh to thigh, so close together that the doors have cut-away tops so that their right and left elbows respectively can hang outside in the slipstream, the Cord and Auburn have high doors and weigh around 2½ tons. The feeling is of travelling in an open tank. A 4.7-litre engine churns away about 6ft in front of the occupants’ legs and somehow seems totally divorced from the wheels. In all three cars, after a few miles on a warm day, there is a sensation of heat and the constant drone of many mechanical parts all working hard that is, of course, totally absent in a more modern car.

I acquired a Cord more than 20 years ago, after putting an advertisement in the London Evening Standard. This brought a reply from Australia. Apparently, a ship’s engineer who owned the car had bought the paper in Southampton, but did not read it until his ship docked in Sydney. On his return, he sold me my first Cord. I then heard of another that had lain in a shed in Staffordshire for years and bought that and, out of the two, built one.

I liked this car so much that I 'gave' it to a character, Doctor Jason Love, whom I created in a series of adventure novels. When the first, Passport to Oblivion, was filmed, I was asked to hire the car to the studios in Elstree. It lay neglected in the studio garage for months, next to the yellow Rolls-Royce that appeared in the film of that name.

No one heeded my warning that old cars, like old people, can become very crotchety and temperamental if not constantly cared for. Then, the Cord was suddenly required one morning for David Niven, as Doctor Love, and John Le Mesurier, as an intelligence agent, to drive through the winding lanes of Hertfordshire.

A studio employee drove it to the rendezvous, near Aldenham, but the old car was clearly much put out at being summoned so summarily and 'driven without feeling' by a stranger. The battery was flat, the tyres soft, and the engine overheated in protest. To show its total displeasure, it refused to start when the actors were ready. So, just out of camera range, a rope was attached to the front bumper for members of the crew to pull, and I pushed at the rear.

Then, as if to atone for this behaviour, the engine started perfectly and Niven and Le Mesurier drove away in splendid style to the next location.

Here again, temperament prevailed, the radiator boiled and the car stopped in clouds of steam. At this, the director wisely decided to shoot a completely new scene in which this unexpected breakdown had a part to play.

Now every time I see this film on TV — called Where the Spies Are —for reasons never made clear to me, I recall this instance when art imitated not nature, but mechanical mishap.

Since those days, the Cord has been totally rebuilt. In July last year, my eldest son Jeremy and I took it to Brooklands for the annual Reunion of the Brooklands Society, dedicated to keeping fresh the memory and traditions of what was the world’s first — and most famous — purpose-built motor-racing course.

The day was warm and, surprisingly for a Sunday in summer, the roads nearly empty. The big old car bowled along effortlessly. One sits higher up than in a modern car and is able to see over the tops of fences and hedges and the roofs of other cars. The shortest journey thus becomes as important as its purpose, to be enjoyed as an outing for itself, not simply as a means to an end.

Another reason why driving an old car can be rewarding is that something about its appearance, whether it is large or small, brings out the best in other users of the road. Camaraderie between drivers returns — and of course when these cars were new it was customary for motorists approaching each other in cars of the same make to wave a friendly greeting.

Once, I had a puncture, and the feeble jack I had borrowed for the journey from my modern car could not cope with the weight. Other cars stopped, and their drivers offered aid or advice, but the heavy metal defeated them all. Finally, the driver of a passing coach saw the little group of people in the layby with jacks of various types spread about, and instantly assessed the problem.

The driver pulled off the road and produced a huge hydraulic jack that could lift a bus, and once more the Cord was mobile. None of his coach passengers objected to the involuntary stop. They all climbed out and surrounded the car, praising its looks and workmanship. Old cars remind older people of their youth, when they might have owned models of that make. Younger people enjoy seeing examples of individual minds and a pre-computerised age.

While the Cord is a Cunarder among cars, the SS100 provides totally different sensations and reactions. The big car gives an easy, soft ride, but the SS, with its cart springs and shock absorbers set up tightly, feels like riding on a board. If the windscreen is folded flat it provokes such a rush of air that goggles are necessary. Similarly, the wind whips round the side of the screen, even if it is raised, so a leather jacket is a wise precaution. The car has a skimpy aluminium body so that the rear wings can buckle if anyone attempts to push it over the headlamps, and behind the windscreen two cowls that rise like metal breasts to shield the instruments, were not in the best of taste.

A deeper reason for this coolness was that the SS100 could outperform other cars that cost nearly twice as much.

The SS100 reeks of the open road — and, to some, of the open roadhouse — and so in my latest adventure novel, Tank of Serpents (Collins), when I needed to provide a raffish character with a pre-war sports car, I chose this one, which is rather unfair, since I have owned four SS100s and all have given me an enormous amount of fun at very low cost.

Indeed, I can remember being let down by a mechanical failure only once. This was on an unusually hot day, when the engine overheated, causing the condenser in the distributor to lose its ability to condense. I simply coasted off the road, allowed a few minutes for the engine to cool, fitted a replacement condenser, and went on my way.

Spares for vintage cars are rarely a problem. There are clubs for nearly every make, and dozens of small firms make replacement parts. The Vintage Sports Car Club caters for the interests of all vintage car enthusiasts. (By definition, 'vintage' cars refer to those made between 1919 and 1930, so my trio are all post-vintage Thoroughbreds.)

Samuel Johnson wrote that 'a man used to vicissitudes is not easily dejected'. By this reasoning, drivers of vintage cars have to be people of resource and resilience, and, in my experience, they are. Our cars come to possess almost human qualities and failings. In essence, they reflect the personalities and idiosyncrasies of the people who built them — and our own. Perhaps this is really the reason why we like them so much?

This article first appeared in the October 16, 1986 issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

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The celestial scoring system of the Michelin Guide currently anoints more than 3,700 restaurants, beacons of light that stretch from New Zealand to the Faroe Islands. Yet, before it became a universal blueprint, the guide served as a bible to specifically French petrolheads, recommending hotels and service stations along the Hexagon’s main motorways to spur car travel and, indirectly, tyre sales for its parent company.

The guide dished out one star to the restaurants worth making a stop for; two stars to those that might warrant a detour; and three to those that served as a destination in their own right. What began as a bit of PR for the automobile industry eventually morphed into the definitive anthology of taste. Thus it is that the destiny of global gastronomy is inextricably tied to that of the motorway — an odd analogy to the British, whose experience of stopping for lunch on the road might, at best, involve a Nando’s.

Compare this with France, where the country’s best roast chicken — according to chef Heston Blumenthal — is found at the Aire du Poulet de Bresse service station just off the A39 near Dijon and a dismal picture of our sceptred isle begins to form. Although British cuisine has come on in leaps and bounds since the first crop of maverick chefs took over our kitchens in the 1980s, their spirit has not extended to the diners that line our own cross-country motorways. These are prosaic, unmodernised spaces, dotted here and there by the airs of routine, where a mini M&S might offer a reprieve from fast-food.

Britain’s top service stations

Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire M40, Junction 2

The service station with the UK’s broadest range of retail outlets, 16 in total (12 eateries). Nearby attractions include the oldest surviving model village in the UK, Bekonscot, which welcomes upwards of 150,000 visitors per annum

Gloucester M5, between Junctions 11A and 12

Britain’s most elegant service station — constructed from Cotswold dry-stone walls and sustainably harvested ash stems from the Forest of Dean — serves 1.6 million hot drinks each year, including 1.1 million coffees

Lancaster M6, between Junctions 32 and 33

Designed by Bill Galloway and Ray Anderson, the juxtaposition of low-rise buildings with the now Grade II-listed Pennine Tower harks back to the golden age of driving. This was once the site of a restaurant serving steak and lobster, although that has since shut down. Lancaster also serves 900,000 hot drinks every year

Tebay, Cumbria M6, between Junctions 38 and 39

Serving 1.1 million hot drinks (including 836,000 coffees) every year, together with 287,000 pies and sausage rolls and 60,000 portions of fish and chips, this famous gateway to the Lake District is strongly committed to the local environment, with a well-frequented duck pond, on-site farm, dog walks and water and a pledge to plant 3,000 trees to establish wildlife corridors

Cairn Lodge, Lanarkshire M74, between Junctions 11 and 12

This most recent addition to the Dunning empire is accessed via a medieval fortress. The gateway to the Highlands is wildly popular, selling 836,000 hot drinks, including 255,000 coffees, every year

For some, the service station is a symbol of civilisational decline — a cultural no man’s land that typifies the UK’s woes and inequities. It wasn’t always the case: our oldest station, now known as Watford Gap Services, but first opened as Blue Boar in 1959, was a meeting point for rock-and-roll royalty: Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd and the Beatles were known to frequent its 24-hour café. For others, it feels akin to a time warp: somewhere that hasn’t been upgraded since the 1960s. The absence of a decent meal is far from the only grievance: other amenities that seem basic to other countries are often lacking here.

The loos, perhaps the only area in which Britain’s service stations outperform those on the Continent, are only slightly more salubrious than those on the Greek islands. ‘I think, in general, that they are all awful,’ laments author and conservationist Charles Rangeley-Wilson. ‘We’d do the world a favour by reverting to the habits of yesteryear and seeking out local cafés and garages in villages off the main route.’ ‘I don’t stop at service stations anymore,’ concurs Rosie Paterson, Country Life’s Travel Editor. ‘The average rural restaurant has improved so exponentially in the past decade that there is really no need to go via a service station, except to refuel and, perhaps, grab a Diet Coke.’

Yet rerouting via a village for a pit stop can be tricky. ‘It sometimes feels as if our motorways are designed to entrap,’ says Nicole Maslen, a producer at Goalhanger Podcasts who often travels for work. ‘We also lack awareness of local alternatives, having never benefitted from a dedicated guide the way that France has.’ The numbers, nonetheless, suggest that service stations remain immensely popular. Moto, the UK’s largest operator, records an average of more than 120 million visits from drivers every year. The same reasons to hate the service station are, for some, the reasons to love them.

‘Everyone has a favourite,’ notes Tabitha Steemson, a manager at CT Group, ‘and I love mine precisely because it is a bit s***.’ Her culprit is Leigh Delamere, of Gavin & Stacey fame — among the largest service stations in Europe and one of the many operated by Moto. It sits on the M4 between Junctions 17 and 18, near Chippenham, Wiltshire. Such a service station’s appeal is associative: a necessary evil en route to making memories.

There are, nonetheless, some green flags to look out for. ‘Take the Red Lion Truck Stop off the M1 near Northampton,’ points out motoring correspondent Adam Hay-Nicholls. ‘I was always taught by my father that lorries were an indication of a decent brekkie — and that is pertinent here.’ The service station is also somewhere we return out of loyalty for the familiar. ‘You know my favourite,’ says my friend Claudia Everest-Phillips, a paralegal and amateur artist. I do: it’s the beloved Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire, where we have often stopped when travelling to and from the Wilderness Festival in Oxfordshire.

The most popular service stations in the country have gentrified themselves in order to improve. When the M6 was built in the 1960s, slicing through land belonging to the Dunning family in Cumbria, its proprietors decided to open a service station that has grown, since 1972, into a beacon of the British road. Tebay Services offers none of the trappings found among its peers: no fast food, no slot machines, no unsanitised massage chairs. Instead, it has farm shops, selling produce that comes from Dunning-owned fields and other local growers. An accompanying hotel and caravan park have since been opened.

‘We were the UK’s first family-run motorway service area,’ Sarah Dunning says, ‘a friendly refuge sheltered behind a plantation of Scots pines from the sound and fury of the motorway.’ The food was — and is still — simple and local, served in a 40-seat restaurant next to a small shop selling crafts, as well as drivers’ essentials. The model worked. In 1992, the Dunnings opened a southbound station on the same site and have since expanded to other parts of the country.

Further stations were launched, in Gloucestershire in 2014 and at Cairn Lodge, Lanarkshire, in 2019 (on a site acquired from the MacInnes family). ‘Drivers will re-route journeys to go via Tebay,’ observes author and editor Simon Mills. ‘It’s like a pilgrimage. They show up with their hampers and their tote bags and load up their Rovers as if it’s the weekly shop. Come to think of it, for some, it might be.’

Britain’s worst service stations

Fleet, Hampshire M3, between junctions 4A and 5

Primary grievances: State of loos (avoid at all costs after Glastonbury) and the price of fuel

Thurrock, Essex M25, between junctions 30 and 31

Primary grievances: Awful shower queues and anecdotal reports of food poisoning

Rownhams, Hampshire M27, between junctions 3 and 4

Primary grievances: That the space is ‘packed with utter goblins’ and the apathetic McDonald’s staff

Bridgwater, Somerset M5, junction 24

Primary grievances: State of loos. Has a multi-storey car park despite being, by some accounts, ‘the size of a garden shed’

Heston, London M4, between junctions 2 and 3

Primary grievances: Conditions that have been described as both ‘cramped’ and ‘post-apocalyptic’. Harsh lighting

As overall standards improve, so do expectations: today, one in five drivers will make a point of avoiding certain service stations because they are deemed unsuitable (according to www.confused.com), in the same way that many will add their preferred service station as a deliberate stop. However, it’s more than the quality of produce and service that draws motorists, again and again, to the holy trinity that is Tebay-Gloucester-Cairn.

‘The idea [behind expanding to the Gloucestershire site] was born in 2007,’ Dunning explains, ‘when conversations began on the Matson housing estate [on the edge of the city of Gloucester] about how the M5 motorway could become an asset for the local community, creating jobs and generating sustainable income.’ Today, the Farmshop and Kitchen work with more than 130 local producers within a 30-mile radius, alongside a further 70 producers from across the South-West.

The service-station edifice itself has also proved inspirational to photographers and artists, such as the American realist painter Edward Hopper, since the early days of motoring. ‘Quite why this is is hard to pin down,’ states Philip Butler, a photographer whose anthology, 226 Garages and Service Stations, was published in September last year. ‘It started in the USA, where gas stations might be the only structure on a highway for miles — and the little illuminated outposts were considered to be a safe haven on a seemingly endless journey.’

Architectural historians may find more to love if they go further back. ‘The Texaco in East Sheen, London SW14, is a rare example of a 1920s filling station still in daily use,’ notes Butler . ‘For the Art Deco lover, the Clock Garage, now a Kwik Fit in Woodville, Derbyshire, is one of the best preserved 1930s sites.’ One in Worcestershire might look at home on the @accidentallywesanderson Instagram account, owing to its soothing symmetry: the Regal Garage in Upton upon Severn. Service stations are also ‘a symbol of escapism and the romance of the open road,’ Butler says.

For philosopher Alain de Botton, the service station shares a poetic language with the airport and train carriage. ‘In spite of their architectural compromises and discomforts,’ he wrote in 2002’s The Art of Travel, ‘we implicitly feel that these isolated places offer us a material setting for an alternative to the selfish ease, the habits and confinement of the ordinary, rooted world.’

It is a profound, and no doubt truthful, statement, although it helps if the services in question offer more than a Starbucks.

This feature originally appeared in the August 26, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe

There is much to see and do in Monterey in August during car week, and many of those things to see and do involve looking at, or driving, very expensive cars. It is also a time for manufacturers to show us new cars, with the Sauron-like gaze of the world’s smartphones beaming down on this small slice of central California.

It is perhaps indicative of the world we now live in that you can feel extremely present at an event occurring more than 5,000 miles away simply by clicking follow on a few Instagram accounts and letting the algorithm do the rest. Koenigseggs, Lamborghinis and whatever else doing burnouts along various beach-side roads while people chatter excitedly on voice-overs about just how impressive said car is and valuable and rare. Sheets are pulled off new designs and prototypes to various oohs and ahhs of assembled Ozempians. Cutting through is not easy, because at Monterey, there is always a bigger four-wheeled fish lurking right around the corner.

The McLaren McL 6GT is not the biggest fish, but it was certainly the most prized reveal of the week. Rumours had been swirling for some time that McLaren were releasing their first ‘manual’ car since the F1 ceased production in 1998. Those rumours swelled to a crescendo on August 14, when the McL 6GT blinked into existence and the internet roared its approval.

If such a thing as a prevailing wind exists in the world of car design, then it is surely blowing towards the past. The McL 6GT is inspired by (and takes most of its name from) Bruce McLaren’s own M6GT, the ‘genesis of McLaren’s road cars’. In the words of McLaren Automotive CEO: ‘The McLaren McL 6GT imagines what our inspirational founder had wished to complete but with six additional decades of innovation and passion woven through every element, creating a modern icon of driver connection.’

That 60 years of innovation might be found underneath the car's clean Can-Am lines, but the exterior is very much a celebration of the past. If you could criticise McLaren (and indeed many other sports- and supercar manufacturers), it would be that too many of their machines look like they were born on computers and grew up in wind tunnels; 3D-printed steaks wrapped in carbon fibre.

What they have lacked is provenance — a story, a feeling, something to talk to a petrol-station admirer or a dinner-party guest that is more than just numbers. The irony is, of course, that McLaren has plenty. It feels like it's finally manifested in the McL 6GT, a machine that looks like it was designed by a human with a pencil. There is a sense of heritage to the whole thing that feels timeless. A Kammback tail certainly helps.

And, of course, the manual gearbox. McLaren has always taken great care in trying not to overindulge their drivers, eschewing endless screens and buttons in order to keep the driving experience pure. And now with a full manual in the range, the experience is complete. Surely it will only be a matter of time before customers are asking for manual boxes in their own cars.

Could this be the beginning of a new dawn in the direction of design for the gang at Woking? It’s too early to say, but there is so much to like with the McL6GT that it feels the pressure will be hard to resist. The vintage McLaren badges, ‘Speedy Kiwi’ details and proper big headlights all feel like the beginning of a counter-revolution. McLaren will always make spaceships that people will buy, but so much of the joy of the brand is the story. Competition comes in many forms, but the most compelling argument will never be numbers, but sensations, heritage and style.

So, here is your answer. In between the palm trees, Pacific Ocean and plastic, what stood out wasn’t something new, but something quite obviously old. Not a race to the end of a quarter mile, nor bending the physics of drag in a wind tunnel. Rather, a carefully thought-out piece of human design, drawing together the many elements of a business and philosophy that began for so many of us on a bedroom wall. If you want to win Monterey Car Week, the solution is to keep it simple.

It’s easy to feel sorry for French presidents of late. I’m not talking about the constant strikes; resistance to raising the retirement age and lifting the cap on the 35-hour working week; the rise of the far-right and the radical-left; debt, immigration, Islamic terrorism, hi-viz-wrapped rioters, and wildfires. I’m talking about the official state cars they have to squeeze into the back of.

Governing the Fifth Republic is no easy task, made worse by some of the pretty awful motors seen parked outside the Élysée during the past half century. Poor Jacques Chirac suffered the brunt. His presidency (1995-2007) spanned the Citroën XM, the Renault Safrane and the Peugeot 607.

Things weren’t much better for François Mitterand, his predecessor, who did his best to maintain dignity in a Renault 25 and the particularly wretched Renault 30 hatchback. Imagine if Margaret Thatcher had been driven around in a mk1 Vauxhall Astra and you get the idea. It doesn’t exactly whisper ‘CEO of the nation’.

If you’re the premier of a country that doesn’t have a recognised car industry, the answer is simple: You get a Mercedes S-Class, specifically its armoured 680 Guard derivative. If you’re the Chancellor of Germany, the answer’s even simpler. If you’re the President of the USA, you get the 9,000kg Cadillac Beast, which is actually built on a truck chassis and maxes out at just 60mph. If you’re Vladimir Putin you get the Russian-built Aurus Senat limousine, which goes some way to explaining his anger management issues.

And if you’re one of our many recent Prime Ministers, you have a choice of Range Rover Sentinel or, if you insist on a saloon, the long-wheelbase Audi A8L. That’s because Jaguar haven’t built a saloon since 2019. The shame is not entirely France’s. I say stick Burnham in a Bentley, although if he had his way he’d probably be on a Lambretta.

Things started off pretty well for our Gallic chums. Before the Second World War, France was a leader in luxury automobiles. In the 1910s, the official car was the Panhard 20V, followed by the Renault 40CV in the 1920s, and in the 1930s les présidents had Renault’s Reinastella convertible and Nerva Grand Sport. After the war, President René Coty was chauffeured in Citroën’s iconic Traction Avant.

Charles de Gaulle followed him in 1959 by ushering in the Fifth Republic and the elegant Citroën DS, which became a big part of his image, mainly because it saved him from a hail of gunfire. Next, Georges Pompidou commissioned two special open top Citroën SM’s. This was peak avant-garde. And then, in the late 1970s, Valéry Giscard d’Estaing approved the Peugeot 604 and France could never be taken seriously as a superpower ever again.

France makes decent family cars. They’re not as stylish as the Italians do them, nor as well-built as the Germans, but they tend to be jolly and relatively cheap. What they have always struggled with since the 1970s is luxury, which is weird when you think Cartier, Chanel, Hermès, Dior and Louis Vuitton are [checks label], yep, definitely French. Every 10 years, Renault and Citroën will have another go, wheeling out the avant-garde tropes, never entirely convincingly. Nicolas Sarkozy, Chirac’s successor, had the quirky Renault Vel Satis and the handsome Citroën C6, but they were replaced by François Holland and the equally bloated and disappointing Renault Espace V.

So what of the current incumbent, Emmanuel Macron? His ride to the top table of western diplomacy has been SUV crossover-shaped, in the form of the DS 7 Crossback, the Renault Rafale, and the car I’ve been driving this week: the all-electric DS No.8.

Citroën have taken the name of the car with which De Gaulle escaped assassination, and made a whole new brand out of it. It’s pronounced ‘Day Ess’, and is a sort of Lexus to Citroën’s Toyota. The flagship’s name is No.8, which makes it sound like a perfume. I shall refer to it as the Numero Huit.

Is it a saloon, a hatchback, a fastback or an SUV? Everything, all at once! There’s a lot going on in the amalgamate design. A mix of lines, folds and strakes going in lots of different directions. In the flesh, the Numero Huit looks quite stylish, but if it snatched your phone you’d have a dickens of a time describing it to the police e-fitter.

Inside, it’s smart but also quite eccentric, as if Jean-Paul Sartre were clad in Nappa leather and had eight speakers bolted onto him courtesy of French audio specialists Focal. The X-shaped steering wheel looks like it’s been liberated from a concept car. I tested the top-of-the-line Étoile spec Numero Huit with all-wheel-drive and a 97.2kWh long-range battery that’s good for 430 leisurely miles. The dual electric motors produce 350bhp. That’s more sensible than existential, but results in a respectable 0-62mph in 5.4 seconds. Top speed is 118mph — faster than Mr Trump’s obese Caddy, at least.

The emphasis is not on shifting, but wafting. This car is as smooth and silky as a Charvet shirt and tie (as worn by De Gaule, Mitterand, Pompidou and Macron), and yet the car I drove is £63,290. That’s pretty impressive for this amount of space and presidential refinement. It’s a budget Bentley. Bentley’s Flying Spur starts at £190k — and would cause the proletariat to dig out the guillotine. Whereas the Day Ess Numero Huit will save your neck, at least until the next union action grinds everything to a halt. And it will do so with more than a soupçon of French veuve.

So felicitations, Emmanuel, things in the Élysée car park stakes are finally looking up again.

Riley Harper remembers the first time he saw a professional stuntman at work. He was four years old, he was on the set of the 1995 Kevin Costner action film Waterworld in Hawaii and it was his father. ‘I think that was probably where the seed got planted,’ he says.

Riley is the definition of cool — and not bad to look at either, if you care about that sort of thing. The 37-year-old Los Angeles-born stuntman has been performing daring feats since the age of seven, when he appeared in his first film. Soldier (1998) starred Kurt Russell and saw childhood Riley fall down a set of 20 stairs. ‘I was always pretty fearless,’ he says.

He has followed in the motorbike tracks of his father and uncle, appearing in films such as Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014), Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood (2019) and The Dark Knight Rises (2012). ‘Anything with Christopher Nolan as a director is amazing to work on,’ he says ‘Those Batman movies are so fun. Putting on the suit was very cool.’

The job doesn’t come without its risks. Riley describes how, for the ‘really frankly bad remake’ of Point Break (2015), he had to jump down a 25-feet high cliff on a motorbike in the pouring rain, to land in between a cluster of trees. Oh, and roll a car over again and again next to a cliff's edge. ‘There were a lot of scary things that could have gone wrong.’

It’s safe to say that, as he gets older, Riley is (somewhat) slowing down. ‘All through my twenties I was just going from movie to movie to movie, all around the world, nonstop.’ In his thirties he has branched out into photography, directing, writing and growing a social media following to showcase his work — he has 441,000 followers on Instagram at the time of writing and works with brands such as Porsche and Belmond.

This has allowed him to spend more time at his home in Calabasas, which he shares with his wife, model Paige Harper, and their two-year-old daughter. ‘Nowadays I do strive to have a simpler life, because everything is complicating life, you know? For example, phones are supposed to make our lives easier, which they do in a lot of ways, but I think they complicate life more than they simplify it,’ Riley says.

‘Going out of your way to do less. It’s a really strange thing… I think being aware is important because our attention is being stolen, basically all day long, with these tools that we need to survive and make a living.’

Riley has not, however, totally taken his foot off the gas. ‘I’m still doing stunts, but I do more hand-picked jobs now. Usually more driving work. When I was younger I did a lot of motorcycle stunts, which are more dangerous than cars, for the most part, but yeah, it is still dangerous.’

So, where’s the line? Is there any stunt Riley won’t do — particularly now that he is a father? ‘I’ve never said no to anything. Primarily because anyone who’s hiring me understands what I’m capable of.’

Your aesthetic hero

Probably Anthony Bourdain, not really for his aesthetic in the traditional sense, but more for how he lives life and looks at stuff. Outside of him, I would say I usually admire older men who don’t have social media. Just random people, for example, a guy I see in Paris who opens his same store every day and is just bettering himself over time.

An exhibition that has impressed you

I mean, this is kind of corny, but for me it’s the exhibition of life. I love those mundane moments in life that most people don't see, and I like to look for those now and appreciate them.

The last thing of note that you bought for yourself

Well, I’m an extreme car person. I've always been into cars and vehicles and motorcycles, and I would say it's close to a sickness. So, I just bought myself a new Porsche 911. I got to actually build it top to bottom. I’ve ordered a baby seat for the back. I'm biased, because she's mine, but I'm doing my part to make my daughter as cool as possible.

Your favourite painting

I can’t remember the name of it, but I took a photo of one in Reid's Palace [a Belmond] hotel, Madeira. It was a sailboat in a storm, hung over the fireplace in their lobby. Everyday that I walked past I would just stare at it.

A possession you would never sell

I would probably say my 1969 Triumph Bonneville. It’s an iconic British brand. They’re as authentic as it gets. I always loved those as a kid, and dreamed of having one one day. And so I found this motorcycle in pieces, I actually traded a vintage car I had to a mechanic for it. I knew it was gonna be a lot of work but I spent probably a year and a half building it with my dad, my uncle and a mechanic that I used for engine stuff. We basically brought it back to showroom level.

I finished that bike when I was 20 or 21, so I've had it for a long time, and I've now raced it at desert races. I've driven my wife on it for date nights. It's just the most beautiful motorcycle in my opinion, so I don't think I could ever part ways with that. It's too sentimental. Nothing could replace it.

A book you’ve found inspiring

Daniel Klein, Travels with Epicurus, I'm in the middle of that right now, which is fun. James Salter, I'm getting into recently, so I'm bouncing between a few of his. The Anthony Bourdain Reader — I read that when I’m in my sauna.

Another book that comes to mind that I’ve read probably five times is The Creative Act by Rick Rubin. I've always been a fan of Rick Rubin, I've met him many times, and I've always respected what he does — and that book is just so good.

The music that you work to

Mostly jazz. I love jazz.

The last podcast you listened to

I think Rick Rubin’s podcast Tetragrammaton. He always has really interesting guests on, such a wide variety, and he's a great interviewer — a very curious guy.

The person that would play you in a film of your life (and the person that would perform the stunts)

That's an interesting question to have to answer. God, I don't know. That is so hard. I don't know if my life's worth having a movie about. Maybe, if I could go in a time machine, I would say Pierce Brosnan in the 90s. He was my James Bond. And then to do my stunts, maybe my younger brother? We're pretty similar looking and he’s alright at stunts too, I suppose.

What you’d take with you to a desert island

My wife and daughter. Safety in numbers, we would survive.

The thing that gets you up in the morning

Also my daughter, for sure. But probably, more broadly, my curiosity. And a morning coffee, it’s just the most exciting thing. I think about it the second I open my eyes.

The items you collect

Cars and motorcycles.

A hotel you could go back and back to

Splendido Mare [a Belmond hotel] in Portofino. My wife and I got married there. We've been going to Portofino at least twice a year since we met. It's just our favourite place, and we have a lot of friends there.

The most memorable meal you’ve ever eaten

The dinner at our wedding, but also my wife and I used to go on sailing trips and the dinners we’d have on them — local fish that you’re buying off other boats and cooking on the boat — were always such great meals.

The best present you’ve ever received

My wife got me a Cartier tank watch for my wedding and she engraved the back. That’s sentimental, and something our daughter will wear one day.

The luxurious two/four-seater Aston Martin DB4 represents the logical climax of the many years of sports and Grand Prix racing carried out by the makers. Their intention has obviously been to produce a car that would combine the comfort and convenience of a grand touring saloon with the qualities and performance normally associated with a racing car. There are no features of the design that can be described as revolutionary, but its cohesiveness is based on the hard experiences of international racing.

The remarkable power output of 240 b.h.p. is obtained at 5,500 r.p.m. from the six-cylinder twin-overhead-camshaft engine, which is of light-alloy construction. A most rigid crankcase is employed, and there is a seven-bearing crankshaft. The bore and stroke are both 92 mm, to give a total capacity of 3,670cc. The compression ratio is not unduly high at 8.25 to 1. Two S.U. carburettors are fitted; on the engine of equivalent capacity used for the shorter Gran Turismo and for sports-car racing, three twin-choke Webers are used. The sump has the large capacity of 17 pints, and a full-flow Purolator filter is incorporated in the lubrication system.

Though the engine is at its best on the highest-octane fuel, it will run happily on any premium-grade petrol. On many modern cars the engine compartment is largely filled with extras, but, with the Aston Martin, when one opens the forward-hinged bonnet, little else is revealed but essential mechanism, and accessibility is good. The gearing is such that an engine speed of 5,300rpm gives a cruising speed of 120 mph. The engine is fitted with chrome-vanadium wet cylinder liners.

Front suspension is by coil springs and transverse wishbones, and large telescopic hydraulic dampers are incorporated. The suspension at the rear is by coil springs, trailing arms and piston-type dampers. The rear axle is located transversely by Watt's linkage.

Rack-and-pinion steering is used and exceptional care has been taken to eliminate friction and wasted effort by the driver. The steering requires only 2½ turns from lock to lock, and just over 32 feet is required to turn the car.

The four-speed gearbox has a remote control of sports-car type, but synchromesh is provided on all four gears. As one would anticipate on such a fast car, Dunlop disc brakes are fitted, and a vacuum servo is incorporated in the hydraulic system to prevent the pedal pressure from being too high because of the fade-resistant linings used.

The car's fuel tank has the sensible capacity of 19 gallons, which, with an average consumption of 17 mpg, gives a range of over 300 miles, even allowing a gallon for fuel-gauge inaccuracy; in fact, there is a controlled reserve of three gallons.

The body can almost be described as integral with the chassis, as a framework of steel tubing on the Superleggera principle is connected to the chassis and covered with aluminium panelling. Apart from the principle of construction used, the lines of the DB4 owe much to Latin artistry. The air entry on top of the bonnet is not entirely necessary to feed air to the carburettors, but, as it fits over the leading edges of the overhead camshafts, it allows a lower general bonnet line to be achieved.

Most owners of such a car will doubtless regard it as a two-seater, as its performance almost demands the modern long-arm driving position, with the seat set well back, which reduces knee-room in the rear to a great extent. The interior of the car is most luxuriously fitted, and the equipment includes two bucket seats of Reutter type, on which it is possible to adjust the rake of the squab instantaneously and while in motion. Both front seats are well shaped to resist lateral force, and the driving position approaches perfection because of the well-placed pedal controls and gear lever. A valuable detail is that it is possible to transfer the right foot from the full-throttle position to the brake without having to move one's heel from the floor.

Despite the car's clean and sweeping lines, skill has allowed a large luggage boot to be provided, and the rear seat can be used to increase the luggage accommodation. A complicated system of levers controls the heating system, but once understood it works remarkably well. The fascia and instruments are well laid out, with materials that prevent any danger of irritating reflections appearing in the wraparound windscreen. With the large doors fully open entry is very easy, but some effort is required to get out with any degree of decorum.

As the induction system is not pre-heated, it is necessary to warm up the engine before expecting it to pull cleanly after it is first started up; a radiator blind is fitted to make this more rapid. There is no danger of being caught napping by the great power of the engine; it is so apparent that even the most careless driver could not inadvertently give too much throttle. In town driving it is best to make full use of the gearbox and, in fact, to ignore top gear and use the silent-running third gear instead.

While I would not suggest that the DB4 is in any way intractable, even its most enthusiastic user would not suggest that it is the perfect car for everyday town use. It is meant for use on the open road, where it comes into its own. Its makers have advertised — and the performance can be repeated at any time — that it can be accelerated from 0 to 100 mph and braked back to 0 in under 30 seconds. This is a truly remarkable performance.

Theories about overall performance and potential average speed have to be looked at in a completely new light when one is considering a car capable of 50, 75, 105 and almost 140 mph. on the four gears. The ease and accuracy with which the race-bred Aston Martin can be handled makes all normal cars appear clumsy and sloppy, and, although the suspension has clearly been set with high-speed stability and perfect adhesion in mind, it is interesting to note that it can be most favourably compared with softly suspended touring cars built for comfort only.

The car is not as silent as one might expect, but this is a small price to pay for such outstanding performance, and what noise there is is indicative of mechanical efficiency. The overall efficiency of the engine is shown by the similarity of the times required to accelerate through widely varying brackets of speed in top gear. Even without using the gearbox it is possible to leap ahead of other traffic with the greatest ease, and, what is perhaps more important, without ever feeling that one is driving in an exceptional manner.

On suitable roads previous conceptions about cruising speeds can be ignored and anything between 100 and 120 mph can be accepted as reasonable. The car is equally at home on a wide variety of road surfaces, and corners can be taken at high speeds in safety and easy comfort. On everyday roads one probably tends to take corners more slowly with the Aston Martin than one might with a slower car; the dazzling acceleration out of corners soon whirls the speedometer needle back to the selected cruising speed. Because of the reflection-free instrument lighting, the excellent headlamps and the comfortable and secure seating, night driving is especially pleasant.

It was not possible in the time at my disposal to find an opportunity to check the car's maximum speed with accurate timing, but there is no doubt in my mind that the claim of 140mph is justified completely. Apart from my feeling that a car of this price and quality would be better were it more silent, my only criticism applied to the gear lever. While excellently placed, its movements were rather lumpy, and it was essential to depress the clutch fully on every occasion if a clean gear change was to be obtained. It was interesting to note that with the engine switched off, the vacuum servo thus being made inoperative, greater pedal pressure could keep the brakes effective.

Combining almost racing-car performance with the standard of comfort associated with a town carriage, the Aston Martin DB4 represents truly first-class travel. It must be close to the ideal for the motorist anxious to travel far and fast without strain or fatigue.

At some point in the recent past, someone, somewhere, was designing the interiors for a new car, and asked themselves a question. That question was: ‘Would it be possible for me to turn this vehicle into a mobile karaoke lounge’. The answer, apparently, was yes.

Being able to sing karaoke from the passenger seat of a moving vehicle naturally made my mind wander to Steven Spielberg’s Jurassic Park. Dr Ian Malcolm, portrayed by Jeff Goldblum, informs the assembled that the dinosaur crafting scientists ‘were so preoccupied with whether they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should’. In the same film, Dr Malcolm/Goldblum also says that ‘Life will find a way’; However, I can guarantee you it won’t if my passenger starts belting out a tuneless cover of Madonna’s Like a Virgin.

Something has gone wrong. A cursory glance at most modern car interiors is a gaze into the panopticon. A recent trip in a friend’s new estate involved dealing with three screens, a continuous brushstroke of soulless interface splashed across the dashboard. Less car, more the bridge of the USS Enterprise on wheels, a command centre from where the sensation of driving can be deadened and destroyed, all in the name of whichever design ethos is currently the most fashionable.

De-cluttering is a useful tool after a divorce, but it has no place in the front seat of a car, which is a machine, and therefore deserves lots of buttons and switches to make it work. You wouldn’t look at an organ and complain that it had too many keys.

We are left with plain spaces, perforated only with screens which are windows to a hell of our own making. Colour palettes have been left on the cutting room floor, as uninspiring swatches of silver and grey run riot (at least, as riotous as the colour grey can be). If you want to open the glovebox, you have to visit a sub-menu of a sub-menu, because someone decided a simple switch or handle ruined the aesthetic. Gone are the knobs that control the temperature, which you can feel and touch and use without taking your eyes off the road. We are drawn back to the screen, like a neglected child being force fed dopamine hits.

What is the purpose of all of this? Who is it all for? It doesn't feel like it's for me or anyone else. Perhaps I am woefully out of touch, akin to the art critics who first laid eyes on the works of Monet at the Paris Salon and practically fainted in horror at his rushed strokes and waterlilies.

But these decisions are just that. When something must be new, something must be innovated for the sake of being innovative. But there is still a place for tradition: take the fabulous interiors of Bentley, Aston Martin and Rolls-Royce as an example. All three provide spaces that have the things you need, but rooted in an organic, well designed and tactile environment. They are well thought out and elegant.

There is a place for modernity too. The Fiat Grande Panda’s recent re-launch saw an interior garnished with delightful detail that left you with no doubt as to the car’s contemporary nature. It doesn’t take much either. Mini made their screen a circle instead of a square, and immediately created an interior worthy of an icon. The widely lambasted Ferrari Luce can at least claim that its interiors were well received, full as they are of switches and a coherent style.

The job of a designer, interior or otherwise, is to design, and I am sure that those responsible for creating these over-screened minimalist spaces do their best to provide the best product that they possibly can. But all too often it feels like things are being designed to impress other designers, rather than create value and emotion for the customers.

Driving used to be something that used all five senses. We could smell and taste petrol, feel the road through the wheel and engage with the tactile surfaces of a well-made interior. We could hear the engine and the wind and the tyres, and we could see it all working together in concert to make a journey all the more bearable.

Who is so determined to seal us away inside a stifling tomb? There is no touch, no taste, no feel. You will be comfortable, yes, as you silently glide down the motorway in your 2.5 tonne device, but you will not feel a part of it. You can keep your karaoke and Apple CarPlay. What I crave is connection.

Charger, Mustang, Challenger, Camaro, Firebird….and Bentayga?

It’s not how that list usually goes, but life is all about trying new things. You might think of the Bentayga as Bentley’s ultra luxurious SUV. You would usually be right. But this isn’t any old Bentayga, this is the Bentayga Speed, which is like the normal Bentayga, but speedier.

How speedy?

Extremely. The numbers here are quite staggering. Power from the twin-turbocharged V8 engine is a whopping 641bhp. 0-62mph in 3.6 seconds. A tidal wave of torque, even at low revs, and a top-speed of 193mph. All this in a car that weighs 2.5 tonnes and is not what we would traditionally call ‘aerodynamic’.

That speed is all well and good, but there are plenty of cars with that kind of performance. What makes the Bentayga Speed such a standout is the sensational, guttural, gargling, gurgling noise of it all. It’s one thing to have performance, it’s quite another to hear it bubbling away underneath you, like someone has stitched a leather armchair on top of a dozing volcano.

It is all too common these days for highly tuned and turbocharged engines to spin through the revs quickly; they’re all treble and no bass. But the good people of Bentley have taken extreme care to leave the bottom end in, so even when cruising around the Shires at leisure, a gentle throaty gargle follows you at all times. It’s like taking a lion to Tesco.

There is no electric system here either. The Speed is all dinosaur-juice V8, all the time, and that only adds to its allure. Give your foot a prod towards the floor, and at first not much happens, but as the noise and the engine slowly builds up from a grumble, to a growl, and to a roar, the power cascades out, and this cigar lounge on wheels disappears up the road. Many people were sad to see the iconic Bentley W12 retire a few years ago, but this is a more-than acceptable replacement that retains all the necessary noise and lag of the older (and less green) big block.

A blast from the past then?

It certainly feels like one, but of course, this is a modern car with modern engineering and all the trimmings. That power is put on the road via four-wheels, all organised by an 8-speed ZF automatic gearbox. It’s all held aloft on adaptive air suspension, integrated with continuous damping control. All a lot of fancy words to describe an outcome that is extremely smooth and balanced.

If there was something that those vintage muscle cars of the past couldn’t do, it was go around corners. While the Speed may not carry the looks of something such as a Camaro or a Challenger, it can tackle the long and winding roads of the UK with complete composure and very little fuss. The handling is further improved by an all-wheel steering system that reduces the turning circle by one metre. It may sound like a 12-litre bag of old bolts in a washing machine, but the Speed is engineered to precision, and moves like the best German competitors.

What else is different from the stock Bentayga?

Inside, not a huge amount. There's a few details around that allude to the Speed’s extra nippiness; a splash of carbon fibre here, the word ‘Speed’ stitched into the seats, and so on. It goes without saying at this point, but the cabin is absolutely divine, and one of Bentley’s best. Outstandingly comfortable, well styled, very tactile and showcasing the very best of British craftsmanship. It’s their job, it’s what the badge stands for, and they continue to do it well. Driving this car for hours is like visiting the spa, except instead of playing whale music during your massage, it’s lions on the Serengeti.

Most of the flourishes can be found on the exterior. We are treated to a spoiler, splitter and diffuser (get them in carbon) and a vast front grille. Someone can debate the efficacy of the improved aerodynamics, but I think they just look very fun, and what’s the point of spending your hard earned money on the Speed if it doesn’t look faster than the base model of the Bentayga. The wheels are 23 inches in diameter, and feature the largest brakes ever fitted on a production car. Again, stylistically they look superb, and they also do the job. Observe.

This all sounds pretty good. Any downsides?

It’s very large and very expensive. It is not impossible to drive around London, but I wouldn’t describe it as fun. The all-wheel turning system obviously helps, but big is big, whichever way you spin it. And at £219,000, it’s not cheap, and you’ll want the extra big wheels and the Akrapoviç exhaust system, so it’s more than that.

The question, then, is when the base Bentayga comes in at £169,000, is it worth the extra £50,000? I’ve often been sceptical about the ‘special editions’ of already quite quick luxury SUVs. You get plenty of performance from the base models, most of which you’ll probably never use, so what use is the extra 50bhp and 10mph of speed?

And I am usually right, but with the Speed I see it. Or, rather, I hear it. It is such a joyful surprise and one that I genuinely can’t imagine ever getting bored of. Much has been written, and will continue to be written, about how we are losing the feeling of driving. When you think about it, 641bhp isn’t even that much in an electric age. But it’s 641bhp of pure petrol, a symphony of pistons and moving parts, that always delivers. Imagine a song that you played on repeat but never got bored of — that would be worth something, I would think. We spend our lives working to pay for sensations that make us feel joy, and this is one of those.

So you would say it is a good car? You would not be embarrassed if one of your friends bought this car?

It is an excellent car. It was already my belief that the Bentley Bentayga was one of the finest cars you could buy and drive every day. The Speed is a delightful extra arrow in the quiver, a proper British muscle car that has every-day drivability and class-leading comfort.

So whip out the cowboy boots, leather jacket and denim and ride easy with the satisfaction that you could smoke anything at the lights, in massage seats and with a boot full of shopping, and sound like thunder while you do it.

‘If you think it’s cool, someone has probably put an electric motor in it,’ is how the old saying goes. That someone is likely to be Lunaz, the electrifiers par excellence, who have zapped everything from a Rolls-Royce Phantom V and Bentleys, to Aston Martins and Jaguars. All must be heritage classics, all must be luxurious, and all must be silent.

‘Silence’ and ‘a Range Rover Classic’ are not two words or names that usually go together; a Rover V8 engine from the 1970s could hardly be described as ‘stealthy’. But such hurdles as ‘British Leyland manufacturing standards’, large as they are, can be cleared with enough science and will. Step forward the Range Rover Classic by Lunaz.

One of the many stars from Goodwood Festival of Speed, the car is sumptuously appointed and handcrafted over 3,000 hours. It retains an achingly ‘of its time’ interior design, with two analogue dials supplemented by a variety of switches and tactile surfaces. There is a screen that can be discreetly stashed away if so desired to complete the look. Modern comforts include climate control, modern suspension, anti-roll, and heated seats.

There will be 12 Range Rover Classics designed by Lunaz, with the first already delivered to a client in the USA. As well as an electric powertrain, Lunaz will also be offering a V8 version alongside the electric, meaning the car moves beyond the ‘novelty’ tag attached to so many electro-mod creations. A variety of donor cars means that your RRC, which will cost from £450,000, can come in two-door, four-door, long wheelbase and convertible configurations.

Bring me my Spéirling

It’s always nice being able to write that the fastest production car in the world is a British one. This might be news to you. You might reasonably think that something like a Bugatti or a Koenigsegg or a Ferrari was the fastest, but you would be wrong. The fastest car in the world is a McMurtry Spéirling, which was made by some engineers in a shed in Gloucestershire. And now you can have one too.

The McMurtry Spéirling PURE, as the production model will be known, uses a fan system to quite literally suck itself to the road, producing 2,000kg of downforce even when the car is stationary. It can, quite literally, be parked on the ceiling.

What these fans do is create sensational downforce with a negligible impact on the car’s drag. When paired with 1000bhp worth of electric motors, the car is lightning quick and has smashed records at both the Top Gear (Dunsfold) test track and the Goodwood Festival of Speed Hillclimb. A top speed of 190mph might not seem outrageous, but paired to a 0-60mph time of 1.55 and the ability to corner at upwards of 3g, and you start to get the picture.

And now, with the final production model revealed after extensive testing, you can get your own. They will make 100 units, and each will cost £995,000 before taxes, shipping and options. Deliveries will commence at the end of the year.

Senna still setting records

If the answer is ‘£500,000’, then the question can only be: ‘How much for one of Ayrton Senna’s race-worn helmets?’. That figure was what was reeled in by auctioneers at Budds on July 7 for the iconic yellow lid worn by Senna during the German, British and Hungarian Grands Prix during the 1992 season, his last in the iconic Honda/McLaren partnership. The original estimate for the helmet was between £80,000–£120,000.

‘Few Formula One drivers are as instantly recognisable as Ayrton Senna. He's a legend of the sport and three-time Formula One World Champion whose influence still shapes the sport,’ said Andrew Moyers, head of motorsports at Budds, ahead of the auction. ‘There’s so much F1 fans love about this item. There’s Senna’s iconic status, and the importance of the races he wore it for, including the 1992 Hungarian Grand Prix where Senna claimed victory.’

Despite his demise in 1994, Senna still lives on in the hearts and minds of Formula 1 fans as one of the best to ever do it, and while he might not be winning races any more, he is still setting pretty impressive records even in death.

Audi in the Wilderness

Audi once again stole the show at Wilderness this year, celebrating its third year of being the festival’s headline sponsor with a variety of performances, talks and drinks and fine dining at the Audi Haven.

Revellers were treated to sets by Professor Green, Jo Whiley, Grace Carter and Jamie Cullum, while Theo Randall created an exclusive three-course Italian menu for the Audi Kitchen. At the glampiest of glamping festivals, Audi somehow managed to out-glamp them all.

Some vehicles become more than just a way to get from A to B. They become part of the landscape itself. Across farm tracks, village lanes and winding roads that disappear into the hills, the Fiat Panda has earned a place in country life that few cars can match.

For more than four decades, this unassuming little box on wheels has been carrying shepherds, farmers, foresters and families through all weathers and over terrain that would make many modern SUVs think twice. Modest, dependable and full of character, the Panda has never chased fashion or prestige. Instead, it has quietly built a reputation for doing exactly what rural life demands: getting the job done.

From the snow-covered mountain villages of Italy to the muddy back roads of Britain, the Panda's story is one of practicality, resilience and surprising charm. As we discover, this humble small car has become an unlikely country icon.

The Panda reached the UK in 1981. Its slab sides, flat windows and simple interior with washable materials were an instant hit among those seeking cheaper transport. Then, in 1983, the legendary 4x4 Panda appeared. It still retained the 2WD Panda’s Wellington boot-like appearance — square, sturdy and utterly unfashionable — but could now navigate muddy tracks and country adventures.

In 2024, after three generations, a new iteration arrived: the Grande Panda. And it might just be one of the best cars on sale today.

Lots of manufacturers are joining the retro trend, but only a few have gotten it right, like Renault with the 4 and 5, or Fiat with the 500e. Others struggled to bottle that all-important original essence in a retro revival, resulting in ridicule.

Yet again, Fiat has judged the mood perfectly. Rather than producing another anonymous hatchback destined to disappear into supermarket car parks, the Grande Panda doffs its cap to the original, borrowing just enough of its ancestor's charm to stand out from the crowd. Its bold pixelated LED headlights never failed to capture the attention of oncoming drivers.

Inside, the Grande Panda strikes a delightfully eccentric balance between nostalgia and modernity. Bold geometric shapes and splashes of neon yellow ensure there is little danger of mistaking it for one of today's more anonymous interiors. It’s filled with charms, from the so-called 'BAMBOX' glovebox, fashioned partly from bamboo fibres to trim pieces made using recycled drinks cans. My favourite touch, however, is the oval dashboard, complete with a miniature Grande Panda circling its perimeter — a playful tribute to Fiat's famous Lingotto rooftop test track.

Finished in a pleasing shade of Lago Blue — not the colour I’d choose, as I feel it better suits vibrant palettes — my mild-hybrid Panda came with £650 of extras, including a heated windscreen, heated steering wheel and heated seats — three items that rapidly migrate from the 'nice-to-have' column to the 'how did we ever cope without them?' category. The final bill stood at £22,645, which sounds rather a lot for a Panda until you've spent a winter's morning trying to thaw both yourself and your car before breakfast.

In hybrid form, the Panda churns out 108bhp and 151lb ft, meaning 0-62mph takes about 10 seconds, like the old Panda 100hp. Once you’re over the initial throttle input lag after pulling off, the Grande Panda feels nippier than those figures suggest. Unlike previous models, this one is only available with a six-speed automatic gearbox; however, it's paired with an electric motor, allowing it to reach 18mph on electric power alone.

Fiat suggests the Grande Panda Hybrid can achieve up to 55mpg if treated with a degree of mechanical sympathy. Happily, this appears to be more than a marketing department daydream. My loan car averaged 54mpg during its stay, while shorter trips saw the figure settle between 34 and 40mpg — still respectable enough for a dash to the farm shop, or an urgent expedition in search of forgotten dog food.

As for interior space, I easily squeezed my 5'11 "frame inside and still had plenty of legroom and headroom. Things were tighter in the rear, but you can’t have everything for £22k. Likewise, the car’s 10.3-inch touchscreen features Android Auto and Apple CarPlay; top marks go to Fiat for including an ADAS switch amongst the array of physical switches.

Yes, I largely prefer my Renault 4. But comparing the two is rather like comparing a labrador with a Jack Russell: both are charming in their own way, but they were bred for slightly different purposes. The Grande Panda occupies a different corner of the market and judged on its own merits, makes a compelling case for itself.

Those expecting pillowy soft-touch plastics and the hushed refinement of a luxury saloon may need to temper their expectations. The Panda's priorities lie elsewhere. What it offers instead is a cheerful, practical package that delivers almost everything one could reasonably want from an affordable runabout, wrapped in styling that has considerably more character than most of its rivals.

This is a mean looking machine

It most certainly is. This right here is the Alfa Romeo Giulia Quadrifoglio, a saloon on steroids. At some point, when developing this car, the good people at Alfa must have thought about creating something like an Audi or BMW; that is, a refined but powerful four-door car. And then when they finished thinking about that, they made this instead, which is a hornet’s nest on wheels.

A few months ago, I reviewed the Stelvio Quadrifoglio, which I was proud to admit was one of the most fun cars I’ve ever had the pleasure of driving. It will not surprise you, then, that the Giulia ‘Quad’, which is lower and lighter and equally well-endowed in the horsepower department, was also nothing short of magnificent. But it is different.

For 70% of the time you are driving it, it is a fast, punchy, and practical saloon car. The other 30% of the time it is like being covered in bees.

Not sure being covered in bees is a good thing

Not if you are Nicolas Cage in the Wicker Man, no. But if you are driving the Giulia, it’s certainly a sensation. And one you will learn to love.

The Giulia is pulled along by the same twin-turbocharged V6 that you’ll find in the corresponding Stelvio, which produces about 510bhp and will take you to 60mph in a smidge under four seconds, and will continue to take you up to 191mph if that’s a thing you would like to do.

That engine, which is partly designed by Ferrari, is an absolute delight. It sounds fantastic, particularly when run through the organ that is the Akrapoviç exhaust system. The turbos are snappy and sharp, and 510bhp is more than enough to shift the car’s 1,600kg weight through the rear wheels.

And shift it it does. In sport mode, the car is achingly quick and assaults every sense. The torque means that it can take off at pretty much any rev range, and the automatic gearbox does a good job of letting you climb through the revs before settling down. There is, of course, a manual mode controlled by two gigantic shifters behind the wheel, if that is your preference.

The bit where the bees come in is when you decide to get really brave. Track mode is not for the faint-hearted, but sometimes in life you have to live a little. Engage it, and the suspension stiffens and all 510bhp are yours to command. The car buzzes and vibrates, like a dog on the leash itching to get after a squirrel, and once it slips the collar, you’ll find yourself on the limits of grip rather quickly. The tires will spin, they will squeal and they will smoke, and the smile on your face will have to be surgically removed.

Because that is what driving a fast car is all about, isn’t it? To make a lot of noise, feel your stomach being left behind and having (responsible) fun. There is plenty to be said about cars being comfortable, practical or powerful, but what about passion? The Alfa isn’t the quickest, comfiest or most usable car you’ll ever buy, but my goodness it is so very Italian, in that the passion is manifest in every rev, every stitch, every weld and in all four wheels.

It’s all a bit cliché to say it, of course, but you really don’t find many cars like these any more. So much is done for you and to you, that the simple act of driving is akin to having a desk job. But not in this. In this, your skin feels alive and you are taming the tiger.

I think I read somewhere that Clarkson said this car is unbearable over 50mph?

He did say that. Everyone’s allowed an opinion, I suppose. The ride is certainly a little firm, which when combined with the scandalous state of the UK’s roads, can make bumps and ruts a little unpleasant. But also, you’ve bought a sports car? If you want something that floats across the country, get a Range Rover.

Where Clarkson is correct, of course, is the suite of ADAS systems that are now as standard in the Alfa. These are annoying to turn off and even more annoying to leave on, but they are also the law now, so I am not really sure what can be done about it. It’s a bit like complaining that the sky is blue.

What’s it like the rest of the time?

Very usable. Compared to its big brother the Stelvio, you lose a certain amount of every day practicality, and the firmer ride means you likely won’t want to drive across the country in one, but the interiors are comfortable, there is room for five full-grown people and two sets of golf clubs in the back and there are lots of buttons and switches, which is nice.

Like the Stelvio, the interiors were designed in 2016, and haven’t been updated much since. But that’s actually a good thing, because car interiors have generally gotten worse since 2016. The leather is fat and rich and it smells comforting, like John Travolta’s jacket in Grease. When you are running it in comfort or eco mode, you can get 28mpg, which is more than enough. The infotainment screen is not very big, but it can connect to your phone and give you Spotify and Google Maps, which is what you want.

So you like this car, you would say it is a good car and you would admire your friends if they bought one?

Absolutely. Alfa Romeo were originally planning to retire the Giulia and Stelvio Quadrifoglio models earlier this year, but then they sensibly decided not to do that, so they will remain on sale until the end of 2027. You should get one, because cars like this will not exist forever.

Despite the fact that they are excellent, the economics of making them doesn’t work out, and sadly in this world the economics will come for us all. So if you want something fun, that you can also use to do the weekly shop and take the kids to school, this is your chance before you’ll be forced to buy something that isn’t fun. Take the leap, kick the hive and embrace the bees.

If money is no object, there is a great variety of high-performance cars available to the discerning enthusiast. But while the numbers of Aston Martins and Ferraris sold in Britain may be very small, there is a healthy market for the sub-£20,000 sports car. Here Porsche is the market-leader with the 944 (£18,234), but it has to face stern opposition from the Jaguar XJS 3.6 (£19,495) and Lotus Esprit (£17,630).

Unlike its two rivals, the Jaguar has a higher standard of equipment as standard, with leather-faced seats, air conditioning and central locking, even though the latter operates only the two doors and not the boot. Thus, by the time you have paid to raise the level of equipment of the Porsche and Lotus to that of the Jaguar, the latter proves to be the least expensive car.

Alas, where the big cat fails to score so highly is with its looks. Long, sleek and elegant it may be, but it lacks the grace of line of its feline namesake. Awkwardly shaped headlights, a cumbersome rear roof pillar and a curiously modelled rear end give the Jaguar low marks in the beauty-contest stakes. The same design has been around now for the best part of 10 years, and over-familiarity means it no longer receives a second glance.

The same can scarcely be said of the Lotus Esprit. It, too, first appeared 10 years ago, but its striking Giugiaro-styled body is an attention-grabber, attracting small boys as readily as wasps to strawberry jam. The Porsche also has a great deal more presence than the Jaguar, with its wide, flared arches and deep front spoiler giving it the appearance of a car that really means business. It is an astonishingly successful adaptation of the rather more ordinary-looking 924. But if it is admiring or envious looks you are after, the Lotus is the clear winner.

Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but the real attraction of these three cars is not what they look like, but how they go. With a 3.6-litre six-cylinder, twin-cam engine, fuel-injected and developing 225bhp, the Jaguar is by far the most powerful. The Lotus has to make do with 160bhp from its mid-mounted, 2.2-litre, four-cylinder unit, while the Porsche's 2.5-litre, four-cylinder engine gives a very similar 163bhp. The heavyweight Jaguar needs all those extra horses to give it comparable acceleration and top speed to the Lotus and Porsche. All three will reach just short of 140mph if shown a clear stretch of Autobahn, while the Lotus wins the 0–60mph sprint with a time of 6.7sec, closely followed by the Jaguar (7.2sec), then the Porsche (7.5sec).

Where the difference lies in how they make use of their power. With its mid-engined, racing-car-style layout, and huge rear wheels and tyres, the Lotus is able to put all its power onto the road with supreme ease. Those massive tyres bite hard into the tarmac on even the most brutal standing start, while at speed in the wet it is almost impossible to lose traction. The 16-valve engine is supremely responsive, and as smooth at 2,000rpm as it is at 6,500rpm.

As a driver's car, the Lotus is without peer. You can forgive it its outdated switchgear and instruments that reflect, and the fuel-warning light that distractingly flashes when only half-full: show it a winding country road and it will respond in the way only a race-bred sports car can. Beautifully weighted (unassisted) steering lets you place the car with total precision, the poise and balance of the chassis shrugs off with disdain the severest of bends, and you can play tunes with the engine through the short-throw gearbox. Under the right conditions, there can be few more satisfying cars to drive than an Esprit, and certainly none under £20,000.

Not that the Esprit is perfect. It is 73in wide, making it much too broad for narrow lanes. From the driver's seat you can see nothing of the bonnet, and such a low seating position means a certain loss of confidence when approaching the brow of a hill. The pedals are too close together, and it is easy to hit the brake instead of the clutch, but there is at least a brace to rest your clutch foot on. Ventilation is abysmal, which can make motorway driving on a warm day a chore, and remind you that the extra £835 for air conditioning is money well spent. But despite all this, it remains a magnificent machine.

Climb straight from the Lotus into the Porsche and you are instantly aware why this German machine has been so successful. It is much easier to get in and out of, while simple Teutonic attention to detail means that you need only a single key for everything — the Lotus has one for the door, ignition and petrol cap(s), while the Jaguar has no fewer than four keys. The Porsche's clutch is perfectly weighted, there is a foot rest for the left foot, and the gearbox moves smoothly and easily.

Furthermore, the redesigned interior of the latest 944 has an impressive new dashboard that owes more than a little in its design to the 928, and extremely comfortable seats. It exudes a feeling of precision and quality. Once on the move, the 944 has the handling and cornering ability that gives instant confidence in its ability. That big four-cylinder engine has plenty of low-down pulling power and is every bit as responsive as that of the Lotus, if not quite as smooth. It is only when you follow the Lotus along a winding Welsh mountain road that you discover that it has not quite the English car's ability to cope with the bends, and it will slide, albeit in a predictable and undramatic way.

However, the Porsche is an easy car to drive, less demanding than the Lotus and so ultimately less rewarding, but far more practical in everyday use. The back seats may be scorned by anyone more than eight years old, but they are there in case of emergencies, while there is far more carrying space in the 944 than in the Esprit.

In such overtly sporting company, it is easy to dismiss the Jaguar as a two-seater saloon car. It is a very long car for such a small passenger compartment, and its back seats are as impractical as those in the Porsche. The interior is traditionally English, if of another era, with polished elm veneer dash and door cappings, dated switchgear and too much reflective chrome, but it is all beautifully put together. Unlike the automatic-only XJS HE, the gearbox is a five-speed manual with a somewhat clumsy change. Nor is the engine as refined as one would expect — and to get the best from it you have to make free use of the gearbox.

Compared with the perfectly weighted power steering of the Porsche, that of the Jaguar is too light and lacks feel; the suspension gives a much better ride than the other two cars, but it is at the expense of handling. Despite its sporting aspirations, the XJS is not so much a driver's machine, more a car to travel in and arrive as relaxed and fresh as when you set off. The air conditioning is admirable, ensuring a perfect climate whatever the weather, while the vehicle's quietness and overall level of refinement are of the highest order. It would be difficult to find a better car for long-distance, high-speed motorway cruising.

Economy is not the Jaguar's strongest point, and although 22mpg may be much better than that of the V12, it cannot compete with the Lotus, which returned more than 26mpg during the test, or the very frugal Porsche, which gave nearly 28mpg.

Thus there is no clear winner here, for all three cars have their own attractions. If your driving includes a great deal of motorway work, then the Jaguar is far and away the best choice. If you want a car that your wife can happily take shopping, or you can use daily for a hard cross-country commuting route, then the Porsche is the winner. But for an uncompromising sporting car, the Lotus is in a class of its own. It may have more faults than the other two cars put together — but it remains a classic car at a not unreasonable price.

Standing out at the Festival of Speed is not the easiest thing to do. But painting your Porsche in the style of a particularly raucous acid trip is one way to do it. It is, of course, one of life’s great questions: how do you make a Pagani look plain? The answer, it would seem, is to seek inspiration from the Summer of Love.

In 1970, Porsche knew that their 917 was underpowered when compared to the other giants of Le Mans, and so it was that the Long Tail (or ‘Langheck’) was developed, specifically for the straights of the famous 24-hour race. Innovation is the key to success, and when the 917LH hit 240mph down the Mulsanne straight, it became clear rather quickly that what Porsche couldn’t solve with pure power, they could defeat with innovative design.

But the Martini 917LH was innovative in more ways than one. Anatole Lapine, Porsche’s designer in 1970, realised that not only did the 917LH need to stand out on the stopwatch, but also on the track and to the spectators. Armed with 1,500 paint cans, the team got to work to create the swirling green and purple car that graced the grid on June 13, 1970. It finished second in a race plagued by torrential rain, behind another 917K (short-tail or ‘Kurzheck’), for a 1-2 finish for the 917s. Now it was here at the Goodwood Festival of Speed.

‘On the straight, the biggest problem was the spray — it was so thick that we couldn’t see,’ Gérard Larrousse, one of the car’s drivers, tells me. ‘When we arrived behind a 911, it was a complete fog. You had to guess whether to pass on the left or the right.’ Larrousse is 86 years old and, as we talk, he signs autographs from passing punters, mesmerised first by the car and then from his recollections of driving it. He sits in his race overalls with a twinkle in his eye, clearly delighted to once again be driving the world's fastest painting. ‘This car was the first 917 I ever drove. It was prepared for Le Mans, and when we arrived at Le Mans it was in a certain livery,’ he says. ‘And then the day after, it had another one, this one you can see now, which is very nice.’

Looking at the ‘Hippie Porsche', as the car soon became known, is a reminder to the assembled younger generation (myself included) that they weren’t the first people to invent sex, drugs and rock & roll. ‘The car came at a time of enormous cultural change,’ Frank Sytner, its co-owner, explains. ‘We’re talking about the Woodstock era. It was an amazing period of change and exciting new developments. The hippie movement and the psychedelic era introduced so many new ideas. It was a changing attitude to life, and designs like this came from imagination that may well have been influenced by….’ Sytner pauses, with a knowing smile, ‘certain chemicals.’

The Hippie Porsche existed not only at a time of cultural change, but engineering too. Purpose built for Le Mans, it never raced on another track, and was designed purely to make the most of its immense top speed on the various straights of the Circuit de la Sarthe, which in 1970, was even straighter than it is now. It existed at an inflection point between digital and analogue design. ‘It was really man versus the elements — a combination with no outside aid, no sat-nav, no ABS. Just a guy in a car,’ says Frank. ‘The 917 wasn’t designed by a computer. It was designed by a gentleman with a pencil and a piece of paper, drawing what he believed would be the most aerodynamically effective machine.’

‘That became the basis for what followed. The cars that came afterwards are still fantastic machines, but they followed the path the 917 pioneered. Motorsport has always been about pioneering spirit — that has been the part of its foundation from the very beginning.’

In 1971, the car returned to Le Mans, qualifying on pole and recording the fastest-ever top speed and lap time in the process, a record that stood for 37 years. Sadly, the psychedelic colour scheme was lost, with the Gulf Wyer team re-painting the car in its own blue and orange livery. It was sold to the Czech car dealer Vasek Polak, who in turn sold it to Massimo Padrazzi, who planned to race it in the South American Interseries. Alas, Padrazzi decided to build his own car, a Sabre D4, and the 917 was considered lost, spending 47 years hidden away in Padrazzi's garage, until it was sold to its current owners in 2024.

All around us, engines begin to sputter into life, and whistles blast. It’s time for the Porsche 917LH-043 (to give it its full title and chassis name) to once again stretch its legs up the Hill at Goodwood, and the small tent fills with smoke and thunder. A pioneering piece of art, a pioneering piece of engineering, an assault on almost every sense, makes its way to the start line, traced by countless eyeballs. Pioneering and unforgettable, almost 60 years later. A trip, in more ways than one.

For more information about the Hippie Porsche, click here.

We're on the runway at RAF Wittering near Peterborough, Cambridgeshire, and there is a yolky-yellow JCB in front of me. It is very low, very long (32ft) and narrow; sleek like a missile and just as quick (and potentially devastating). Agricultural is the last word you’d use to describe this thing. Ballistic, more like.

It is powered by two hydrogen-gas-powered engines that have been developed, mind-blowingly, from regular JCB four-cylinder blocks (specifically the 3CX Backhoe Loader), raising power from 80bhp each to a combined 1,600bhp. That is alchemistic tuning; Jesus may have upgraded water into wine, but he had nothing on this. In between the engines and their digger-derived clutches sits a 63-year-old man without a hi-vis vest or construction hat. Instead, he wears a lemon-yellow race suit and a full-face helmet. He is retired Wg Cdr Andy Green, the fastest man on earth. The plan for this JCB, christened ‘Hydromax’, is to exceed 350mph on the salt flats in Bonneville, Utah in the US of A.

Strangely, JCB is no stranger to speed. The Guinness World Record holder for the fastest tractor belongs to the JCB Fastrac Two, which Guy Martin got up to 153.771mph back in 2019. Twenty years ago, chairman Anthony Bamford came up with the idea to construct the JCB Dieselmax and break the world land-speed record for a diesel-engined vehicle, given that diesel engines powered the vast majority of his products. It had two engines producing 750bhp each and, in Bonneville on August 22, 2006, a JCB tractor gave it a bump start from which the Dieselmax sprinted into the distance, clocking 350.092mph.

Two decades later, Lord Bamford is ready to try again. JCB is producing hydrogen-gas-powered products, so why not create the Hydromax and go for the zero-emission land-speed record (LSR). This machine has already beaten the previous hydrogen internal combustion LSR of 185.5mph, set in 2004 by BMW’s H2R prototype. It should surpass the hydrogen fuel-cell record of 303mph achieved in 2007 by Venturi and Ohio State University’s Buckeye Bullet 2 without breaking a sweat. The electric vehicle top speed of 342mph achieved by the Buckeye Bullet 3 in 2016—also built by OSU and Venturi—is well within JCB’s sights, if everything goes to plan.

‘This is not just about speed—it’s about showcasing the world-class engineering talent we have here in the UK and the robustness of our new hydrogen engines,’ says Lord Bamford. ‘Dieselmax was always a bit of an unusual idea, but it proved a point. Putting an advanced engine into a land-speed car showed the world what it could do in a way a digger never could. It’s the same thinking with hydrogen today.’

The 2006 Dieselmax and 2026 Hydromax look similar. However, the only carry-over part is Wg Cdr Green. He served in the RAF from 1980 to 2019, where he flew Phantoms and Tornados and captained the Cresta Run team. Between 2003 and 2007, he was the commanding officer at RAF Wittering, where we are for the Hydromax’s shakedown.

In 1997, aged 34, Wg Cdr Green (whose callsign was ‘Dead Dog’) found a new hobby; going supersonic on the ground. He set his still-unbeaten record of 763.035mph in the cockpit of ThrustSSC, the Richard Noble-built jet car powered by two massive Rolls-Royce engines. He was behind the wheel of Dieselmax’s 350mph run in 2006, and now Hydromax, which must be a bit ‘pipe and slippers’ compared to the ThrustSSC. Of course, cars, lorries and construction vehicles have little use for jet engines. Hydrogen has a lot more relevance for the future of land-based mobility.

JCB booked out RAF Wittering’s north taxi-way to test the machine and invited Country Life to bear witness. Horsepower was ratchetted up gradually. Like its predecessor, the new LSR car requires a push-start, this time courtesy of a powerful Land Rover Defender Octa (nicknamed ‘Octapushy’). After a couple of false starts, Wg Cdr Green was off, whooshing down the 1km (0.6 mile) tarmac straight, revving to a pre-agreed limit and triggering the parachutes at 180mph. The vehicle consumed a little over 2kg (4.4lb) of hydrogen during that day’s run and produced 18-litres of water as its only by-product.

Later in the week, the team would achieve 208mph, but it’s not about top speed for now. It’s about systems checks, gradual development and ironing out all the niggles. In Bonneville, which has 10 miles of straightaway, they’re looking to double that V-max.

‘It is an extraordinarily ambitious attempt,’ says Wg Cdr Green. ‘The chairman’s either completely mad or totally brilliant, but he’s willing to ride with that. And the rest of us are going, yeah, alright, we’ll give it our very best shot and see if we can make that happen. Based on what I’ve seen so far, we will.’

After Bonneville, the wing commander intends to hang up his helmet. It will be his final journey towards the record books and this national treasure will finally slow down to the national speed limit. ‘I’ll be 64 when I leave Bonneville this time and I think I’ll draw a line under it after this visit. I’ll say I’ve been very lucky to drive some very fast cars.’

How does one assess a car that costs more than most people pay for their house? After slightly more than 24 hours and 350 miles in an Aston Martin V8 Volante, I am not sure. List price of the Volante is a formidable £68,500, but the cost of the car I drove, equipped with the most powerful Vantage version of the Aston V8, would be well over £70,000.

Prices of the Aston Martin range start at £55,000 for the V8 Saloon, now equipped with a fuel-injected version of the 5.3-litre V8 engine, developing 305bhp. Next comes the V8 Vantage, claimed by Aston Martin to be the world's fastest production car, at £59,500. This is a faster version of the Saloon, with power bulge on the bonnet to make room for the four twin-choke Weber carburettors, plus flared wheel arches to accommodate the huge Pirelli P7 275/55 VR15 tyres. Options on these two cars are few, but cruise control (on the automatic only) — the Saloon is offered with a choice of three-speed automatic or five-speed manual; the Vantage is manual only — will set you back a further £429, and electric sliding sunroof a massive £1,993.

If your enthusiasm for open-air motoring extends beyond wanting a sliding sunroof, then the Volante convertible is for you. Most expensive of the Aston Martin range is the Lagonda V8 Automatic Saloon (£79,500).

With prices like this, Aston Martin does not expect to sell many cars. Current production at the Newport Pagnell works is about 200 vehicles a year, of which around 90 are sold in America, perhaps 45 in Britain, and the remainder in Europe and the Middle East.

Natural competitors to the Aston Martin range are few in number. Prices of Porsche's V8-engined 928 start at a modest £38,519, but the mass-produced Porsche does not have any of the Aston's traditional handmade appeal, even if its ability as a grand touring car far exceeds that of the Aston. There is, of course, the Ferrari Testarossa (£62,666), powered by a superb flat-12 engine, and almost certainly faster than the Aston Vantage, regardless of the British company's claims, but the Testarossa has an eye-catching vulgarity that the Aston Martin totally lacks.

No, it is probably best to think of Aston Martin as a sporting alternative to Rolls-Royce. Both marques have similar pedigrees, and are built to the same exacting, old-fashioned standards, with a surfeit of hide and lacquered walnut trim. And compared with the £92,995 the company from Crewe charges for the Corniche convertible, the Aston Martin looks to be something of a bargain.

I climbed straight into the Aston after several hundred miles in Ford's inspiring Granada Scorpio 4x4, which fairly bristles with modern technology. It was like stepping back 20 years, for the Aston has changed very little since it was launched in the late 1960s. One had to admire the elegance of the English burr-walnut dashboard, the superb leather trim (even the top of the dashboard is finished in stitched hide), the old-fashioned but still pleasing instrumentation. Ergonomic logicality is sadly lacking, especially when compared with the Ford. The switches for the electric windows are in the middle of the dashboard, not in the doors; the intermittent windscreen wipe is a knob next to the radio, not incorporated in the main control for the wipers (a stalk to the right of the wheel), and even the indicators are a very long finger-stretch from the leather-bound wheel.

Starting the latest fuel-injected cars is simple, but there is a technique to master with the carburettored cars. First you select which of the four keys you need for the ignition — why four keys when most manufacturers make do with one? — then you must prime the carbs with a few deep prods of the accelerator pedal. Then turn the key and, hopefully, that mighty V8 will roar into life with a note that echoes Le Mans, and sends a tingle down the spine. There is a manual choke, but no reason to use it. Release the fly-off handbrake and you are ready to go.

The manual cars, such as the Volante I drove, are fitted with a ZF gearbox, noted for its massive strength more than the purity of its gearchange. First is a dog-leg down to the left, and opposite reverse, with the remaining four gears in the usual H-pattern. Spring loading moves the lever towards second and third gears, making this a much easier box to use than first impressions suggest. However, operating the clutch takes a strong left leg, and an equally powerful right leg is needed for the brake, for hauling this hefty car, weighing not far short of two tons, to a halt takes some effort even with servo-assisted ventilated discs front and rear.

In keeping with the rest of the controls, the steering is also relatively heavy, despite power assistance, but it retains plenty of feel and has only 2.9 turns from lock to lock. The turning circle is a cumbersome 38ft. Those huge tyres give tremendous grip in the dry, but in the wet more caution is needed: I had the back end break away while climbing a slippery but very steep hill, requiring a quick dab of corrective lock. With much of my mileage on wet roads, I was not brave enough to test Aston's claims for the car's roadholding, but I will quote the brochure: 'Through corners the handling is superb. And at a level of centrifugal forces that only a few near-racing designs can match.' But such a large and heavy car cannot hope to match the agility of, say, a Porsche 911 or Lotus Esprit, however skilled the driver.

Performance is formidable, that great V8 thrusting the car forward with amazing force when you consider not only the car's weight, but also its blunt design. Aston Martin very wisely does not give a Cd figure [drag coefficient] for the car. The company quotes a 0–60 mph time of 5.2 seconds for the hard-top Vantage, and the car I drove was probably not much slower. But I did not feel that quick; large cars never do. Top speed is well over 160 mph, while a mere 90 mph feels more like a gentle canter. The penalty for all this performance comes in the fuel consumption, which can drop as low as 10 mpg if driven with a heavy right foot, but will improve to around 15 or 16 mpg when touring.

Despite the vagaries of the English climate in early April, I tried some open-top motoring. First release the two catches which fasten the hood to the top of the windscreen, then press the power switch, and suddenly you have a convertible car. That at least is the theory, but for some reason the power-hood operation did not work on my car. I pushed it back by hand instead, which took some strength but no skill, the hood folding perfectly into its deep well.

The car's personality was transformed in an instant, and it attracted admiring glances that it never received with the hood up (or was it simply the pedestrians' reaction to seeing an open-top car on a chilly early April day?). Anyway, the Volante is at its best when open to the world, and even when driving down the Old Kent Road or up the M11, I could pretend that I was in the South of France, or California perhaps. A reminder that the car is probably better suited to those climes was the lack of heating my feet. Air conditioning is standard, but for a convertible car in Britain a powerful heater is rather more useful, while for hood-up motoring fresh-air ventilation and hot feet would be nice to have.

Looked at dispassionately, the Aston is an ageing heavyweight, well past its best. Such modern innovations as anti-lock brakes, even headlamp washers, are not available, and despite the current glut of oil on the world market I still feel that a car with a thirst as great as this is anti-social. On the other hand the Aston Martin is one of the last of an almost extinct breed: the traditional British sports car. The quality of its construction is simply superb, the paintwork a pleasure to look at. It may be an anachronism, but it is a glorious one.

Nobody bats an eyelid, but a real-life pirate has just sat down next to me at the Big Sur River Inn — all that’s missing is a hook hand and a parrot perched on his shoulder. Perhaps the nonchalance is because this famous stretch of Californian coastline was once the epicentre of American counterculture, where anything goes.

An artistic retreat that became a hippy haven, spiritual seekers trekked here from afar to enjoy pot-fuelled, New Age mysticism in all its nascent glory. On this stretch of Highway 1 north of Los Angeles, they found free love in the woods, embracing a hedonistic lifestyle that shunned material possessions — and clothing.

Once associated with beatniks like the controversial writer Henry Miller, 60 years on, there remains more than a whiff of commune culture among the Big Sur’s giant redwoods. It carries on the ocean breeze and is deeply infused in the fabric of every bar and cafe.

Later repackaged as one of the world’s most iconic driving routes, this section of the Pacific Coast Highway has just re-opened again after a three-year shutdown. Rockslides caused by heavy rain had forced the longest closure in history, cutting off an epic slice of Americana that I’ve longed to travel.

Although demand for tie-dyed shirts and head beads was non-existent when I was a teenager, I did once own a 1960s VW camper with a genuine psychedelic vibe. However, today I’m happily singing along to soft rock on California’s Road Trip Radio, cruising Highway 1 in a Bentley Continental GT that would outrage any self-respecting hippy.

It’s the convertible GTC Azure model too, in a rather groovy shade of damson, with a white-leather cabin and outsize 22-inch alloys. Not much counterculture about a prestigious Bentley, especially one costing upwards of £300,000. Perhaps I’ll be mistaken for an aged hippy-made-good, or a Silicon Valley ‘tech bro’, investing his millions to live off-grid on the coast.

My father used to say that ‘Bentley’s are for gents, Rollers are for parollers’. Fact is, the latest Continental GT is nothing like the original Continental models he would have coveted back in the 1950s. This is Bentley’s first-ever hybrid convertible and it’s most frugal, capable of 27mpg and yet still able to glide from 0-60mph in just 3.8 seconds.

It certainly demands attention as I pull up at the Post Ranch Inn, an ultra-luxury, cliff-top resort perched 1,200ft about the Pacific. Anne Hathaway married here, while Drew Barrymore and Will Kopelman also honeymooned in splendid isolation.

As the property focuses on high-end sustainability, the Bentley stands out in a parking lot of gas-guzzling American SUVs. A plug-in grand tourer, it mates a 4.0-litre V8 petrol engine to a battery pack, powering the GT for some 50 miles purely on electricity alone. As more than 75% of Big Sur residents live off grid, surely a hybrid will curry some eco-favour with the locals?

My Azure model is also the ultimate choice for a well-heeled, Big Sur hipster — one who prefers wellness and serenity over raw performance. While the GT’s faster Speed variant focuses on power, the 671bhp Azure is designed to be a sanctuary on wheels, removing the stress of travel through some extra comfort features applied as standard.

Like what? Well, you can hire a retro VW microbus to tour Highway 1, but a 22-way adjustable seat, heated and cooled, with a six-setting massage function sounds very tempting to my derriere. The advanced air conditioning system is said to filter out harmful particles, monitoring CO2 levels in the cabin to help maintain driver alertness.

Not that I need much to keep me wide-eyed on the Big Sur. The Santa Lucia Mountains meet the Pacific here in a dramatic, vertical dance. By mid-afternoon, a bank of apocalyptic fog often edges in from the sea, adding a further layer of mystical surrealism to an already dramatic vista.

Electric roof folded away, I can sense the salty air shift to a cool, damp earthiness as the Bentley turns slightly inland toward Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park. The coastal redwoods — some of the tallest living things on earth — tower above and create a natural cathedral of pine-infused loveliness.

Traffic is slow, but the view of McWay Falls — an 80ft silver ribbon of water cascading directly onto a pristine, inaccessible beach — is the kind of beauty that makes you forget to breathe.

Highway 1 was cut along the cliffs between 1921 and 1937. The difficult coastal route often used convict labour and was faced with endless construction headaches. Projects like Bixby Creek Bridge forced building work to halt several times due to the spiralling build costs.

Often closed by epic landslides, patched and potholed tarmac clearly show the continuing battle between man and nature. With rockfalls commonplace, giant metal nets now help to hold the mountains at bay, suggesting it is only a matter of time before the road is swept away once again.

To cope with such surfaces, the Azure is equipped with Bentley Dynamic Ride, a sophisticated suspension system that keeps body roll to a minimum. And you need it on the Big Sur, where the road often twists and turns like an angry rattlesnake.

And while a Continental GT convertible lacks the sharp, raucous edge of an Aston Martin DB12 Volante or a Ferrari Roma Spider, it counters with a level of effortless capability and interior opulence. Together, this glorious Bentley is unmatched in the luxury convertible segment.

Back at the Post Ranch, my head is in the clouds — literally. Some 1,200ft above the Pacific Ocean, the high-altitude location means that diners in the Sierra Mar restaurant often get to look down on the clouds.

Like the open-roof Bentley, the resort offers splendid waftability. Drift from a sumptuous cabin to a heated basking pool, ogle the night sky on a stargazing experience, or simply sit back and enjoy the serenity of it all.

Suitably inspired, the following morning, I drive down to the resort’s Yoga Yurt, where I’m joined for an uplifting hour of body-cleansing by fellow travellers, Noah and Sidney. Catching the spirit of the Big Sur, he’s wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt and she a pair of flared Spandex trousers that happen to match her blue hair.

The couple are checked in for a honeymoon weekend, having just tied the knot at the nearby Big Sur River Inn. I stop short of recounting my supper encounter with Captain Hook when Noah suddenly reveals they opted for a pirate-themed wedding — Sidney dressed as a mermaid and he in full buccaneer garb.

The doubloon suddenly drops as Noah offers to show me the handmade galleon he drove down from San Francisco for the ceremony inside a U-Haul truck. The USA may be missing some peace and love in recent times, but that unconventional hippy spirit obviously lives on along the Big Sur.

Visit the Post Ranch Inn at postranchinn.com, or find out more about the Big Sur at seemonterey.com.

It can be hard to tell one Volvo from another, but perhaps that is the point.

What do you, dear reader, think about when you read or hear the word Volvo? Do you think of a long line of station wagons at the school gates? A car packed to the rafters with luggage and dogs on its way to the Continent for a family holiday? Safety? Swedishness? Style? Do you think of anything at all, or is the purpose of a Volvo not to be thought about at all — to be locked up and forgotten, an idol of pragmatism on four wheels lost in a Waitrose carpark.

It is one of the many compliments that you can pay to Volvo that it is so many things to so many people. To me, Volvo has been the car of the Fisher family since I took my first steps, starting with the 240 Estate, then the V70, then the XC70 and, most recently the XC60. I have spent a lifetime in Volvos, and they have grown alongside me, a mirror of my own advancing years, but also a constant tether. Safety means many things, especially to the good people of Gothenburg, but to me it is the sight of my mother in her XC60 picking me up from the train station car park at Christmas-time.

It is rare perhaps to consider La Condition Humaine through the lens of a Swedish carmaker, but here we are. Volvos are often considered as cars that do not require thought — Plain Janes that serve a wholly practical purpose of getting kids, dogs and groceries to and from places. But consider this instead: not only are they practical, but they have long had an understated beauty that works in concert with their usefulness. These are cars that are thoughtfully designed by thoughtful people with a penchant for herrings. Practical yes; the three-point seatbelt, designed by Volvo and given to the world, has saved many lives. But also beautiful: the P1800, the best-looking car you’ve never heard of, also holds the world record for most miles driven under a single owner (3.2 million, in case you were wondering). Another good example is the marque’s latest SUV, the EX60.

The EX60 is based on the top-selling XC60 that was introduced in 2008 and has sold more than 2.8 million units. It is a very important car for Volvo on their march towards the electrification of all things — will this be the car that convinces the middle classes to swap petrol for solar power? It is certainly a promising effort.

You would be foolish for thinking that the EX60 is simply an XC60 with a battery where the petrol tank should be. This is essentially a brand-new car from top to bottom, plonked on top of the firm’s new SPA3 platform, which means many things, but principally means that it’s the latest (and by the far the most refined) version of Volvo’s electric offerings.

As well as electric power, the EX60 is also something of a computer on wheels, using various Norse-named computing systems to deliver a seamless driving experience, while the car also benefits from voice-controlled Google Gemini, allowing you to plot driving routes, stops, music, radio and so on. Somewhat alarmingly, it works very well, although having a conversation with yourself while you drive along the motorway might take some getting used to.

Back to La Condition humaine. You may (or may not) spend a lot of time thinking about Volvos, but it pales in comparison to the amount of time that a Volvo is thinking about you. Or, perhaps more accurately, how much thinking about you a Volvo can do at any given time. The EX60, which is perhaps the cleverest Volvo yet, thinks about you 254 trillion times per second, which is an awful lot. If it were a person, you could describe it as clingy. But because it is a Volvo, it is trying to keep you safe and comfortable, which is preferable.

And therein lies the real joy of the Volvo: because it thinks so much, you have to think oh-so little. Very few cars are as relaxing to drive as the EX60, because it plonks you in a well-appointed cabin, nice and high off the road and surrounded by nice things, and it sees the world before you do. Some might consider this level of technology to be a bit incongruous with Volvo, but it’s anything but. Volvo have always been innovators, but like all reasonable people (and unlike many other car makers), they are subtle about it. The EX60 has no interest in telling you about all the many things it can do, or is already doing, to improve your life on the road. It just does them.

It’s an ideology and aesthetic that extends beyond the microchip. The car looks and is sustainable and Scandi, in that the interiors are made from a wealth of recycled and eco-friendly materials, but still feel achingly premium to the touch. The cabin is uncluttered and simple, dominated by a large central screen (where Gemini/HAL9000 lives) and most of the control buttons live on the steering wheel. Any other available space has been given over to storage, underlying the car’s purpose as a family wagon. I liked the cupholders that slide out horizontally from the arm rest, and I really liked the bucket shaped storage space under the dash, which means you can root around for charging cables or whatever without having to take your eyes off the road. It's simple things like this that Volvo is famous for, but probably never gets the appreciation it deserves.

So much new stuff on wheels is overdesigned at the moment, especially in the SUV EV segment, but the EX60 is both contemporary and traditional. The shape is new, but it is also very much Volvo, especially the hipped vertical taillights that are an obvious nod to more vintage versions of the V70 and XC90. The retro renaissance clearly hasn’t passed the good people of Gothenburg by.

To drive, it is as a Volvo should be, which is inoffensive, unobtrusive and comfortable. The steering is light, the ride is soft and the single electric motor in the P6 is smooth and potent. The lineup is fleshed out by the dual-motor AWD P10 and the 671bhp P12, which can hit 0-62mph in 3.9 seconds, should you be really really late in picking up the kids. The advertised range for the P6 is 385 miles, while the P12 is claimed to be able to make over 500 miles on a single full charge, which is very impressive indeed.

Not everything is perfect, but most of it is. Because this is a car company, something that we’ve never had an issue with before has had to be re-designed, which in the EX60’s case are the doorhandles, which are now not handles, but small fins that you rub or gently grab for access. The key is now on your phone or a key tag. It all works very well when it works, but for simple but essential tasks like ‘getting in’ or ‘getting out’, I would always prefer something mechanical over digital. Volvo’s justification for the door fins is better aerodynamics. We will have to take their word on that.

Volvo have long known what they are doing when making big cars, so it stands to reason that the EX60 is spacious and practical, with plenty of room for five full adults and 523 litres of boot space. Overall, despite looking similar to the bridge of a luxury pleasure craft from the future, the interior feels sturdy and well crafted and it should certainly have no issues dealing with the rough and tumble of daily life.

That’s the thing with the EX60 and with Volvo in general. Here is a car that is well made, sustainable, elegant, futuristic and well thought out. It has what it needs, and it does more than you could ever know. So the next time you see a Volvo, whether that’s the EX60 or any other, and think maybe it’s a bit boring or a bit understated, I would urge you to maybe think again.

You join me on a shore of Lake Como for a scene from a James Bond film. We are at the palatial Villa d’Este, the famed grande dame hotel that’s hosted the Who’s Who of Hollywood, from Chaplin to Clooney and Garbo to Gaga. A hundred impeccably-dressed and well-heeled guests, drawn from around the world, sip Telmont Champagne on the gravelled terrace. Others totter into Riva tenders to get a closer look at the action. On the water, almost silent, is the stealthy spectacle they’ve come to witness: A bunch of 'Star Wars'-inspired hydrofoil speed boats duking it out around a rippling race track marked by buoys.

This is Spanish entrepreneur Alejandro Agag’s latest production. Having created the first electric car racing championship, Formula E, more than a decade ago, and done the same with off-road rallying in the form of Extreme E, he has now taken to the seas. Formula E was about making electric motorsport credible, and giving car manufacturers a global platform to develop and show off their EV tech. Extreme E was about taking cameras to places where the environment is under threat and funding climate initiatives. E1 Series, this all-electric regatta, intends to make battery-based mobility glamorous.

There are 10 teams fielding two drivers each: a man and a woman. In addition to the drivers and technicians, the bijou paddock that’s been formed alongside the Villa d’Este’s floating swimming pool is populated by investors, socialites and influencers. Forget grandstands full of punters like you’d find at Silverstone, or Wimbledon or Wembley for that matter. This is essentially a garden party. I daren’t imagine what the cost of this event is divided by the number of spectators in situ. Tickets can be bought for €1,500 a pop, which includes lunch and an open bar. Yet E1’s proposition is that motorsport is no longer merely competition, it’s content. E1 Series is custom made for watching on TikTok. It’s got crashes, speedy technology and sexy locations. It’s highly ‘clippable’, it’s aspirational, and it boasts personalities that social media goes crazy for.

Porsche, Mercedes-Benz, BMW, Audi, Jaguar; many well-known automotive brands invested in Formula E. They all have a fan following. Now I’m sure boatbuilders have their own loyal base, but Sunseeker, Benetti and Princess don’t have the same cut-through. The pilots don’t have the same name recognition either: Sir Lewis Hamilton isn’t battling Sir Ben Ainslie out there, alas. So Agag had a brainwave. Celebrities can bring their own brands. They can invest in teams and be the face of the series.

E1’s team owners include movie star Will Smith, DJ Steve Aoki, basketball legend LeBron James, NFL GOAT Tom Brady, footballer Didier Drogba, cricketer Virat Kohli, goalkeeper Thibaut Courtois, pop star Marc Anthony, and tennis sensation Rafael Nadal. They post about E1 to their millions of Instagram followers. Some, apparently, get quite hands on with the teams themselves. I’m told Brady is almost unbearably competitive, and Nadal is much the same. Jamie Copas is E1’s CEO. He explains the model of team ownership: ‘The celebrities are investing their time, their brand and their social media profile. It’s about their engagement.’

I asked Thibaut Courtois, who plays for Real Madrid, why he signed up. ‘I love the water, boats. My wife, she loves it, she has her skipper licence. And obviously the electrical thing, it’s not polluting the nature. Electric propulsion, I think it’s the way forward.’ Would he like to drive one of these E1 boats himself? ‘I’m 6ft 7in. Unfortunately I can’t fit.’

Aside from the very expensive hotels and indulgent spreads, the logistics and operational costs, much of the budget goes towards the boats, christened RaceBirds. These stock racing machines, which cost about €1 million, are fascinating pieces of engineering, with advanced propulsion and hydrofoils that can lift them clear of the water. Carbon-fibre foils reduce drag and the RaceBird makes significantly less wake than a conventional powerboat. The result is a cross between a fighter jet, a Formula E car and that thing Pierce Brosnan rode up the Thames in The World is Not Enough.

Don’t imagine it’ll go as fast as an F1H20 world championship powerboat, though, because it doesn’t. An F1H20 boat has a 400bhp internal combustion engine and a top speed of 140mph. E1’s RaceBird’s electric motor produces 200bhp and can only muster 58mph. Despite that, when the racing is close and they start banging into each other, it’s exciting.

‘I wish they were faster, but we do still go airborne a lot,’ says Sara Price, 33, who is the first American woman to win a stage of the Dakar rally, and who races in E1 for Will Smith’s team. ‘We haven’t flipped yet, but we’ve been close. But it’s pretty safe. Off-road is way harder on your body.’

The 20 drivers — or pilots — are drawn from different disciplines, which is also compelling. Ten come from four-wheeled motorsport, six from powerboating, two from sailing, and there’s one jet ski champion and one kitesurfer.

Oban Duncan, 19, is a ten-time British powerboat champion. She’s also a health-and-safety consultant in Glasgow. This endeavour doesn’t seem very health-and-safety-ish, I proffer. ‘No, it isn’t, but it’s my passion. I’d be very bored sitting at home if I wasn’t here.’ She undertook testing duties when the RaceBird was still in its development. Having grown up on the water, does this give her an advantage over those that only raced on land before? ‘The RaceBirds are so different to any other powerboat,’ she says, ‘because of the hydrofoils. It’s a lot harder, it’s about balancing the boat.’

Before getting into motorsport, Jamaica’s Sara Misir, 28, was an equestrian. ‘It’s the pilots who make a difference. Everyone gets the same thing; same weight, same engine, so it’s about strategy, team communication, and adapting to your surroundings. It’s not like on a race track where the surface and the braking points stay the same. On water, every single lap is completely different; the water’s getting rougher, the wind, the turbulence, the current; there’s a lot going on. Also the locations we visit are very different. Lake Como is fresh water and deep. Jeddah is open water, saltwater, with very different waves and grip levels.’

I would have thought those with powerboat racing experience would have a marked advantage, but apparently not. Catie Munnings, 28, who also works as a TV presenter, says she’s had no difficulty adapting despite coming from rallying. ‘I was matching the lap-times of the powerboaters straight away. The throttle, the steering wheel, the racing instincts; it’s all the same. I love it. Where the main difference, though, is that with cars the more you push, the more aggressive you are, the more you’re rewarded. Here you don’t, you just fall off the foil. You need to have a real feel for it to be competitive. One advantage I think we have over the powerboaters is that the way you trim, which is controlling the angle of the engine, is the complete opposite of how you would drive a boat without foils. In a way, we car racers don’t bring any bad habits.’

Munnings and many of the other pilots didn’t even have their powerboat licence before getting called up. ‘I got it in November and the first race was in January. It was very last minute. Imagine racing in the World Rally Championship three months after driving a car for the first time. The thing is, the boats aren’t that hard to drive, they’re just hard to get the maximum from. You basically stay on full-throttle the whole time, even around hairpins. When you start to turn, the drag from the foil pitches you into the corner and it’s like applying the handbrake. You’re concentrating on the trim levels, moving the engine at 0.1 of a degree at a time to power out of corners, and that’s the tricky bit.’

The series is now in its third season, and has already visited Jeddah, Venice, Puerto Banus, Monaco, Doha, Dubrovnik, Lake Maggiore, Lagos and Miami. Luanda, in Angola, and the Bahamas appear on the calendar for the first time this year.

‘The future is in the USA,’ Agag tells Country Life. ‘We need to expand a lot there. We have great potential, given the team owners we have: Tom Brady, LeBron, Marc Anthony, Will Smith. We have Miami. We need to have New York, LA, San Francisco, Chicago, Washington DC. We need to make it bigger, consolidate it, make a fanbase.’ There are eight races scheduled in 2026. I’d like 12 races a year, with six of them in the USA. And we have room for another couple of teams.’

Who is paying for all this? Saudi Arabia’s Public Investment Fund (PIF) own 50% of E1. The main commercial partners are Hublot and Bombay Sapphire. Angola and Nigeria are putting money in to sponsor Smith’s Westbrook Racing team and Drogba’s Global Africa team and will host the rounds in Luanda and Lagos in September and October respectively. In addition to its social media reach, the series is broadcast in more than 140 territories. In the UK, you can watch it live on ITV4, ITVX and YouTube.

Powerboating was big in the 1980s, but it got overtaken by Formula One and MotoGP. E1 hopes that its many overlaps — motorsport, celebrity culture, telegenic locations, innovation, sustainability and environmental storytelling — can draw Gen Z to the water’s edge. The plan is to grow its young, tech-savvy, glamour-hungry audience and attract bigger blue chip sponsors. But PIF announced in April that it’s to stop funding LIV Golf, citing mounting losses. War in the Middle East is causing the money taps to be turned off. That’s got to make Agag nervous.

E1 is exclusive and excessive. It feels rather like pre-war motorsport or F1 in the 1960s and ‘70s, when there were no sponsors. A lot of money was spent on having a good time and they’d worry about how they’d settle the bill on Monday. Once upon a time we’d have referred to it as a playboy’s sport — but of course half the heroes here are women, and cheers to that.

Whether E1 proves a commercial success remains to be seen, but in the meantime, it sure is a lot of fun.

Round 4 of the 2026 UIM E1 World Championship will take place in Monaco on July 17-18. Will Smith’s team Angola Westbrook Racing, with pilots Sara Price and Lucas Ordonez, are currently in the lead.

The one where you can smell the burning rubber — Silverstone, from £850,000

For diehard F1 fans, it doesn’t get much better than this: a property literally trackside at Silverstone, home of the British Grand Prix. Picture it: from the comfort of your home, you can watch (as well as hear, feel, and even smell) the action unfold on Maggotts and Becketts — among the most famous corners in motorsport.

The Escapade Silverstone development comprises 60 sleek properties and a clubhouse with top-notch facilities, including a ‘driver-focused gym’. There’s a myriad of other perks for homeowners too,, making the starting prices of around £850,000 easier to bear.

Think free access to major race events at Silverstone, with discounts available for friends and family. This is sure to appeal to anyone who takes their racing seriously (and more importantly, has the budget to match).

You may need to get used to sharing your trophy asset, though. According to By Design, which is marketing this four-bedroom house, Silverstone will rent out your home when you’re not there ‘to ensure each owner is making an income from their empty property’.

For sale via agents including Savills and United Kingdom Sotheby's International Realty.

The one with an underground 'Batcave' garage — Derbyshire, £6,000,000

Set on the edge of the Peak District National Park, this striking contemporary home comes with a twist: an incredible 4,000 sq ft underground haven that will have car collectors drooling.

On the lower ground floor, there’s a six-car garage with three — yes, three — automated roller doors, electric charging points and storage. And in the basement, there’s a separate garage space with enough room for a car collection, alongside a fully-equipped workshop and a maintenance lift. There is even a car wash and valeting bay to ensure cars leave looking track-ready.

And how do you reach this underground gem? Via a concealed hydraulic car lift from the driveway, of course.

The living space at this sprawling five-bedroom house is no less impressive, featuring everything from an eight-seat cinema to an altitude training room. You see, this really is an all-singing, all-dancing affair.

For sale via Fisher German — see more details and pictures.

The one with an underground garage in the middle of London — Hampstead, £16,950,000

It is not every day that you come across a London home with a private underground garage large enough for six cars. But then again, there is very little about this property that could be described as ‘ordinary’.

For starters, this glitzy penthouse is located on The Bishops Avenue in Hampstead, dubbed ‘Billionaires’ Row’. It also happens to have been rented by Ariana Grande while she was filming Wicked.

The enormous garage is only part of the appeal. The five-bedroom apartment — part of the swish Buxmead development — is packed with A-list-style amenities, including a cinema and games room, gym, and two kitchens.

If you are in the market for this type of home, privacy and security are likely to be top-of-mind. Fortunately, this home delivers on both fronts. The garage is accessed via a lift, while a uniformed — naturally — security team watches over the development. This is the sort of setup that will allow you to sleep soundly, no matter what's parked downstairs.

For sale via United Kingdom Sotheby’s International Realty and Alexander Main.

The countryside home with space to work on your Lamborghini — West Sussex, £1,800,000

At first glance, Duncans Granary looks every inch the idyllic countryside retreat. But hidden inside one of the outbuildings is a space that is likely to set car enthusiasts’ pulses racing: an ‘extensive man cave garaging and workshop’, according to selling agent Strutt & Parker.

Totalling almost 2,500 sq ft, it comprises two garage areas, a workshop and even a bar. In other words, it is a place designed as much for admiring cars as working on them. And judging by the photos, the current owners have set the bar high, housing what appear to be some pretty special engines.

The four-bedroom house and outbuildings sit within 3.2 acres of grounds, including a pond with a bridge and a decked seating area.

For sale via Strutt & Parker — see more details and pictures.

The one with its own rally stage to race on — Ceredigion, £3,500,000

Most farms come with barns. This one also comes with its own two-mile tarmac track that features loops and split roads.

Known as the Bont Dolebolion Rally Stage, the track winds through the rolling Welsh countryside. What is more, it offers the potential to generate income: a variety of motorsport events, including rally testing days, take place here. Yes, it's a rally stage rather than an F1 circuit — but it's surely the sort of thing petrolheads dream of.

Away from the motorsports action, the 395-acre beef and sheep farm includes a traditional four-bedroom farmhouse and numerous outbuildings. Some are in better condition than others...

This is a little more rough and ready than a track-side home at Escapade Silverstone — but therein lies its charm. Just try not to confuse the livestock count with your split times.

For sale via Savills — see more details and pictures.

The one that caters to every kind of horsepower — Berkshire, £2,950,000

With extensive garaging that’s in very good nick, this property has ‘car collector’ written all over it.

The stables at Willow Farm have been converted into an enormous garage and showroom, complete with an office, meeting room, kitchen, gardener’s room and games room. A separate garage and a car port sit just behind it. All-in-all, ample space for everything from cherished classics to the latest supercars.

The block is currently used as a smart showroom, but it given that it's entirely secure and has capacity for up to 20 cars, you could probably use it as a motoring museum.

And while it's one for serious car collectors, this is still a beautiful family home that's ideal for those who prefer a different kind of horsepower: the house is set in 12 acres, has a paddock, direct access to the bridleway, and the grounds are so flat, and in such good shape, that it's apparently ideal for creating a polo field.

For sale via Knight Frank — see more details and pictures.

The one where you can live in the home of a legend — Kensington, £2,625,000 

What this charming mews house in south west London lacks in high octane motorsports facilities, it more than makes up for in history.

This was once the home of James Hunt, the charismatic 1976 F1 world champion, who was loved by a generation of fans first as a driver, and then as the most hilariously honest commentator in motorsport. Younger readers will more likely remember him from the film, Rush — one of the best motorsport films ever made.

Unlike many F1 stars who quit racing and go to live in country homes, Hunt loved his famous playboy lifestyle in London, and moved to this home in 1980 after swapping his steering wheel for a BBC microphone — a decision he made, as he admitted, ‘for reasons of self-preservation’.

Originally two separate houses, the property has been transformed into a light and airy four-bedroom home. Unusually, all the living space is arranged on the first floor, where an open-plan kitchen, dining and reception room opens out onto a terrace.

The property comes with two private parking spaces — a feature that, according to current owner Dave Allan, drew Hunt to the house in the first place.

‘It’s been lovely owning a piece of history and hearing all the stories relating to the house,’ says Allan. ‘Apparently, during James Hunt’s time there, it was well known for hosting some rather lively parties.’

For sale via Hamptons — see more details and pictures.

Retro and French — that seems to be the flavour of the month, or year, when it comes to new electric cars. The success of the Renault 4 and 5, and the much heralded announcement of the new 2CV from Citroen, shows that there is a desire and demand for new things that are based on old things. Make em small, make em cheap and make em stylish. It is une formule gagnante, as the French might say.

With that in mind, we considered what else we might like to see return to the roads over the coming years. Will MG provide another small, sporty roadster for us? Is Rover still a thing? Will the 504 light up our driveways once more? All important questions. Not questions we have the answers to, of course, but questions we would like to consider.

Below is a small selection of cheap, affordable(ish) and iconic motors from history that we think are long overdue a return, ideally in a similar style to what made them so great in the first place.

Mark Hedges, Editor — MGB GT

The MGB first rolled out of the factory doors of the British Motor Corporation in 1962, a sports car so iconic that many still terrorise the sunny B-roads of the British countryside, before inevitably breaking down in a cloud of smoke.

In 1965 came the MGB GT, a 2+2 coupé part designed by Pininfarina and one of the first ever ‘hatchbacks’. Mark Hedges’s father was a fighter pilot, but unlike Tom Cruise in Top Gun, he swapped the motorbike for an MG. ‘When I was born my father had, very impractically, an MG, a labrador, and me,’ he says. That said, it had space enough for him, his parents, and said labrador to make a journey from Cornwall to Yorkshire when required to visit the in-laws.

MG did launch a sports car back in 2023, known as the Cyberster. While it is quite handsome, it lacks the clean lines of the MGB, and it also costs north of £50,000. Not quite there.

Kate Green, Deputy Editor — Small SUVs please

In the wilds of the West Country, the small SUV is king (or queen). The potholes and fields make four-wheel drive essential, while narrow roads make size a significant issue. It’s all fun and games in the Bentley Bentayga until a tractor is coming the other way down 'take-a-deep-breath' lane.

Our correspondent tells me that on their side of the A36, the general lament is that all the cars they like have got too big. The Skoda Yeti, the Toyota RAV4 and the Suzukis Jimny and Ignis were all perfect for life out West, but the new versions of all these cars have all added on a few pounds and inches in places they shouldn’t, ruining their appeal. Bring back small, they say.

Rosie Paterson, Digital Content Director — MG Midget

Back to our friends at MG, the Midget was revealed in 1961 as a lightweight sports car that brought driving to the masses. Executed in that timeless MG style, the car was a tremendous run around, and one that is still very much desirable to this day, as Rosie Paterson explains.

‘I've always wanted one, and an electric version would be rather lovely for quietly cruising around in at the weekend’. Well said Rosie, well said.

James Fisher, Digital Commissioning Editor & Motoring — Saab 9-3

To be bewitched by a Saab is a privilege, and many were disappointed to hear of the Swedish manufacturer’s demise in 2016 (but perhaps none more so than me). It’s hard to put a specific finger on what exactly it was about a Saab that made them so cool and interesting, but like an ouroboros, that sense of mystique only added to the cool and interesting. They just looked right.

The 9-3 was always my favourite. Sportier and more raked than the 9-5, the 9-3 looked fast, but not too fast, and was always a little left-field when compared to more traditional European counterparts. That iconic Saab underbite has aged even better as modern cars become ever more smooth and aerodynamic. Also, Saab’s other business was making jet fighters, which needs no explanation.

I realise that not only am I asking for a new car, but also the revival of an entire brand. But this is a hypothetical world we are currently living in, so I am allowed to take big swings.

Toby Keel, Digital Director — Rover SD1

In 1977, Rover's engineers were charged with making a new executive car — and they went a bit wild. They lifted the design of the Ferrari Daytona, took a 3.5-litre V8 engine, and crafted a four-door grand tourer that was a sensation: the Rover SD1 was a generational leap compared to the other British Leyland designs of the 1960s and 1970s. And while most GTs were two-door coupés in disguise (think Alfetta GTV, Jaguar XJS), this was a proper five-seater — just what the well-heeled family man needs on the driveway. It was named European Car of the Year, and orders came flooding in — not least from most police forces across Britain.

The problem? A wildly thirsty engine and appalling build quality — both things that against the backdrop of the oil crisis and the workforce strikes of the 1970s, hit the car’s success hard. Both of these problems are solved by electric powertrains and modern auto construction skills, so it’s surely time for the SD1 to be reborn.

Agnes Stamp, Assistant Features Editor — Peugeot 504

Considering the rocky relationship between France and the continent of Africa, it is perhaps surprising that ‘Africa’s workhorse’ should be a car made by Peugeot. But that is precisely what the 504 was and, in many cases, still is.

It is likely that over the course of its production lifespan, which officially ran from 1970 until 1983 (with knock-down versions still produced until 2006), more than four million 504s were produced during the 20th century. That a car that looks as good as the 504 and runs as reliably as the 504 was so well produced is a testament to the car’s enduring status as a classic.

But most importantly, the 504 had a face. Cars used to have expressions, and the 504, with its slightly frowny face, was one of the more expressive autos out there. Absolutely ripe for a comeback, if you ask me.

Is it possible to make something that is both fast and extremely, staggeringly, comfortable?

Alas, it is the question that has plagued the idealism of the grand tour since the 17th century. How can I, a person of great taste and intelligence, get from the UK to Italy and back again in relative style and comfort? Back then, the answer was most likely some kind of fancy carriage, drawn by several fancy horses. The answer these days is perhaps the same, except there are 671 horses, and they live in the bonnet of your Bentley Continental GT Azure.

The more things change, the more they stay the same

Quite right. One of the key features of the Grand Tour back then was to sculpt the minds of the rich and youthful into spending their money on beautiful things. Wealth is one thing, but what of taste?

A cursory browse on Instagram will often reveal slightly revolting people who are desperate to discuss the difference between the two. What does it mean to have money, if you spend it on the wrong things, asks some hideously angular member of a long non-existent minor European royal family, as he or she stands in front of a swimming pool in the South of France. How do you display wealth and taste with subtlety and prestige?

The first answer to that question is certainly to stop posting reels on Instagram, and the second answer might be hopping behind the wheel of the Azure, the softest and most well-appointed grand tourer around.

It certainly does look extremely comfortable and elegant

The Azure is that most special of things: English taste with German execution. What that means, in car form, is some of the most delightfully appointed interiors you’ll find in a four-wheel vehicle, engineered onto a platform that is as smooth, elegant and refined as you could ever desire. Rich creamy napa leather adjustable in ways that would make a ballerina blush. Walnut veneer and crystal-cut dials and switches, delightful ‘organ stop’ vent controls and the pièce de résistance, a rotating media screen, allowing the driver to experience pure analogue driving perfection. It’s like being in your own private members club, and all that is missing are the ashtrays and a copy of today’s newspaper. If Bentley could have engineered a butler into this car, I am sure they would have, but the best they could do is a little arm that hands you your seatbelt, and that is more than enough.

What the interiors of the Azure tell us is that it’s possible to innovate, modernise and be creative, without losing any of the tradition and heritage that has made Bentley one of the world’s most premium car brands. It does everything that a German car would do, but it’s English as a steak and ale pie and a lame-duck Prime Minister.

It is not perhaps possible to be both ‘driving a Bentley Continental GT’ and ‘be subtle about it’, but the Azure is about as close as you could get. It is still muscular in all the right places, sits on massive 22-inch wheels and the recent facelift to the single striped headlight, combined with that vast front grille, doesn’t quite shout speed, but it’s certainly louder than a whisper. It’s a strong man with a well-made suit that hangs on it well.

It’s not always been the case that the Continental GT has been a pretty car. When it was first introduced to us in 2003, it was something of an ugly duck, but with each new generation (and we are now on our fourth), it has become better and better, and become one of the world’s most beautiful cars. But crucially, it is undeniably English. The English aren’t known for too much these days, but we do still make beautiful things, and the Continental is very much that.

So it’s very nice to sit in and very nice to look at, but is it very nice to drive?

Without a doubt. It is a cloud with a twin-turbocharged V8 in the front, that responds to every input you can throw at it. The Azure specification is the most calm and restrained of the range, focused more on creature comforts, craftsmanship and style. But a restrained Bentley is still a Bentley. The hybrid V8 produces 671bhp, will pull you to 62mph in 3.7 seconds and head all the way to 168mph with an almighty roar, akin to an octogenarian member of the MCC discovering that England have once again suffered a batting collapse upon waking from his afternoon nap.

For a big car, it handles surprisingly well, using all of that German engineering to keep you planted on the road, balanced and composed. The steering is remarkably responsive, especially in ‘Sport’ mode, and the car feels lighter than its 2,500kg weight, and much shorter than its 4.9-metre length. If you are running late for the opera, the Azure will get you there on time, in one piece and un-creased.

But this is not the car for chucking about, really. The Azure is for those who enjoy the finer things in life, unbothered by raw power and handling and speed (but still reassured by its presence, if necessary). The electric engine provides about 40 miles of silent range, which is ideal for city life, and even when the petrol engine engages, it does so politely and quietly. Cruising around south-east London, people were looking at this car because it is beautiful, not because it was loud.

Like the very best grand tourers, it can demolish miles on the motorway with ease, and the hybrid powertrain makes cruising up and down various speed limits effortless. If there is one criticism of this car, it is that it is too easy to drive quickly, because it is so smooth. But for many, that is hardly a criticism at all.

So what you are saying is that ‘Bentley have done it again’

They have indeed done it again. I am often asked, in my very lucky job of driving nice cars around, who makes the best ones. It’s a bit like asking someone what their favourite film is, in that the answer is not always the same, but my answer is Bentley more often than most. The team at Crewe knows what their customers want, and they deliver it. A car that doesn’t scream status, but is undoubtedly a symbol of it. Refined, respectful innovation always. And class-leading comfort and performance. It sounds simple, and yet so many manufacturers do often get it wrong. But not Bentley.

You can buy many machines with £45 million: a fleet of 13 new Bugatti Turbillons, two Cessna Citation Longitude private jets or one superyacht where Sir Winston Churchill first met John F. Kennedy, Jackie Kennedy found her second husband, and Maria Callas once sang to a man who would eventually leave her for Jackie Kennedy. Confused? Well, allow me to introduce the witness to it all: Christina O.

Less superyacht, more floating palace of political history, sex and scandal, Christina O is one of the most storied superyachts in the world.

But she was not born into glamour. Built in the midst of the Second World War in 1943 by Canadian Vickers as a wartime anti-submarine frigate called HMCS Stormont, she served in the Arctic and Atlantic, as well as being present during the D-Day landings in Normandy.

After the war, her fortunes changed dramatically when she was sold by the admiralty and picked up by the Greek self-made shipping titan Aristotle Onassis in the early 1950s for a reported $34,000, scrap value for the former frigate.

With a floating canvas acquired, the scene was set for Onassis to create one of the most decedent displays of wealth the post-war world had ever seen. A yacht that would go on to host the likes of Maria Callas, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, John Wayne, Elizabeth Taylor, Grace Kelly and Frank Sinatra.

The works that transformed HMCS Stormont into the 99-metre Christina, which Onassis named after his daughter, reportedly cost him $4 million in the 1950s, which is approximately $55 million in today’s money. Much of that went on extravagant — and eccentric — interior details such as the on-board ‘Ari’s Bar’, which is made from the timbers of a sunken Spanish galleon, complete with whale-foreskin-upholstered barstools. Such materials might struggle to pass muster these days but, well, it was the 1950s.

Onassis spared no expense on other areas, too. Installing a mosaic swimming pool on deck, with a floor that could be raised to convert the space into a dance floor, as well as a lift, a spiral staircase, and even a surgical operating theatre with radiography equipment. The ex-King Farouk of Egypt once referred to the yacht as 'the height of opulence'.

When it came to toys, Onassis equipped her with no less than five fast launches, including a glass-bottomed boat for underwater observation, a Fiat 500, and a five-seater Piaggio P.136L-2 seaplane. That same aircraft crashed in 1973, killing Onassis’s 24-year-old son Alexander.

Christina’s wood-panelled state rooms, ornate open fireplaces and elegant lounges soon became a home-from-home for everyone from Hollywood’s A-listers, to political heavyweights. Sir Winston Churchill is believed to have first met John F. Kennedy on board the yacht, while sipping on a cocktail in Ari’s Bar — a meeting at which Jackie Kennedy teased her presidential-hopeful husband that 'he thought you were a waiter, Jack'.

The charismatic, cigar-chuffing Prime Minister enjoyed eight voyages on Christina between 1958 and 1965 and was apparently the only guest for whom Onassis relinquished his own suite. The on-board library is named in Churchill’s honour.

After Onassis died in 1975, Christina was left to his daughter, Christina, and second wife, Jackie Kennedy Onassis. Both declined the inheritance, and the yacht passed into the hands of the Greek state, where she was renamed Argo, but fell into disrepair.

She was found partially submerged at a naval base near Piraeus and picked up in a government auction by Greek shipping magnate John Paul Papanicolaou — better known as 'Big John' — an Onassis family friend. A substantial $50 million rebuild was completed in 2001, after which Big John added an ‘O’ to the name in tribute to its original owner.

Christina O has operated as a luxury charter yacht ever since, accommodating 34 guests across 17 cabins named after Greek islands. Renovated and renewed she may be, but her hold on Hollywood has never loosened. Her screen credits include The Crown and comedy Triangle of Sadness, while in real life, she played host to Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier, who celebrated their 1956 nuptials aboard. Heidi Klum was married on Christina O in 2019 and Rupert Murdoch even chartered her for a family reunion off the Amalfi Coast. Ever wondered what inspired the infamous yacht scene in Succession? Now you know.

But now the time has come for Christina O to find a new custodian. Listed for sale with both Morley Yachts and Fraser, the asking price is €52 million; a bargain for those looking for a yacht overflowing with character, perhaps, but price aside, Onassis has set an outrageously high bar for her future owners to try and live up to.

After all, Christina O is not just a yacht, she’s a front-row seat to the 20th century’s social and political history, and all the ghosts that came with it.

Christina O is for sale with Morley Yachts and Fraser at €52 million (£45 million at the time of writing).

In a world of recognisable shapes, perhaps no shape is more recognisable than that of the Citroen 2CV. The French farmer’s car has been haunting the concept of aerodynamics since 1948 and only ceased production in 1990, since when it has lived on as an oddity; no doubt a ‘classic car’, but also one that is seemingly ubiquitous and without any obvious redeeming features other than it is old and French.

But, if we’ve learned anything about new cars in the past few years, it’s that ‘old and French’ sells as well as ‘cheap and Chinese’. The Renault 5 has been the standout success in the small electric car space, perhaps as a result of its affordability, but certainly as a result of its retro 1980s feel. As it turns out, if you build good looking cars that remind people of their childhoods, those same people will want to buy them.

Citroen and their handlers at Stellantis have clearly been paying attention in between their long lunches, because the 2CV is to return in 2028, this time as a small affordable EV. Not a huge amount has been revealed about the new 2CV (NewCV?) other than that it is rumoured to cost about £13,000 and be less than four metres long. At Stellantis’s recent investor presentation, a silhouette was shown that suggests that the new design will borrow heavily from the old, much like Renault’s ambitions with the 5, the 4 and the Twingo. In the words of Citroen brand CEO: ‘Icons create emotion. Icons reconnect brands with people, and today one icon is about to return. Yes, the 2CV is back.’

In an interview with Topgear.com, Chardon provided a bit more detail. The NewCV will focus on a ‘less is more’ attitude, and is very much not designed to be a mile-eater on the motorway. ‘You will be able to drive 130kmh (80mph) [in the new 2CV], but you will have to take your time because we are close [in philosophy] to the original 2CV,’ he said. ‘That original car’s [fuel] tank was 20 litres. You are not going that far on 20 litres.’

Instead, Chardon said, the car was aimed as a ‘second car’ for households and families. ‘If once a year you have to take this car to go elsewhere, it will be possible but it won’t be the fastest one,’ he added. ‘So enjoy life.’

Other interesting things to note is that it will definitely be coming to the UK and it will be made in Europe, with 70% of its parts also sourced in Europe. It’s expected that we’ll get a first look at the concept of the car at the Paris Motor Show in October.

Vad är det här då?

Sometimes in life, certain things don’t make obvious sense. For example, why does it hail more often in the summer in the winter? Why does the coastline get longer the more accurately you measure it? Why is Bruno Fernandes still playing football for Manchester United? And so on.

We can add a new thing to the list, which is: why is the Polestar 3, a car that is quite clearly an SUV/estate car, so bloody quick? How is it that this car, which weighs north of 2,400kg, moves with such poise and lightness? In the words of Benoit Blanc, ‘it makes no god damn sense’. And it compels me so.

But it’s an electric car, and all electric cars are quick

That is true, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they feel quick. For many of them, the numbers are there and we understand what a 0-62mph time of under 5 seconds means, but you would not describe them as ‘quick’ cars. Most of them are just heavy, and full of batteries and turn like yachts. It is their curse, as planet-saving vessels, to be mostly dull and practical, like broccoli on wheels.

Many, but not all. The Polestar 3 is a quick car, it is nimble, it is electric and it has a big old boot.

Is that what people want? A speedy compact SUV/estate?

Another thing that doesn’t make obvious sense, but is certainly true. BMW has made M Touring models for years, and Audi’s RS4 and RS6 Avant models are no slouches. If anything, those cars are a bit too speedy, with the ground clearance on the BMW M5 in particular making one wonder whether it’s safe to put any luggage in it. The Polestar 3 is styled in an aerodynamic and aesthetically pleasing way, but it is not as aggressive as its German cousins.

So yes, people do want that. They want to do the weekly shop, or pick up the kids from school, or fill the boot full of kayaks or whatever it is that people do with their weekends, and then they want to go somewhere at 150mph. You might be one of those people. I can confirm that it is great fun.

What makes this Polestar so special then?

In a single word — balance. It is perfectly balanced in all things. It feels balanced to drive, it is balanced in how it looks, it is balanced in how it feels, it is balanced in how it impacts the environment. It treads the line between practicality and speed with aplomb, shouting about neither, but doing both brilliantly.

The original Polestar 3 launched in 2024, but the version I have been driving is the updated 2026 version, which features, among other things, much faster charging due to 800-volt architecture, an all-new permanent magnet synchronous rear motor, stiffened anti-roll bars, re-programmed steering and a new computer system. The interior and exterior remain roughly the same.

What this translates to is a car that is significantly more engaging to drive than most other EVs I have had the good fortune to test. Indeed, the only examples I can think of that compare would be Lotus’s Emeya and Eletre, and both brands are subsidiaries of Geely, who seem to know what they are doing.

Much like Lotus, Polestar is a brand with a rich heritage of racing. The business began by modifying Volvos for the Swedish Touring Car Championship in the late 2000s, before going on its own as an electric brand in 2017. As such, even though they make cars built for normal people, they are also cars for nerds who like to drive fast. Some of those nerds, remarkably, also have families and need space to put their luggage.

Anyway! There is so much to love here, but most of all is how it moves. The Dual Motor, which I tested, puts down about 536bhp and can reach 62mph in about 4.5 seconds. None of that really matters though, if the car can’t go around corners, but that is where the 3 excels. It is so confident attacking every bend, and the steering is exceptionally sharp and responsive. Despite its size, it feels deliciously small and compact and easy to fling around, and the grip seems to go on for miles. The torque from the twin motors is voluptuous and it stops on a dime, and I have rarely enjoyed a drive in Northumberland as much as I did in the 3.

It's a symphony of many things working together, such as very subtle aerodynamics, tremendous power, and lots of very clever computers keeping you on the road.

Naturally, you don’t have the spit and snarl of a combustion engine like you would get in an RS6 or M5, but you do get similar levels of performance and feel, combined with practical ground clearance and subtlety. What’s not to love.

Is it sensible outside of the hands of Country Life’s tallest car reviewer?

Very much so. On the motorway, or in town, it cruises effortlessly and silently, which is of course the great skill of many electric cars. When not using full power, the 3 relies mostly on the rear motor, and steering and suspension settings can be manipulated to turn the 3 into effectively a moving mattress. There are more comfortable long-distance cruisers out there, but at this price point, it is absolutely top of its class. A Bowers & Wilkins sound system also makes it a very nice place to sit and mop up the miles — of which it can travel over 300 in a single charge.

How is the interior?

As Scandinavian as they come. Sleek, professional, comfortable, uncomplicated and functional. It all looks a bit like an art museum, one of those ones you find in the middle of the woods in Sweden. Lots of brushed metals, charcoal-y woods, and moody blacks and greys. It swaddles you, but it is still in essence all quite sporty.

There are some buttons, but not loads, and I still find the idea of having to ask permission from the main screen to open the glovebox, or adjust the wingmirrors, to be a restriction on my personal freedoms, but otherwise everything is relatively simple to use. Wireless AppleCarPlay, Android Auto and the essential systems on the car are easy enough to navigate.

The space is light-filled, thanks to a panoramic roof that can be turned into an electrochromic one via an upgrade, and visibility is excellent. There is also a rear-window, which is a nice difference from the windowless 4. Space is plentiful, with room for five fully grown adults, while the boot offers 597 litres of space with all the seats up, and a further 90 available under the floor and 24 in the bonnet.

It is a premium-but-pared-back space. Much like the rest of the car, the sporty side of things are hinted at but never fully revealed: a flash of gold here and there, a stripe of orange somewhere else. It also comes with an air-filter, which is good, because I have hayfever.

Any other interesting bits and pieces?

Plenty. Many car makers are quick to extol their ‘eco’ credentials, but Polestar are probably as close to perfect as you can get. The cars are made in a factory powered by renewable energy, sustainably sourced materials are used both inside and outside the car, and the firm intends to be fully carbon neutral across its entire value chain by 2040. No doubt it is costing them a great deal of money to do so, but someone has to be first, and that should be applauded.

So you like this car, it is a good car, you would not laugh if your friends bought this car?

It is a great car, verging on the exceptional. EVs are notoriously dull things, but while the Polestar 3 is dull in all the right places, it is extremely fun everywhere else.

It looks fantastic, it drives even better and it is eminently comfortable and practical. It is as Scandinavian as they come, which should always be considered a bonus, and it delivers the kind of driving performance that would crack a smile on even the most electro-phobic petrol heads.

It’s a car the defies the logic that surrounds it, but it's best not to think about all that. What's best is to load it up with all that shopping, all those kayaks, and go for a really good drive. Soon you'll be thinking about nothing else at all.

Given Jaguar hasn’t built a single production car since December 2025, one worries that a ‘Jaguar’ hotel suite might be an empty room with nary a bed to lay one’s head. Or, were it inspired by the controversial Type 00 design concept, it would be voluminous, decorated pink, and upon check-in you’d be presented with a very long choice of pronouns. Then you’d be told your room won’t be ready for two and a half years. And it might not actually be the room you booked.

Thankfully, at Taj’s 51 Buckingham Gate Suites & Residences, ‘The Jaguar Suite’ has no recollection of recent corporate mismanagement. It has been designed by Ian Callum, who was Jaguar’s director of design until mid-2018, right up to the point it stopped being Jaguar as we know it: seven-times winner of Le Mans, trademark holder of ‘the growler’, and automotive outfitter to Inspector Morse, Arthur Daley, Mrs Thatcher and the Kray twins. Callum did his best to move the brand along, and gave it two of the prettiest production cars of the 21^st century thus far: the F-Type Coupé and the fourth-generation XJ. He also did Ford’s RS200 and Escort Cosworth and Aston Martin’s DB7, DB9 and Vanquish, making him one of the greatest car designers of all time.

And it turns out he’s a dab hand at interior design, too. Taj’s 170sq m two-bedroom Jaguar Suite features various Jaguar-inspired artworks, framed black-and-white photos, enamel badges and knick-knacks, and bookcases filled with weighty tomes about the company’s sporting and cultural heritage and 90 years of elegant craftsmanship. But it’s the unique accoutrements that catch the eye, like the sitting room’s gas fireplace, rendered in glass and steel, that Callum sketched to look like something aerodynamic, or a convertible hard-top maybe. After dinner at the hotel’s exquisite southern Indian restaurant, Quilon, I returned to the suite to find an assortment of cakes decorated with an E-Type and the C-X75 that a baddie drove in Spectre.

Taj Hotels is part of the Tata Group, India’s largest conglomerate, which also owns Jaguar Land Rover. Hence the Jag love-in. And while hotels are often loath to divulge the identities of their guests, I know it’s very popular with cricketers because I once attended an event here with the entire Indian cricket team and which was compered by Lords-regular Jeffrey Archer. I earwigged a silver fox discussing his ardour for Jaguars, butted into the convo, and he introduced himself as David. When I asked him if he was into cricket, he told me his surname was Gower. As for the Jaguar Suite itself, I gather it was where the late chairman Ratan Tata liked to stay, and prime minister Narendra Modi chooses it whenever he’s in London.

The nightly rate for the Jaguar Suite is £6,950. That would buy you a 100,000-mile XJS, which is just as comfortable. However, a hotel suite is unlikely to break down or turn out to have been used in a ram-raid.

The suite is also meant to come with a chauffeur-driven Jaguar XJ, but that’s no longer so. The XJ had its life-support pulled in 2019. Now you have to make do with a Land Rover. — Adam Hay-Nicholls

Grenadier by name, potentially Grenadier by nature

There is perhaps a certain irony that the car that was built as a rebuttal to the discontinuation of the original Land Rover Defender could soon be the one to replace the Defender as the vehicle of choice for the British Army.

Ironic it may be, but irony be damned: Ineos and the Grenadier are trying.

It was announced yesterday that Ineos Automotive had joined forces with SMT Defence and NMS UK to form Team Grenadier, an industrial collaboration dedicated to delivering a range of vehicles for the Ministry of Defence (MoD) based on the Grenadier platform.

The vehicle will be designed to operate for the Light Mobility Vehicle (LMV) requirement, which will seek to replace the Army’s 7,000 Land Rovers and Pinzgauer vehicles by 2030. As well as Team Grenadier, other firms looking to supply vehicles to the MoD for LMV (apologies for the acronyms, but it’s the Army and they love them) include the Portsmouth Aviation Hercules, Rheinmetall’s Caracal G-Class, and the Kia Tasman, among others.

Ineos’s offering is based on the firm’s Multi-Role Light Vehicle, which has already seen service with fire, police and rescue services across the world. Another Grenadier configuration, the Quartermaster, was recently appointed as the emergency services vehicle supplier of choice by the Automobile Club of Monaco, and was unveiled at the recent Monaco Grand Prix.

The collaboration is an all British affair, with SMT Defence bringing a ‘specialist expertise in the design, integration and delivery of bespoke and mission-critical vehicles for elite and specialist military users’ and NMS UK underpinning ‘the collaboration with established UK-based military vehicle production, integration and in-life support’.

‘A defining advantage of the industrial collaboration is its British ownership, onshore assembly and local supply chain,’ says Mike Whittington, chief commercial officer at Ineos Automotive. ‘It brings strategic benefits in operational independence and resilience with security and regulatory alignment — delivering on the MoD’s core objectives. Grenadier’s unrivalled capability and inherent strength provide an obvious starting point for mission-critical transport.

Wetting your whistle at the Silverstone Grand Prix

Fresh from making an appearance at Monaco on board SKANDL’s Formula 1 yacht party, The Curatist rum from Jiggy Rawal will be heading to Northamptonshire at the Pop-Up Hotel for the Silverstone Grand Prix.

The Curatist begins its life as an English rum distilled from green sugar cane and rich molasses, before being married to rare 25-year-old Panamanian rums and finished for six months in cognac casks. It will be served to guests either neat or in a Strawberry Apex, a signature serve created specifically for the Formula 1 season. The Lychee Cucumber Straight rounds out the starting grid. ‘Formula 1 attracts people who understand what it means to do something properly,’ adds Rawal. ‘That’s exactly who The Curatist is for.’

Here’s a good quiz question: In what year did Ferrari fully design and build its first car?

Ferrari S.p.A was founded in 1947, so that would seem a logical guess, but it is the wrong one. It was, in fact, 2013. Until just 13 years ago, all the styling and panel beating was outsourced to other companies, predominantly Pininfarina (which has, over the course of almost 100 years, also designed cars for Alfa Romeo, Maserati, Fiat, Peugeot, Honda, Hyundai, Volvo and General Motors). Ferrari’s finished aluminium coachwork was trucked the 180 miles from Turin to Maranello, where Ferrari’s engineers welded it to their rolling chassis. The bodies were essentially the icing on the cake.

Occasionally, projects were outsourced to the likes of Bertone, Ghia and Carrozzeria Touring, with the latter crafting the very first Ferrari, 1947’s 125 S. But it was Pininfarina that established the Ferrari ‘look’. It designed and built the exteriors of more than 100 distinct production and concept Ferrari models, starting with 1951’s 212 Inter and ending with 2012’s F12 Berlinetta. These are stunningly handsome bookends. Then everything changed. Ferraris, from this point, would be conceived and born entirely on the premises.

In 2013, Ferrari unveiled the LaFerrari, a 950bhp hybrid hypercar. Despite the slightly silly name, it looked deadly serious. There was little in the way of romance or whimsy in its aesthetics. It was attractive, but it was engineering-led. The design had been directed by Flavio Manzoni, an urbane Sicilian architect employed in-house by Ferrari since January 2010, who established the Centro Stile (styling centre) in the heart of Ferrari’s Maranello complex. Now aesthetics are dictated at ground zero, and form and function are indistinguishable.

‘Everything starts with a dream and looking into the future,’ Manzoni explains. ‘It’s essential to consider how the product will be perceived in 50 years. If there is no innovation, there is only style. The car needs connecting to its technical soul.’ And this is where Ferrari’s post-2013 philosophy comes in. Styling is now inseparable from the technological demands, such as aerodynamics, cooling, packaging and structural rigidity. Some of Ferraris’ recent front-engined designs, in particular the 2019 Monza SP, the 2020 Roma and its successor, the 2025 Amalfi, take a softer approach, but most modern Ferraris are led by raw performance. This is particularly true of its latest hybrid machinery; the £3.1 million 1,183bhp limited-edition F80 and the £408,000 1,036bhp 849 Testarossa.

Both cars have thoroughbred DNA. The F80 is the latest in a bloodline of Formula 1-inspired hypercars that started with the iconic 288 GTO and F40 in the 1980s. The 849 Testarossa is the first to be given the ‘redhead’ moniker since the model that came to define 1980s excess. The decade of shoulder pads, Filofaxes and Phil Collins is clearly back in fashion. Yet neither of these cars is a throwback.

Manzoni and his team have succeeded in reimagining and reinterpreting Ferrari’s heritage while avoiding nostalgic repetition. Timelessness is a fundamental element in the design of a Ferrari. The necessity of creating an enduring masterpiece has been recognised by Ferrari-appointed designers universally over the years, overcoming challenges to create objects of eternal beauty, outlasting changing trends and evolving tastes. ‘Retro has been a trend for 25 years, but every new product needs to belong to its time,’ says Manzoni. ‘Design is the best messenger to a world that is superior to the natural one.’

Ferrari’s design language represents a delicate balance between form and function, devoid of decoration for decoration’s sake. Beauty never comes at the expense of performance. Yet surely no other industrial company is responsible for so much beauty. Each Prancing Horse seems designed to excel on every plane, without compromise. Manzoni likes to quote the sculptor Brancusi, that simplicity for him is ‘complexity resolved’. The author J. G. Ballard once wrote of how, in the future, driving will be restricted to private parks under psychiatric supervision. Manzoni is more reassuring: ‘These cars are a symbiosis of man and machine, and of hedonistic pleasure. That pleasure will never stop.’

I have this ringing in my ears as I punch the starter button on the 849 Testarossa and head out onto the Circuito Monteblanco near Seville. The ride, grip and feel engages every sinew. And it’s relentless. The ‘80s Testarossa never actually drove particularly well. The lift-off oversteer made it a widow maker and it wasn’t quick by today’s standards – a new Range Rover would eat it for breakfast. The 2026 Testarossa is ferociously fast: 0-60mph takes under 2.3 seconds and doesn’t let up till the needle passes 205. It has a bewilderingly complicated suspension system which uses 6D sensors to read every input and direct torque expertly. Most of the time it’s rear-wheel-drive, but when needed it’ll power the fronts too. The all-new braking system uses something called ‘anti-jerk’, which might disqualify the lion’s share of Ferrari’s customers.

Back in the pitlane, I drink in the design. There’s not a cheese-grater in sight. The spirit of attention-seeking is alive and well, but everything about this car is rooted about 15 minutes into the future. It shares some facial characteristics with its big brother, the F80, namely the black bonnet band. This Zoro mask disguises the headlights; a 2026 take on the previous models’ pop-up lamps. The rear haunches have hints of another seven-figure modern Fezza, the SP3 Daytona. The twin-tail winglets at the back have echoes of the marque’s 1970s Le Mans-smashing 512 sports prototypes, which is really this car’s only retro nod, and is more directly linked to the much more recent and extreme FXX-K — a LaFerrari-based machine that deliberately sounds like it’s banned from pre-watershed broadcast.

Elsewhere are details never seen before, and which could only have come about in-house. The 849’s deeply scalloped doors required a new forming process to make, and act as a chute to feed the intercooler with air. Those intakes are highlighted by a vertical black element that looks like a No.1 and divides the visual volume. The design has a Lego quality. I had my reservations when I first saw renderings, but in the flesh I’m won over. Certainly, it’s the most extroverted cavallino we’ve seen in years. It’s so brash you might confuse it with a Lamborghini. The 849’s immediate predecessor, the SF90, was quite nerdy and inelegant – a rare misstep by the House of Manzoni. Contrastingly, its replacement is a jock in catwalk couture.

Inside, it’s less lairy but retains a strong sense of occasion. A curved loop runs from the dashboard down to the central armrest, which delineates the driver and passenger zones and gives it an airy architectural quality. The transmission selection pad, rendered in brushed aluminium with three levers, apes the famous manual H-gate which Ferrari discontinued in 2012.

I was sad to see the H-gate go, but Ferrari recognised as early as 1997’s F355 F1 that the future of supercar transmissions was paddle-shaped. The 599 GTB and California were the last cars fitted with stick-shifts. With much faster and efficient technology available, it would have been anathema for Ferrari to continue down that path. It is not afraid to break from the past.

This is true of external design. Ferrari designs speed, and whatever shape emerges is the car. Firstly, there is a coherence from the Ferrari range which we didn’t see when design was farmed out. There’s a shared visual DNA, from the thin lighting signatures to the sculpted airflow, that ties everything together. Secondly, there’s the performance, which has jumped forward from where we were a decade ago. This is enabled by the designers sitting in the same building as the aerodynamicists and engineers. The F80 and the 849 Testarossa’s numbers are as outrageous as the shapes. Thirdly, Ferrari now has total creative freedom and control. It can pivot instantly, experiment wildly, and pursue ideas that could have been diluted in collaboration.

But there is a cost. When you prioritise purity, you sometimes lose something less measurable: elegance. Spend five minutes on the internet and you’ll find thousands of Ferraristi arguing with a passion normally reserved for VAR decisions. Some love the aggression and futurism. Others long for the clean, sensual lines of the Pininfarina era. Which is sexier is subjective.

The thing is, when everything has function there’s less room for flourish. And Ferrari, historically, traded as much on this as it did on pace, certainly where road cars were concerned. To resurrect the Testarossa name in the era of the Centro Stile is to invite risky comparison. And yet, that is precisely what Ferrari has done. It doesn’t try to mimic the past. It barely nods at it. Instead, it asks a more difficult question: What would a Testarossa look like if it had never existed until now? The answer is a car that feels less like a reinterpretation, and more like a parallel universe.

Ferrari has traded a little lust for a lot of precision. A little elegance for a lot of intent. The 849 Testarossa and F80 may not be universally adored, but they are defiantly modern Ferraris, and that’s exactly what the firm set out to make.

What’s coming next, though, is a departure. The company hasn’t completely closed the curtains on collaboration. It has sought the input of Silicon Valley’s most pivotal product designers. It has given LoveFrom — the design collective founded by Sir Jony Ive and Marc Newson — complete creative freedom to design its first all-electric car.

The Ferrari Luce is unlike any Ferrari you’ve seen before. This is set to be the most influential car the firm has ever made, and its most controversial. Ive changed the world with the iPhone. Might he and Newson change the automotive landscape with this clean, tactile, but strangely suburban Ferrari?

‘We worked hand-in-glove with Ferrari, and I think it’s safe to say we exploited each other’s resources to the max,’ says Newson. ‘It’s been very, very important for us as designers to have been given the opportunity to work on every aspect of this project: The user interface, the interior and the exterior. We started this collaboration about seven years ago. Jony and I own Ferraris, including old Ferraris, so in a way we already had a longstanding relationship with Ferrari. Interestingly, even though they have a huge amount of in-house experience, they identified very early on that the time had come to experiment. To try and solve problems in a new way, with fresh eyes.’ Ferrari has spoken of a cross-fertilisation of ideas.

The Luce is disruptive yet coherent. Is it a red-blooded Ferrari, though? The performance says yes, but it needs to look fast, sexy and elegant, not just today, but 80 years down the line. I’m not sure it fulfils these parameters. The Ferrari brand is so strong, graphically, reputationally and financially, that the Luce will not damage it. But it will go down as an oddity.

I respect the management’s bravery, however. ‘Ferrari Luce is not a response to change,’ says Ferrari chairman John Elkann. ‘It’s a deliberate decision to lead what comes next, with clarity and purpose. What would Ferrari be if we imagined it with a blank sheet? Not just new ideas, but a different perspective. That is why we chose to work with LoveFrom; not to confirm what we already know, but to challenge it. To look at Ferrari from the outside, and to look at what it can become next. Luce is a car of the future, and uniquely Ferrari. It reaffirms what has always defined this company: The courage to redefine the limits of [what’s] possible.’

The Rolls-Royce Corniche felt like a throwback even upon its release in 1971, and then it loitered around the Crewe production line for another 24 years like the 13^th Duke of Wybourne in the grounds of a French maid’s finishing school ('With my reputation? Has no one thought of the consequences!') I imagine the design mood board was composed mainly of vintage pornography. If Hugh Hefner’s silk dressing gown had wheels, he’d have met his party guests in one of these.

Its air of roguish entitlement was further established in its movie roles. Michael Caine's Brillcreemed gold-button-blazered con-man in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels drove a Corniche while attempting to deprive heiresses of their diamonds in the name of charity. In 10, Dudley Moore cruised around in one when he wasn’t perving on his oiled and topless neighbours with a telescope.

This is a car with character: the sort that might get you cancelled. That is not something normally levied at electric cars, but guess what: the Corniche you see before you, which looks like it was specced by Jimi Hendrix or Prince, has had its 6.75-litre V8 innards removed and replaced by state-of-the-art electric motors and batteries. In fairness, most Corniche owners could use a heart transplant of their own, after all those duty-free cigars and kilograms of Colombian imports.

I despair of the numb and homogenised experience that most electric cars offer, and I maintain that silent, heavy, gearless electric sports cars are like microwaved frozen pizza: flavourless cardboard. Yet for a classic car that’s already heavy and was designed to be quiet and smooth, a digital restomodding is the perfect recipe. You get all the nostalgia, and none of the leaks. Therefore, an electric Rolls-Royce Corniche makes superb sense. It has been improved upon. It embraces Sir Henry Royce’s mantra: ‘Take the best that exists and make it better.’

The people who have made these improvements are called Halcyon – or Matthew Pearson (CEO), Charlie Metcalfe (COO) and Will Burdet (CTO); three chins who studied engineering at Bath and went on to work for Lunaz, which also restores and converts British classics. You can bring a 1970s Rolls or Bentley to their modern workshop between Farnborough and Guildford, or they’ll find you one. Some customers arrive with their father’s car, hoping to restore and futureproof it for the next generation. You don’t have to convert it to electric; they’ll also renovate your V8 if you want your bauble to still burble.

A decent donor Corniche costs between £40,000-£80,000. For Halcyon to work their magic, you’re looking at £420,000+ on top of that, plus taxes (if you bother yourself with that sort of thing). It is a lot of money. However, should you do a particularly successful job when you’re next in Antibes separating a dowager duchess from her 10-carat assets, it could just be in a day’s work.

This purple machine is the company’s demonstrator. It used to be creamy yellow, with rubber bumpers and left-hand drive (like the Corniche in 10). California is a good hunting ground for donors, because a lot found their way there, and the climate’s been nice to them. In this car, every nut and bolt has come off, but some subframe and core suspension has been retained. Now known as the Highland Heather Corniche, the new hue is a nod to the moors and the Scottish Reliability Trails that Rolls-Royce entered with its Silver Ghost in 1907; a punishing 748-mile endurance test across the most demanding yet beautiful landscape in Britain. Inside, there are a number of rather lovely details which celebrate this. The Silver Ghost crushed the opposition in 1907, scoring 976 out of a possible 1,000 points which first cemented R-R’s reputation as builders of ‘The Best Car in the World’.

The Highland Heather model has 400bhp, but Halcyon offers an upgrade to 500bhp. The original car had up to 325bhp. Overall performance doesn’t feel so different in this car, but its waftiness has never been more magic carpet-y. The charge port is where the fuel filler was. It can fast-charge from 20-80% in half an hour. The standard range is 250 miles via a 77kWh battery, though a bigger 94kWh pack is available that’ll extend it to 300 miles. Re-gen braking hasn’t been added to this car, but it will be. Open differential is set to change to a limited slip diff, which will increase torque by almost 85% (up to 590Nm), which means it’ll put away at lower speeds much more energetically; hopefully it’ll still pass the all-important Champagne test whereby your passengers won’t spill their drinks.

The only hints from the outside that this car has spent 5,000 hours being reborn are the LED headlights and mohair (not vinyl) roof. Inside, the updates are subtle, but it’s all new from the dash to the seats, the wheel-mounted drive selector and the drop-down display that can hide the Apple CarPlay-enabled sat-nav and infotainment screen when you don’t want your 21^st century ways exposed.

Halcyon are working on another special project at the moment: They’re restoring a Corniche previously owned by Hollywood golden couple Blake Edwards and Julie Andrews, writer-director of 10 and Dudley Moore’s co-star, respectively. It will feature a Mary Poppins umbrella, an inlaid Sound of Music mountain-scape, and a pattern from a coffee cup in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, which Edwards also directed.

For those who hanker for the brazen glamour of the 1970s and 80s, the Corniche and its four-door cousin, the Silver Shadow, are an enticing portal to the unapologetic life and times of Peter Sellers, Paul Raymond and Zsa Zsa Gabor. No longer coachbuilding their cars with the advent of unibody construction, Rolls-Royce built too many of these models (6,823 Corniches and 30,057 Shadows), which saw used values dive. Due to the cost of parts and servicing, many were not very well maintained in the 1990s and 2000s and the image became similarly threadbare.

But now the cool factor is higher than ever; ‘No F***s Given’ is an aspirational motto for the new generation, and nothing says it better than a ULEZ-skewering Roller. The chaps at Halcyon have given this Corniche back its lustre. It extols the spirit of rockstars and rogues, of excommunication and, of course, ecstasy.

In Monaco, someone’s always got a bigger boat. This is especially true on Grand Prix weekend. Some 200 vessels turned up for Formula One’s (F1) most famous street race this year, blaring their horns at the end of the 78 laps in honour of Mercedes driver Kimi Antonelli’s flawless drive to victory. The biggest yacht in Port Hercule was the 122-metre-long Kismet, available for charter for £2.6 million a week. That’s not including a trackside mooring (£130,000), or a tip for the crew (normally 10% of the charter fee).

However, I discovered a way of doing the Monaco Grand Prix in similar style, with a much bigger boat, and an even louder horn. It boasts staff, service and facilities that I doubt any billionaire’s berth could surpass. Welcome aboard the Silver Ray.

The Silver Ray is the newest cruise ship by Silversea, a pioneer of the all-inclusive cruise and one of the undisputed industry leaders in what’s becoming a luxury arms race. At 244 metres, it dwarfs Kismet. You can peer down your nose at the Lürssen-built bateau from your 11^th floor rooftop pool, which is far more accommodating. It doesn’t have a big H on the bow deck like its navy-hulled neighbour, but Monaco’s heliport is five minutes by tender. And while I hear you complain that you can’t compare a private yacht to a bloody great ship, it’s a rather sleek-looking thing as cruisers go. Painted in elegant white and silver, there’s no Disneyfied gaudiness about this vessel. It hides its 55,000-tonne girth well, and its interior spaces are all handsomely designed.

Silversea keeps passenger numbers down. There are a maximum of 728 guests and a very VIP 1.3:1 ratio of guests to crew. With many guests off on shore activities each day, and others preferring to relax in their cabins, I often found I had an entire deck to myself. Never did I struggle to find a free sunbed.

My trip to the Grand Prix started ten days earlier, in Civitavecchia near Rome. Having checked into my very smart suite, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and a vast terrace from which to watch the world drift by, I witnessed the arrival of a USA Secret Service motorcade and the decanting of Donald Trump Jr and his new bride. They were also heading to the Monaco Grand Prix. Not on the Silver Ray, you’ll be relieved to hear. They stepped onto the piddling 76-metre yacht Boardwalk V which belongs to the American ambassador to Italy. I imagine the UK’s man in Rome makes do with a canoe. The Boardwalk V has two helicopter pads but, again, I feel it was outclassed by my monumental transport. At this point I want to say the race was on, but while I tracked the Boardwalk V on MarineTraffic, the Silver Ray and I would take a more circuitous and leisurely route; F1 may be measured in thousandths of a second, but why not take your time getting there?

We headed south to Salerno, where I visited the ancient ruins of Pompeii; cruised back along the Amalfi coast and up to Livorno, in Tuscany, where I went truffling with three adorable lagotto romagnolo dogs, and toured medieval Lucca. From there we sailed north to Portofino, and then back through the Ligurian and Tyrrhenian seas to Porto Santo Stefano, where I tried hitting some golf balls at Italy’s only PGA course, Argentario. Then we set course west to Ajaccio, the capital of Corsica and birthplace of Napoleon Bonaparte. I explored all these places, and at sea I would stand on my port-facing terrace with the powerful binoculars that came with the room and imagine I was on the bridge; like Oscar-nominee Barkhad Abdi, I was the captain now. When I wasn’t writing on my terrace, or pretending to be a pirate, I would read by the pool under a cloudless sky. And when I wasn’t doing that, I was eating and drinking like a king. There are eight restaurants on board covering everything from fine dining to casual, Italian, French and Japanese. Three of the restaurants involve a small additional cost, and I never felt the need because the all-inclusive ones and house wines were so good.

There was also entertainment and talks, including from Top Gear’s first Stig, racing driver Perry McCarthy, who’s proven far more successful on the after-dinner circuit than he did on the F1 circuit, he won’t mind me saying.

Due north to Monaco we sailed for our two-day penultimate destination, and here’s where a cruise ship really comes into its own. It affords a spectacular view of the Principality. We anchored just outside Port Hercule, and there’s an advantage to this; unlike those staying in the cramped, overpriced berths within the harbour walls we weren’t kept awake by dreadful Dutch electronic dance music (EDM), nor were we awoken by the wail of racing engines first thing in the morning.

What you can’t quite do, even with my big binoculars and the ship’s 11^th floor elevation, is see the cars going around. Silversea has thought of that, so they’ll sell you access to one of the best views money can buy. Silversea took a large top floor apartment in Le Beau Rivage, just beyond Turn 1 and with overhead views of the cars as they screamed towards Casino Square. You could also see down to Tabac corner and across to the Swimming Pool section and the pits. This life-affirming vista inspired a young American lady with whom I was sharing a bit of balcony to seize the moment by sprinkling ashes over the track. I’m afraid that some of her father went in my drink. Still, waste not want not.

The price of this once-in-a-lifetime experience, minus the cremation, is from £8,000 for the whole 11-day itinerary, including all food and drink, and even the staff tip. That’s exceptional value, given the service exceeded the levels I’ve experienced in any five-star hotel, and that a tiny cabin on a nice, but modest yacht for Grand Prix weekend will run you about £28,000, with none of the Silver Ray’s facilities. The Beau Rivage terrace, with food and drink for Saturday and Sunday is priced at £3,967 per person.

From Monaco, we sailed day and night to Barcelona, where we disembarked. It felt liberating to have visited so many places without having to pack and unpack each time, or battle traffic and crowded airports, or really make any plans beyond which activities to tick. It’s like a hotel where the view changes every day, and which arrives directly into one of the hardest-to-access events in the world. For F1 fans, it’s a floating Paddock pass.

The explosion of British car ownership, from 110,000 private vehicles in 1919 to three million by the end of the 1930s, coupled with the improvement of the road network, ushered in a golden age of motoring for leisure in this country. With it came the need for guidebooks for a new type of traveller: inquisitive, but not intellectual, as much drawn by atmosphere and the experience of simply being ‘somewhere different’ as by antiquarian interests, such as visiting old churches, that had satisfied an earlier generation.

The point was not lost on a young John Betjeman who, from 1930–34, was assistant editor on Architectural Review. Betjeman was a reflex church crawler himself, but his first published collection of verse, Mount Zion (1931) had already demonstrated an ability to combine love of the subject with humour and a sense that the average or mundane could be as fascinating as the first rate. Recognising that there was a gap in the market for guidebooks serving the bright young things pottering off to the Shires at weekends, he persuaded the Shell Petroleum company — which, in less environmentally troubled times, was running advertisements encouraging drivers to fuel their countryside forays with Shell products — to sponsor a series of county guides under his editorship.

Betjeman wrote two of the first volumes, Cornwall (1934) and Devon (1935). They set the tone with imaginative use of typefaces and large black-and-white photographs: a big change from the standard text-heavy approach to guidebook layout up to that time. Cornwall was Betjeman’s favourite county, the subject of much later poetry, yet as a tour guide his book was rather scattergun, with a thin gazetteer. Cheekily, images of rustic types that visiting sophisticates might spot on their visit were superimposed onto a map of the county. Much better was Devon, modifying the jokey approach. It had a weightier gazetteer and an enjoinder to use Ordnance Survey maps to look beyond better-known beauty spots and explore less-frequented areas. It backed this up with inviting photographs of winding, high-banked lanes and bosky avenues, together with very Betjemanesque references, such as Bigbury having some interesting farms.

In a letter of 1937, Betjeman wrote that the books’ concerns were with ‘handsome provincial streets of the late-Georgian era; impressive mills in industrial towns; horrifying villas in overrated “resorts”’. Yet, because he used his connections to commission an array of gifted writers, artists and historians, the texts were never standardised. Some authors proselytised. Derbyshire (1935), written by Christopher Hobhouse shortly after the Kinder Scout mass trespass, was trenchant about the need to open up the Peaks as a cheap walking pastime for the ‘young men and women of the industrial towns’. Elsewhere, Shell Guides projected the countryside as a place of mystery and adventure, as in Robert Byron’s atmospheric description of Cranborne Chase in Wiltshire (1935): ‘The Salisbury-Blandford road runs through the middle of this wild, lovely bit of country, which is peppered with barrows and haunted by many well-authenticated ghosts, including a pack of hounds’.

Speaking of Dorset, the choice of the English Surrealist Paul Nash to write its volume in 1936 was inspired. Nash took the project so seriously he moved to Swanage for a year. Some years before, he had formulated the ideas of ‘places’, where the ‘relationship of parts creates a mystery, an enchantment which cannot be analysed’. Dorset, with its extraordinary rocks — Stair Hole, Lulworth Cave and the monster-like Durdle Door — had plenty of these. Nash produced more than half the book’s striking images, including of Corfe Castle and Badbury Rings (‘I remember nothing so beautifully haunted as the wood in Badbury Rings’). Even photographs of the churches and tombs had a grainy, elemental essence.

Another choice volume was Oxon (1938), by John Piper, eventually to succeed Betjeman as overall series editor. Piper’s sketch of the prehistoric Rollright Stones transformed them into eerily lifelike dancing rocks, and there were succinct entries on lesser-known villages — ‘Taynton: Roses round the door. Beautiful-Britain Cotswold village’ — and, as with Devon, a suggestion that the traveller was rewarded by going down the side roads.

With their abstract images of green men, stone circles and hill figures, there was an underlying quirkiness about the Shell Guides. Arthur Mee’s ‘The King’s England’ county guides, launched in 1936, had none of their sly humour. A plea for better prices for the county’s pig farmers in the Shell Wiltshire, with a photograph of porkers captioned as ‘quite unperturbed by the bacon question’, would have been unthinkable. Betjeman once claimed, somewhat disingenuously, that the Shell Guides were aimed at the ‘plus-foured weekender who cannot tell a sham Tudor roadhouse from a Cotswold manor’. It might have been better applied to readers of a King’s England, yet you could not accuse the latter of dumbing down. With soft-toned photographs favouring churches, thatched cottages and leafy settings, the 41-volume gazetteer-style series might have slipped into windy Olde England nostalgia were it not for its openness to progress. Middlesex enthused about Alexandra Palace, ‘the birthplace of the public service of Television’; Hertfordshire was delighted by the way that the county’s beauty was made accessible by its numerous roads, making it ‘more and more the Londoner’s playground, with London’s Green Belt running between Greater London and the North Orbital Road’.

The entries were also commendably thorough. The description of St Albans in Hertfordshire ran to more than 20 pages and was illuminating on a cathedral — ‘an arresting spectacle’ — which wouldn’t rank among most people’s favourites. Mee was always alert to setting. Beyond the ranks of history students (and sometimes not even them), the Roman ruins of St Albans are not hugely thrilling, but Mee — ‘One of the green and pleasant places of our land, sloping up to fields and deep woods’ — made them live. The net of information was also cast wide. In Gloucestershire, although the entry for Adelstrop did not mention Edward Thomas’s poem, the reader was told that the attractive surroundings of Adelstrop House were thanks to Humphry Repton, ‘who laid out Russell Square in London and helped to shape Kensington Gardens’.

Quality guidebooks launched after 1945 were not confined to Nikolaus Pevsner’s more specialised ‘Best Buildings of England’ series. Collins’ ‘About Britain’ books arrived in 1951 to coincide with the Festival of Britain. Poet and critic Geoffrey Grigson was general editor of the 13-volume series and, alongside a coloured title page by artists such as Barbara Jones or Kenneth Rowntree, they carried a mix of black and white and colour photos, suggested ‘tours’ with road directions and a basic map, as well as a pithy gazetteer. The volumes divided the country by character not county, hence titles included Lancashire and Yorkshire and Chilterns to Black Country. Their chief strength was the lengthy portrait essay. Grigson himself wrote those for West Country and Wessex, the latter being, in his words, ‘the primal heart of England, if not of Great Britain’. The thatched cottages of its villages were, architecturally, ‘as humble as if they had grown up out of a potato patch’.

The nature writer R. S. R. Fitter wrote the portrait for the Home Counties volume. Already the author of the landmark London’s Natural History, published in 1945, Fitter lacked Grigson’s acerbic touch, although his interest in the temporary wild gardens of war-ravaged parts of London are now a fascinating historical snapshot. The area around St Paul’s was ‘to be stalked scenically from every unexpected angle — across wastes of bomb rubble yellow with ragwort and incarnadined by rosebay willow-herb’. To him, ‘the fields, woods and heaths of the Home Counties’ stood comparison with anywhere in Britain ‘for rich and varied scenery… and a fascinating variety of wild life’.

Readers at the time might have wondered why they were bothering with the mysterious and far off, when there was so much to be seen closer to home.

It was one of those rare days on the Côte d’Azur, one where the sun was less on offer, and intermittent sprinkles of rain splashed beach plans. What was one to do between a gluttonous hotel breakfast and a rosé-soaked lunch? Visit the car collection of His Serene Highness The Prince of Monaco, naturally.

A stone’s throw from the central casino, it’s one of the hidden gems of the principality, and one known only to locals, frequently visiting loyalists or those, like me, forced to get creative with their free time. I entered reluctantly, wishing I was instead drifting along a coast, but I left with a newfound love for an overt display that is, well, exactly the sort of unabashed showmanship you want to see from a prince, and one that so many deign to attempt in replicating without such a storied history.

The collection is situated down the hill from the Hotel de Paris, past the Thermes Marins Spa, the Yacht Club de Monaco, and the holy trinity of Prada, Hermès, and Gucci. Here, in this ‘deeper cut’ of the city, one can find an affordable deli sandwich or a slice of pizza, still with a view of the glittering Mediterranean, as well as the marina where the royal family’s sailing yacht, Tuiga, is often moored. During the Monaco Grand Prix, it’s also the site of one of the most exciting straights in the race. Under the simple banner ‘La Collection’ is the museum, where more than 100 automobiles sit idly by and await our prying eyes.

Collected since the 1950s when Prince Rainier III began setting his sights on building his stable of toys, they come in all shapes, sizes, and colours, and even a few small airplanes. Blue chip Panhards and Ferraris sit merrily alongside humble expressions like Fiats and Citroens, all with incredible tales of acquisition or provenance, but it all sat housed in the depths of the palace. That was until 1993, when the collection first saw the light of day, owing to the fact that it had grown too large for the palace’s private garage and was therefore moved to the Terrasses de Fontvieille, before moving to its current state-of-the-art location in Port Hercule in 2022.

It all began with the De Dion-Bouton Type R, purchased by the family in the late-1950s, but dating back to 1903. At first blush, it appears to be more old-time jalopy (complete with an ‘Awooga!’ horn) than a functioning automobile, but it does indeed run. Its wooden wheels are covered in solid rubber tires that must make for a precarious ride, and it fits four passengers not-so-comfortably. Though it mostly acts as a historical showpiece to display the early origins of the automobile, it was driven in the London-to-Brighton rally back in 1968 by Rainier III. He was, of course, accompanied by his wife, Princess Grace Kelly, sporting a striking fur chapeau.

Like the De Dion-Bouton, many of the trophy pieces within the collection are so rare, that driving them is usually out of the question, and looking at them as a commoner is nothing short of a gift. Take, for example, the Bugatti Type 35, which won the inaugural Monaco Grand Prix in 1929. Since winning the race, the car has only been driven a handful times. The same model without such an illustrious provenance usually sells for at least €2 million, and it’s just one of the many, many Monaco Grand Prix specimens on display — but this one truly takes the cake.

There are plenty of novelty automobiles too. There is the art car by Jean-Pierre Rives, a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud speckled in Mondrian-style technicolor frames; a devil-may-care paint job for such a car. There is the otherworldly Lexus LS Landaulet hybrid, built for the 2011 royal wedding of Prince Albert II and Charlene Wittstock, custom fit by Carat Duchatelet with a bulbous glass sunroof for maximum visibility of the newlyweds. There is also the Renault Floride in ‘Borneo Green’, which was gifted to Princess Grace in 1959. The same model in white was given to Brigitte Bardot, and a third was later revealed to have been offered to Elizabeth II, though she declined and asked that it be donated to a British charity instead.

Yet it’s the black 1956 Chrysler Imperial limousine, complete with winged taillights, that usually garners the most attention on the average day, as it is one of a handful of custom-built American cars that had been shuttled overseas for use by the royal family. When it came to the Chrysler, Rainier III made a trip specifically to New York to take delivery of the car, and it just so happened to be in the ‘Mechanic Atelier’ during my visit. Yes, within the bounds of the shimmering museum showroom is an equally striking garage built in true Monegasque splendor. It’s not without the usual fumes of petrol and paint, but it's quite sleek and overseen by a staff of full-time (and quite dashing) mechanics whose sole mission is to keep every car in working order, should the royal family have the urge to take one for a spin. This includes my personal favorite in the garage, the 1971 Lotus Seven IV, a lowriding two-seater that would feel right at home on the set of Miami Vice. It was an ideal set of wheels for a young Prince Albert, and it is displayed alongside an archival image of him sporting tinted shades and a blazer embroidered with the palace crest.

Markedly more analogue, and therefore not requiring any intervention from the mechanics, is a horse drawn carriage that is surrounded by some exceptional royal lore. It was, per museum placards, a ‘surreptitious presentation’ to Princess Grace. With the 25-year-old starlet in town for the Cannes Film Festival, she had her first meeting with Rainier III, the man who would later become her husband and allow her to ascend to the role of HSH.

It is said that the carriage was just one part of his effort to impress the silver screen fixture. During a tour of the palace, she was also shown around the family’s private gardens and zoo, which included a few once-injured lions and tigers rehabilitating in luxury and deeply attached to the prince, so much so that he was able to reach his hand into their cages and pet them as he wished. How’s that for a first date?

The collection is situated down the hill from the Hotel de Paris, past the Thermes Marins Spa, the Yacht Club de Monaco, and the holy trinity of Prada, Hermès, and Gucci. Here, in this ‘deeper cut’ of the city, one can find an affordable deli sandwich or a slice of pizza, still with a view of the glittering Mediterranean, as well as the marina where the royal family’s sailing yacht, Tuiga, is often moored. During the Monaco Grand Prix, it’s also the site of one of the most exciting straights in the race. Under the simple banner ‘La Collection’ is the museum, where more than 100 automobiles sit idly by and await our prying eyes.

Collected since the 1950s when Prince Rainier III began setting his sights on building his stable of toys, they come in all shapes, sizes, and colours, and even a few small airplanes. Blue chip Panhards and Ferraris sit merrily alongside humble expressions like Fiats and Citroens, all with incredible tales of acquisition or provenance, but it all sat housed in the depths of the palace. That was until 1993, when the collection first saw the light of day, owing to the fact that it had grown too large for the palace’s private garage and was therefore moved to its current location in the Terrasses de Fontvieille.

It all began with the De Dion-Bouton Type R, purchased by the family in the late-1950s, but dating back to 1903. At first blush, it appears to be more old-time jalopy (complete with an ‘Awooga!’ horn) than a functioning automobile, but it does indeed run. Its wooden wheels are covered in solid rubber tires that must make for a precarious ride, and it fits four passengers not-so-comfortably. Though it mostly acts as a historical showpiece to display the early origins of the automobile, it was driven in the London-to-Brighton rally back in 1968 by Rainier III. He was, of course, accompanied by his wife, Princess Grace, sporting a striking fur chapeau.

Like the De Dion-Bouton, many of the trophy pieces within the collection are so rare, that driving them is usually out of the question, and looking at them as a commoner is nothing short of a gift. Take, for example, the Bugatti Type 35, which won the inaugural Monaco Grand Prix in 1929. Since winning the race, the car has only been driven a handful times. The same model without such an illustrious provenance usually sells for at least €2 million, and it’s just one of the many, many Monaco Grand Prix specimens on display — but this one truly takes the cake.

There are plenty of novelty automobiles too. There is the art car by Jean-Pierre Rives, a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud speckled in Mondrian-style technicolor frames; a devil-may-care paint job for such a car. There is the otherworldly Lexus LS Landaulet hybrid, built for the 2011 royal wedding of Prince Albert II and Charlene Wittstock, custom fit by Carat Duchatelet with a bulbous glass sunroof for maximum visibility of the newlyweds. There is also the Renault Floride in ‘Borneo Green’, which was gifted to Princess Grace in 1959. The same model in white was given to Brigitte Bardot, and a third was later revealed to have been offered to Elizabeth II, though she declined and asked that it be donated to a British charity instead.

Yet it’s the black 1956 Chrysler Imperial limousine, complete with winged taillights, that usually garners the most attention on the average day, as it is one of a handful of custom-built American cars that had been shuttled overseas for use by the royal family. When it came to the Chrysler, Rainier III made a trip specifically to New York to take delivery of the car, and it just so happened to be in the ‘Mechanic Atelier’ during my visit. Yes, within the bounds of the shimmering museum showroom is an equally striking garage built in true Monegasque splendour. It’s not without the usual fumes of petrol and paint, but it's quite sleek and overseen by a staff of full-time (and quite dashing) mechanics whose sole mission is to keep every car in working order, should the royal family have the urge to take one for a spin. This includes my personal favorite in the garage, the 1971 Lotus Seven IV, a lowriding two-seater that would feel right at home on the set of Miami Vice. It was an ideal set of wheels for a young Albert II, and it is displayed alongside an archival image of him sporting tinted shades and a blazer embroidered with the palace crest.

Markedly more analogue, and therefore not requiring any intervention from the mechanics, is a horse drawn carriage that is surrounded by some exceptional royal lore. It was, per museum placards, a ‘surreptitious presentation’ to Princess Grace. With the 25-year-old starlet in town for the Cannes Film Festival, she had her first meeting with Rainier III, the man who would later become her husband and allow her to ascend to the role of HSH, Princess Grace Kelly of Monaco. It is said that the carriage was just one part of his effort to impress the silver screen fixture. During a tour of the palace, she was also shown around the family’s private gardens and zoo, which included a few once-injured lions and tigers rehabilitating in luxury and deeply attached to the prince, so much so that he was able to reach his hand into their cages and pet them as he wished. How’s that for a first date?

The Grimaldi Forum Monaco has just opened a major exhibition exploring the Principality's century-long relationship with the automobile — from Grace Kelly's wedding car and the Monte-Carlo Rally to the Monaco Grand Prix and even lunar exploration.

There are worse places in the world to spend a weekend than Rome in April, but when you’re blessed with cloudless blue skies, fuelled by espresso and surrounded by some of the greatest Italian cars ever built, there certainly isn’t anywhere better.

I was in town for the inaugural Anantara Concorso Roma, a glamorous, faintly surreal gathering of extraordinarily rare cars and the equally fascinating people who own them; less a traditional concours and more a rolling celebration of ‘La Dolce Vita delle Automobili’.

To set the scene. Imagine 70 classic Italian cars gathered in one place. That place is the terrace of a neo-Classical villa perched high above Rome. Now add Champagne and the constant low-level sound of engines firing into life somewhere in the background.

The event had gained a certain mystique before it officially began. Originally scheduled for 2025, the concorso was postponed following the death of Pope Francis, with several owners and cars reportedly already mid-flight when the news broke. The delay only seemed to heighten anticipation. By the time Rome finally hosted its first major concours since 1960, the atmosphere was electric, and the cars decidedly were not.

Concours events can occasionally feel polished and, at times, slightly intimidating. Yes, there were billionaires, collectors with museum-worthy garages and people possessing encyclopaedic knowledge of every machine on display. But there was also that unmistakable Italian warmth that somehow makes everyone feel welcome.

The best part of events like this, for me anyway, is always the people. The cars may be the headline act, but the owners are just as memorable.

‘I’m not into cars,’ businessman Anil Thadani told me with a grin. ‘I’m into Ferraris.’ He had come with his 250 GT California Spyder, which he’s owned for nearly 30 years and which he speaks about like an old friend, rather than a multi-million-pound classic.

‘I like to drive my cars,’ he said. ‘I don’t show them as much as I drive them.’

Naturally, his favourite place to drive it was Tuscany — ‘the winding roads with the cypress-lined trees and great places to stop for lunch and a glass of wine’.

That answer, I quickly realised, was a recurring theme. These cars were not static museum pieces, but rather temperamental, beautiful, occasionally troublesome machines. Several owners admitted the cars were difficult to drive. One broke down almost immediately after departing Piazza della Repubblica for the Giro d’Anantara owners’ lunch the previous morning. Another driver confessed he had removed one of his shoes mid-drive because it kept snagging on the pedals.

‘They don’t like traffic,’ one owner laughed. ‘They want open roads.’ It was a sentiment echoed by Deborah Keller, whose 1938 Alfa Romeo 8C 2900B later won the prestigious Peninsula Classics Best of the Best Award. Asked where she would most like to drive it, her answer was immediate: ‘Open roads. It doesn’t like to go slow. It doesn’t like stop-and-go. It wants to be free and run.’ Fair enough. Don’t we all?

Her first car, incidentally, was a ‘scruffy red’ Volkswagen Beetle — which felt reassuringly normal considering she now owns one of the most significant Alfa Romeos on the planet.

There was also a younger generation present. Friends Millie and Victoria were presenting cars from their respective fathers’ collections, and they certainly knew their way around an engine. Victoria had been racing since she was 15 and now regularly drives pre-war cars. Her Ferrari 330 GTC, finished in an unusual Bordeaux shade, could apparently reach 220 km/h, which she admitted ‘was enough’ for her.

Millie, meanwhile, spoke affectionately about her first car — a tiny 1997 Fiat Panda 4x4. ‘It’s actually harder to drive than this one,’ she laughed, gesturing towards the 1955 Ferrari 250 Europa GT beside her, one of only four ever built and beautifully restored after years hidden away following an accident in Greece.

There was also the wonderfully charismatic Texan Billy Hibbs, who arrived with what might have been one of the most extraordinary stories of the weekend: a 1959 Maserati 3500 GT Vignale Spider prototype restored over three painstaking years by teams in Modena — in some cases by the children and grandchildren of the original craftsmen who built it.

Billy spoke about the car with infectious enthusiasm, diving happily into details about twin-cam engines, semaphore flags hidden in the interior and Maserati’s financial troubles in the 1950s that inadvertently led to the creation of the Spyder. ‘I’m not like my friends, I don’t hunt or fish or play golf,’ he grinned. ‘I do cars.’

His first was a 1970 Chevelle 396, bought from a dusty Texas used-car lot when he was 16 years old, and which he immediately began drag racing. He told me had to hide the trophies from his parents.

And then there was the outright star of the show: the 1932 Maserati V4 Sport Zagato, which claimed Best in Show.

The pre-war Maserati is powered by a monstrous experimental 16-cylinder engine, which is essentially two 8-cylinder engines welded together. It once held the world speed record and survived the Second World War disassembled in a Dutch bedroom, its owner hiding the engine from invading forces.

Originally owned by a physician to the Pope and raced at the Rome Grand Prix, the car had returned to the city for the first time in 94 years. ‘It belongs back in Rome,’ its caretaker Joe Colasacco told me. ‘It’s a Roman car.’

And that was perhaps the most magical part about the entire weekend. So many of these cars were returning to Italy — and to Rome specifically — for the first time in decades. Some had not returned since they originally left the country. They weren’t just beautiful cars, but fragments of Italian cultural history returning home, even if only temporarily.

Of course, the concorsa itself was only part of the experience. The hospitality was unapologetically extravagant in the very best Italian way. There were rooftop cocktails at Anantara Palazzo Naiadi Rome Hotel, endless pastries at breakfast, al fresco trattoria-style dinners beneath fairy lights at Casina Valadier and a finale celebration inside the spectacular Palazzo Brancaccio, complete with opera performances and women in gowns playing classical favourites.

At one point, I found myself hurtling past some of Rome’s most famous historical and cultural sites in the sidecar of a classic Vespa driven by a complete stranger — which, given Roman traffic, felt like an extraordinary act of trust. Out there on the internet, I must be hurtling past in the background of hundreds of videos of the Colosseum, the Pantheon and the vine-draped streets of Trastevere.

Anantara Concorso Roma understood that cars — particularly Italian cars — aren’t just about engineering. They are about romance, beauty, memory, absurdity and emotion. And in a city already overflowing with all of those things, they made perfect sense.

Ardenrun Place, in Surrey, did not live a long life, but did, at least enjoy a riotous, Gatsby-esque few years for the time it was around.

In the September 17, 1921, issue, Country Life run an article about the modern mansion's surprising sale. Built by Ernest Newton in 1905 for Hans Henry Konig and featured in the magazine's architectural section in 1911, Ardenrun had failed to sell at auction in 1919.

Konig was a confirmed bachelor who made his considerable fortune as a banker, in London and New York. His pennies paid for Ardenrun — in which he installed electricity, central heating and a telephone — as well as 1,000 acres, a working farm, golf course and stables.

Rather than restrict himself to one architectural style, Konig commissioned an Adam-style breakfast room, a Georgian-style dining room (complete with Wedgwood friezes), and a Louis XVI-style tapestry room, orangery and an elegant billiard room. There were also marble floors, carved Portland stone features, plasterwork ceilings and an unpolished Italian walnut staircase with intricate limewood carvings in the style of Grinling Gibbons.

Konig enjoyed a decade in his new-build palace, but, in 1919, his poor health dictated a move to the South of France. Even in the wake of the First World War, it was presumed that Ardenrun would sell quickly, but two years went by before swashbuckling racing driver Captain Woolf Barnato stepped in to save the day.

Barnarto stood at an imposing six feet — several inches taller than the average British man in the first half of the 21st century, and still tall for a driver — and had inherited his father’s gold and diamond mining fortune. He served in the War, including at Ypres, and, afterwards, dedicated his time to having fun.

The Champagne-swilling, fun-loving man soon instilled the spirit of the jazz age in Ardenrun. In 1923, newly-divorced from his American first wife, Dorothy, he installed a mock-Tudor pub in the basement called the Ardenrun Arms — and developed a reputation for lavish parties. (He once entertained the Australian cricket team, including Don Bradman.)

A talented sportsman, Barnarto kept wicket for Surrey, boxed, played tennis to a 'country house standard' and had a love of racing power boats. However, he reserved his strongest affections for anything on four wheels. Soon after purchasing Ardenrun, Barnato bought his first Bentley. Twelve months later, he purchased a controlling share in the company itself.

The leader of the glamorous Bentley Boys (a group of wealthy British motorists who drove Bentley sports cars to victory in the 1920s), Barnarto achieved three consecutive wins out of three entries in the 24 Hours of Le Mans race — a perfect record which stands to this day. He also staged time trials in the grounds of Ardenrun, including alongside his good friend, Ettore Bugatti.

Barnarto's desire to win wasn’t just confined to sports. On March 28, 1932, The Pittsburgh Press reported that San Franciscan society beauty Jacqueline Quealey was bombarded by radiograms from a desperately in love Barnato. His persistence and charm paid off. She agreed to marry the fast-living, fun-loving sportsman, and upped sticks from California to Surrey.

On the morning of Tuesday, January 17, 1933, a fire was discovered in the nursery at the very top of the house. Despite the efforts of three fire brigades, little could be done to stop is spreading. Furniture and other valuables were carried out by staff and a dressing-gown-clad Barnato and two wings saved, but the main body of the house and fine staircase were reduced to ashes.

Barnato and his new, pregnant wife, San Franciscan society beauty Jacqueline Quealey, moved to a hotel in London (Jacqueline gave birth to a son the following month) and then to Grosvenor Square, where they lived until a new house, named Ridgemead in Englefield Green, Surrey, was built for them by Robert Lutyens.

As for Ardenrun? It were abandoned. Like Gatsby, it couldn’t live forever.

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One or two people have been saying of late in the E-type Jaguar is getting long in the tooth and fails to compare with its more recent rivals. This week it celebrates its 10th birthday by shedding what might have been termed its milk teeth and replacing them with a brand new set that will put it well to the fore in sports cars for a good many more years yet. The Series 3 E-type, to give the latest version its full title, looks much like its forebears, but incorporates many XJ6 components in the longer wheelbase previously the preserve of the two-plus-two coupé.

By far the most important feature of the Series 3 is the engine. This is the first completely new design to emanate from the Coventry factory since the start of the immortal XK series of six-cylinder units more than 20 years ago. The new engine is not a replacement for the XK series, which continues in production for the XJ6 and as an option in the E-type. This long-anticipated new power unit is a V12 aluminium engine of 5,343cc with a power output of 272bhp at 5,850rpm.

The engine started life as a five-litre V12 built with a view to Jaguar resuming racing. Unfortunately for the enthusiast this policy was not pursued, though the resultant product could well be seen in circuit events before long. It has a 60º angle between the banks of cylinders and bore and stroke dimensions of 90mm by 70mm. The block and head are aluminium, a point of some initial concern owing to the likely higher noise level over a cast-iron block. Jaguar engineers were more than pleasantly surprised when the installed engine was as quiet as any iron unit. The obvious advantage is the saving in weight over the ferrous block, this being 116lb, and the removal of a hundredweight of metal from the front end was well worth while.

The very noticeable feature of the V12, compared with all previous Jaguar engines, is the adoption of a single overhead camshaft for each bank of cylinders. The reasons were multiple, for the drive for twin cams would be highly complex and Jaguar were keen to stick to chain drive rather than toothed belts because of the considerable experience they had with them. The other main reason was the adoption of the flat-head combustion chamber, which was developed out of work done with a number of single-cylinder units, and also in experience gained by Mr. Walter Hassan, Director and Chief Engineer — Power Units, Jaguar Cars, the designer of the Coventry Climax racing engine. Cost also played a part in confirming the decision to opt for single cams, as well as a further incidental saving in weight of 22lb per bank of cylinders.

The V12 configuration, with its short piston stroke, allows plenty of scope for high crankshaft speeds and there is obviously considerable potential from the seven-bearing unit. It also lends itself to scaling down should the need arise in future. In the early stages of development, the compression ratio was 10.6 to 1, which worked well on 99 octane petrol. This was subsequently lowered to 10 to 1, and finally 9 to 1, which will cope with 97 octane and is suitable from the exhaust emission viewpoint.

This question of exhaust emission is naturally foremost in motor manufacturers’ minds at present, and particularly in the mind of Jaguar, who have so much of their business in the United States. Efficient fuel atomisation and distribution are important in meeting these requirements and this was one reason for the adoption of the Lucas Opus ignition system. This system, another instance of racing-car design paving the way for improved road cars, is fully transistorised and has no moving parts and, therefore, needs no servicing or adjustment. Consequently, poor timing is eliminated and this constant state of tune is a vital efficient combustion and exhaust. This is the first time that the system has been used in a volume production car.

The V12 has been designed to operate with either conventional carburettors or with fuel injection. Carburettors have been chosen for their better emission control, but work proceeds on fuel injection and the Jaguar engineers say it shows great potential in the long term. Four Zenith 175 CDS carburettors are mounted, two on each side, on a pair of aluminium plenum chambers that open on to manifolds of a length designed to give a ram effect to the mixture and also boost the torque in the middle speed range where it is needed.

While at Jaguar’s factory recently, I was able to have a brief driving session in the Series 3 E-type covering some 60 miles in both manual and automatic versions. The shape is the same as before, but is distinguished by the flared wheel arches, giving a dilated nostril effect. This is necessary to accommodate the wide-rimmed wheels with the Dunlop SP Sport E70 VR15 tyres developed for the XJ6. In addition, the radiator grille has been redesigned and from the back the four exhaust tail pipes, the V12 badge and air extractor on the boot lid give the game away.

The roadster is still offered alongside the lovely two-plus-two coupé, but now shares the same 8ft 9in wheelbase, 9in longer than the old roadster; the overall length is 15ft 4.4in. Another XJ6 feature is the incorporation of anti-dive front suspension geometry for improved roadholding, particularly under braking. The brake system is now of the dual circuit safety variety, with inboard discs at the rear as before, but using ventilated front discs for cooler operation under heavy braking.

Several other modifications and improvements have been made in the Series 3. The engine subframe has been enlarged to take the V12 or the XK as required and also allows the engine to be removed with less difficulty. Another advantage of the new subframe is the improved turning circle, which is now 36ft. The lower bonnet panel has been reshaped to take an 18 gallon petrol tank, which is four gallons more than hitherto. The new grille also allows a greater flow of air into the radiator, which has to cool 36 pints of water. The additional 9in on the roadster wheelbase have been used to increase the door size and also the luggage area behind the two seats; a new and more roomy detachable hardtop is now available. For the V12, a three-silencer exhaust system is installed.

To transmit the power of the V12, manual and automatic boxes are available, the latter being an innovation for the roadster. The automatic is the new Borg-Warner Model 12, replacing the former Model 8. This three-speed unit gives greater manual control as required, with full use of second gear being possible for overtaking. The manual box is the Jaguar 4-speed synchromesh type with a bigger clutch. Final drive is with a Powr-Lok limited slip differential on the V12. Steering is rack and pinion with power assistance similar to that on the XJ6.

Impressions of the car were brief, particularly as there was no opportunity to attend the performance on Warwickshire lanes in the snowy weather of early March. However, I was left with two main sensations: silence and effortless acceleration. The quietness of this engine has been matched by the attention paid to the tuning of the sound of the body and suspension. For five litres of power it is very quiet indeed, which seemed all the more remarkable when the accelerator was depressed and speedometer and rev counter swung smartly across to bring the car up to the legal limit. The performance was matched by the splendid roadholding on the Dunlop radials with their anti-aquaplaning tread pattern, and the Girling brakes, which brought the speed down at a touch. The steering retains enough feel through the new wheel to keep the driver firmly in command of the situation.

Performance with the V12 looks exciting enough for most tastes, with a top speed of 150 mph, and a standing start ¼ mile in 14.5 seconds. Fuel consumption should be in the 13 to 18 mpg bracket according to conditions. Prices of the Series 3 range run from £2,866 (including tax) for the 6-cylinder roadster with manual transmission, to £3,529 for the V12 automatic coupé; higher than before but offering a degree of refinement unattainable at anything like the price anywhere else in the world.

The south of France has a warmth and ease that feels entirely its own — sun on pale stone, cafés spilling into squares and the scent of salt and rosemary drifting in from the Mediterranean.

Marseille captures this perfectly: a lively, weathered port city where fishing boats crowd the harbour, shutters fade gracefully in the heat and life is conducted loudly over coffee, wine and seafood — the perfect place, therefore, to launch the Aston Martin DB12 S super tourer.

Naturally, threading an Aston Martin through the bustle of Marseille would have done little to flatter it, but the sweeping roads beyond the launch venue at Château La Coste provided the ideal setting to experience a machine of this calibre.

The venue was positioned deep in the scenic countryside of southern France — rolling vineyards enveloped its pale stonework and large contemporary art sculptures. Arriving early, I took a walk around the grounds, breathing in the fresh French air and nodding thoughtfully at the sculptures, while quietly pretending I knew what any of them were supposed to resemble.

Positioned between Cypress trees was an all too familiar work of art, a Synapse Orange Aston Martin DB12 S. This was more of a punch yourself moment, rather than that of a pinch; this was the brand’s latest GT brute — and I was eager to get behind the wheel.

In case you’re unfamiliar with Aston’s ‘S’ products, these are essentially honed versions of already polished cars. By spending an extra £14,000 over the standard DB12, you get an extra 19bhp, a dual-element front splitter, a fixed rear spoiler, a redesigned rear diffuser and bonnet louvres, and stacked exhaust tips. While this sounds skin-deep, Aston’s given the DB12 S stiffer anti-roll bars, which work in tandem with its Bilstein DTX adaptive dampers, alongside tweaked toe, castor, and e-diff settings.

The next day, a Liquid Crimson DB12 S Volante with Satin Bronze alloy wheels awaited. It rained the day before, but 21-degree heat awaited my pasty Scottish skin, and what better way to catch rays than in a convertible.

Our 80-mile route began at the villa, then took the motorway towards the meandering D roads around Barres de Font Blanche, then on to picturesque Marseille. There’s something incredibly satisfying about following a convoy of Aston Martins while being behind the wheel of one. Our engine’s symphony added to the orchestra produced by the cars in front and behind, and as time advanced, the ensemble became weaker as the cars in front disappeared into the distance. I was in no hurry and wanted to get to know what each of its satisfyingly clicky switches did before hammering on. Likewise, it’s a girthy machine at 2.1m wide — and I didn’t want to be the guy that hands Aston Martin pieces of its £200,000-plus car in a paper bag because of a disagreement with a stone wall.

As fellow Country Life writer Adam Hay-Nicholls and I drifted through the countryside with the unhurried confidence of two retired Parisian baguette magnates, it was clear how much of a GT spirit the DB12 S has; Aston hasn’t traded ride comfort for spine-dislodgment. Instead, it’s incredibly civilised, as is the twin-turbocharged V8 that sits at the car’s nose.

With the motorway behind us, a winding mountain pass opened up ahead. Engaging Sport Plus mode promptly transformed the car from a cosseting cruiser into something far more alert and urgent — like sitting astride a Bengal tiger on the hunt.

Our car was fitted with the optional titanium exhaust — an absolute must-have. The growling V8 soundtrack — backed by turbocharged whistles — bounced around the hills. Our ears were treated to pops and bangs — like that of the devil’s morning cough — whenever you let off the throttle. Good, God, it’s a magnificent thing.

Similarly, through each bend, you feel connected to the road surface, likely due to its additional steering tweaks. Grip? The DB12 S tracks through corners with metronomic precision. ‘Let’s take the next one even quicker,’ we both agreed. Unlike Bond, the car leaves you more stirred and less shaken.

Trip over, we returned to the château, and for once I found myself with nothing to criticise about the car I’d just driven. How could that be? I remember thinking there must be some scratchy plastics somewhere, or perhaps a stray stitch out of place — but there was nothing of the sort. The Aston Martin DB12 S is a genuinely accomplished super tourer.

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If you’re a spiritual person, you might believe the soul leaves the body after death. If you're not, you would still likely agree that there is something intangible about every one of us; an essence that makes us unique. The same can be said of dogs and cars; none more so than classics. Most attribute the soul of a car to its engine, but what happens when you re-engineer a 1961 Rolls-Royce Phantom V and replace its ‘soul’ with an electric one?

It’s easy to understand why Lunaz would transplant a classic Range Rover engine with an electric motor (or anything else for that matter), but I must admit I did wince at the idea of separating a Phantom from its Spirit of Ecstasy.

Engines are the stone tablets on which Rolls-Royce’s legacy was carved. Its engines were the first to fly non-stop across the Atlantic, they won two World Wars, still hold multiple land speed records and made Concorde possible. So, pitching an engine swap of a Phantom V frankly sounds like hubris, especially when the replacement is an electric motor — but context is everything.

When you think about a Rolls-Royce, and more specifically a Phantom V, it puts you in mind of 1960s Piccadilly: clubland tales, Savile Row suits, luxury hotels, heads of state and quiet opulence. The operative word is quiet. Despite its 6.2-litre V8, the Phantom V was not a loud car, it turned heads without making a noise. Its sheer size was enough to make a lasting impression. It had presence. Today, Gen Z would call that ‘aura’.

Attempting to redefine that image is a bold move, but it’s a responsibility that Lunaz doesn’t take lightly. Each car is the result of more than 5,500 hours of craftsmanship that touches at least 11,000 components. An engine bay-shaped 80kWh battery is nestled under the bonnet and since the Phantom V was hefty in the first place, it has minimal impact on the car’s weight distribution.

Most people, when handed the keys to a seven-figure car, would take the easy road, literally and figuratively. A saunter through Holland Park perhaps, or a meander along The Mall. But if you get past the price tag and historic implications, on paper, this Phantom V by Lunaz is a hill-climb sleeper in the making. So, naturally, I took it to the Chiltern Hills to test its mettle.

There’s no getting away from the fact that it weighs as much as a large white rhino, but at the base of Kop Hill, pressing down on the accelerator, it starts organising all 280bhp and 445Nm of torque in the most expedient fashion.

Usually, the whine of an electric motor draws comparison with milk floats and Stannah stairlifts, but the Swiss-made three-phase radial flux AC motor sounds more like a Harrier jet spooling for take off (which feels historically appropriate given Rolls-Royce’s aviation roots). Think Adam West’s Batmobile, but in the guise of something the Penguin would prowl the streets of Gotham in.

Something that remains period accurate (rightly or wrongly) is the steering rack. Hill climbing at pace was never the operational design domain for the Phantom V, but once it starts knocking on the door of 50mph, the steering gets squirrelly, not too dissimilar to a Venetian motoscafi weaving up the grand canal. As the Phantom V builds speed, any movement in the steering turns into a fight against its own momentum, liable to wash you up against the bank.

Thankfully, Lunaz has maintained the Phantom’s adjustable dampers, which allow you to firm up the ride accordingly and help bring the steering under control. As the incline grows steeper, more pedal pressure pulls it up the hill with an effortless grace that would look supernatural to the unassuming spectator.

At slower speeds, it’s much easier to tame, but don’t expect it to perform complex manoeuvres or make it round tight corners. As we crest the hill and begin our descent, my truck driver instincts kick in and I start looking for a banksman to negotiate the narrow left hand bend.

Much like driving an 18-tonne rigid, the lengthy wheelbase and precious cargo make you think twice about where it can fit. It’s an arm workout every time you try and do a three-point turn (which inevitably turns into a 30-point fiasco), but it’s never embarrassing, because everyone from toddlers to OAPs stare, wave, and grin at the copious chrome trim, sweeping bodylines and unfathomable scale with wonder.

While the exterior styling is untouched from the original James Young coachwork, inside, Lunaz introduces tastefully redesigned dials, electric windows and a privacy partition, as well as a sneakily hidden touchscreen display and a reversing camera.

More than a century ago, Charles Rolls said, “The electric car is perfectly noiseless and clean. There is no smell or vibration, and they should become very useful when fixed charging stations can be arranged. But for now, I do not anticipate that they will be very serviceable — at least for many years to come.”

Seeing the word ‘regen’ above the original chrome twist switches, debossed in period-accurate Gills Sans typeface is the kind of thing that demonstrates Lunaz’s neurotic attention to detail. It feels like sitting in a Phantom from an alternate reality where Rolls realised his electric dreams.

Although the new powertrain has injected some extra potency and delicious smoothness, fundamentally, the Phantom was never created with the driver in mind. The real charm is in the back seats, which are now heated and face an impressive walnut burl wet bar. Three compartments house whisk(e)y decanters (or your poison of choice) and matching glassware.

Unsurprisingly, Lunaz plans to make this a private hire car in London, where it will chauffeur VIPs to and from top hotels in the Big Smoke. With a range of just 160 miles, city life is where the Phantom V will excel, but those who venture out of town will no doubt be enamoured by its guts.

Astonishingly, the electrified Phantom V hasn’t lost its soul. Instead, it’s gained a new personality where the old is augmented by the new. It’s not what it was. But, dare I say, it’s something more.

Ciao ciao. What’s this?

Have you ever had days where the sun just seems to be shining a little brighter? Where the birds are singing a little louder, the children are behaving themselves, your boss is on holiday, all the traffic lights are green, and so on. A day where you are reminded of what it means to be alive, and why that’s a good thing; a day where joy seems packed into every atom of reality. It’s bloody great this, you think, of life, the universe and everything else.

That’s what it’s like to drive an Alfa Romeo Stelvio Quadrifoglio.

Goodness me. Effusive praise indeed

I like this car

Why do you like it so much?

Where to start. It looks absolutely sensational, for one. Starting with the vast clover-spoked wheels, to the rakish front horizontal lines and the sporty rear end, everything about this car just screams veloce. I like how the front end is suitably aggressive, with lots of air scoops and vents. It looks fabulously Italian: stylish and quick.

Inside the seats are astoundingly plush and leathery, and smell like an armchair at a Swiss bank in the 1980s. The driving position is superb, you can start the car by pressing a button on the wheel like a Formula One car, there are plenty of buttons, and I like how the screen is functional (AppleCarPlay and AndroidAuto compatible), but small, so it is in no way distracting. Lots of brushed carbon fibre, mixed with leather and rich felt trim. Nothing too fancy, but on the right side of luxury.

If you had to ask me when car interiors were the best, I would say it was sometime around 2018. That was the sweet spot where digital and analogue combined perfectly and it just so happens that it’s about when the Stelvio was first launched. In true Italian style, the designers at Alfa Romeo realised that nothing could be improved upon without annoying the driver, so have left it be. Gone for a coffee and caprese or something, who knows. Good for them.

What’s the little four-leaf clover all about?

Ah yes, the ‘quadrifoglio’. Unsurprisingly, it has very little do with the Irish, but plenty to do with luck. Ugo Sivocci was a racing driver for Alfa Corse (the factory racing team of Alfa Romeo) in the 1920s, alongside Enzo Ferrari and Antonio Ascari. He was good, but not great, perennially finishing second. He felt like he needed a bit of luck, so ahead of the 1923 Targa Florio race in Palermo, he painted the four-leaf clover on the bonnet of his Alfa Romeo RL, and promptly won the race.

For five months, he would paint the quadrifoglio on his car until it came to the Italian Grand Prix at Monza. And when he went out for practice, cloverless, his Alfa P1 came off the track and that was the end of Sivocci. That was on September 8, 1923, and ever since, all racing and ‘sporty’ Alfa Romeos have worn the clover.

So this is a feisty Alfa Romeo?

As feisty as they come. Up front, the Stelvio is dragged along by a 2.9-litre twin-turbocharged V6 that was developed by Ferrari and which produces 512bhp. That translates to a 0-62mph time of 3.8 seconds and a top speed of 176mph, with an 8-speed automatic gearbox delivering power to all four wheels.

There are plenty of big cars that have comparable stats, such as the Porsche Macan GTS or the Audi SQ5. Traditionally, these are compact SUVs that can move quickly, which is a useful thing to have. However, the Stelvio feels different. It’s a sports car that can carry a lot of luggage and five people. It is truly, unwaveringly, fantastic fun to drive.

The engine, fine-tuned by the good folks at Maranello, spits, snarls and sings, and is tremendously responsive, moving this 1.8ton wedge through the air with a flick of the foot. In ‘Dynamic’ or ‘Race’ mode, the custom Akrapovič exhaust (a must-have extra) provides the most wonderful sound track that makes putting the hammer down feel like a hit of pure adrenaline. You will never get bored of that sound.

In the corners, the vast tyres and torque management system keeps everything remarkable collected, so the idea that you are driving a ‘big car’ soon fades faster than anything that might be in the rear-view mirror. I took this car up for a week around the Yorkshire Dales and every rolling hill, sweeping corner and straight was abused. It is such a rare thing for a car this size to feel as composed as it does in the corners, with not a hint of roll, and a steering system that is so responsive that you can just point at any corner and feel confident the car will get around.

And what if you don’t want to be feisty around the Yorkshire Dales?

Outside of ‘Race’ and ‘Dynamic’ modes, there is also N for ‘Natural’ and A for ‘Advanced Efficiency’ (helpfully spelling DNA on the central selector). These are handy for cruising around cities and motorways, softening the suspension, turning down the responsiveness of the engine and altogether making everything a bit more family friendly.

That’s the beauty of the Stelvio. It has all the attributes of a practical family car, with room for five adults, and a 525-litre boot space. But there’s still plenty of Italian passion here: not just in the way it can drive when you want to get a bit fruity, but also in the car’s seemingly psychic ability to spot a speed camera that even Google Maps doesn’t know exists, which is a very handy feature. The only thing it’s really missing is an ash tray.

I mean, you’re really selling it to me. Surely there must be a few flaws?

Oh yes there’s plenty, but they are all quite charming in an Alfa Romeo way. The rear-parking camera has all the definition of a webcam from the early 2000s; you’ll do well to crack 20mpg out of it; it has a nasty Ackermann effect when the car is cold; the interior is not as well kitted out as some European rivals; the indicators are hidden behind the massive gear paddles; and sometimes the automatic boot got a little confused when opening or closing.

So not perfect then

No. If you want perfection, go buy something German. You’ll have perfection, but perfection misses a key ingredient which the Stelvio has in spades, and that is passion. It is an intense, joyful riot of a car, that will have you smiling from the moment you turn it on to when you turn it off. You will find excuses, any excuses, to drive it. It has been weeks since I have had to give it back, and I still think about it daily.

Sometimes fate finds you. I wasn’t even supposed to be testing this car, but an issue with another loan meant that the incredibly kind and generous Jess managed to arrange this last minute (on the day before she went on holiday, no less). I will never be able to thank her enough, because it might just be the best thing I’ve ever driven.

Alfa Romeo almost gave up on this car (and its sister, the Giulia) in 2025, but extended production into 2027. Electrification is coming, even if not as quickly as before, but if you want one last hurrah, one last moment with a petrol engine before the roads fall quiet, then you could do a lot worse than choosing the Stelvio Quadrifoglio. One last night of passion with the flamboyant ex-partner before settling down with Mr or Mrs Sensible.

So you like this car? You think it is a good car? You would not laugh if your friend bought this car?

It is exceptional. It is everything you could ever want. If a friend of mine bought this car, I would worship the ground that they walk on. What it means to be human, to exude joy and passion while being a thing of flaws, is brought to life in the Stelvio. There can be no higher praise.

The old joke went something like this: If Colin Chapman could see that Lotus cars were electric, he would spin in his grave so fast that you could use him to charge them. This would get many knee slaps from the type of people you wouldn’t want to date your sister; bearded fellows in country pubs who have opinions on slip differentials and straight-cut gears, whose idea of fashion is boot-cut jeans and brown shoes. You get the idea.

While the world must move on from internal combustion, I did sympathise. Lotus was about being fast, being light, and breaking down. The new Lotus is very much about being fast, but they are heavy and reliable. When we were told that the Emira was to be the last petrol-powered Lotus, it did feel like something was going to be lost permanently.

But there is news, and it is good for the bearded crowd. Lotus has changed its mind. There will be more petrol. Throw those pints of brown stout in the air.

On Tuesday, our friends in Norfolk announced Focus 2030 and, more importantly, that they are making a new car powered by a hybrid-V8 engine. Could the Esprit be back? Perhaps, but for now, it is known as the Type 135. It will arrive in 2028, and while we do not know what it will look like, we know that it will be powered by a V8 hybrid (dubbed the X-Hybrid) and produce more than 980bhp, which is many.

There is lots of great news in Lotus’s announcement. As well as the Type 135, the company announced that it will keep producing the fabulous Emira, with an update promised very soon, and that the arrival in the UK of the X-Hybrid powered Eletre is imminent.

‘Lotus was born from the rebellious spirit of Colin Chapman, and that is not lost today,’ said Qingfeng Feng, Lotus Group CEO. ‘Focus 2030 will reset both the brand and the business to keep us true to our DNA. We are obsessed with engineering, obsessed with performance and obsessed with building drivers’ cars, and that is what will grow this business.’ Quite right too. Somewhere, Colin is revving slightly slower. You can read the full announcement here.

Man drives from Norway to South Africa faster than ever before

Fine-art photographer and adventurer John Balsdon has set a new record for the legendary Cape to Cape Challenge, driving 20,000km (12,400 miles) in an Ineos Grenadier in a time of 28 days and 13 hours. The new record is five hours quicker than the old record, which stood for 42 years.

Balsdon achieved the feat with a support team of five, taking two Grenadiers in convoy from Nordkapp in Norway all the way down to Cape Agulhas in South Africa. They crossed 25 borders across two continents, with temperatures ranging from -28ºC to 48ºC. They also set additional records by towing a trailer, as well as driving the route with two cars simultaneously.

‘Our Grenadiers took us from the coldest place in Europe to the hardest and hottest places in Africa,’ said Balsdon. ‘They were heavily laden, with one of them towing an expedition trailer for nearly 24,000km. It was tough on us, but much tougher on the cars — but they performed and were reliable no matter the environment or our demands. Being with them across this journey showed us the character of these cars and they endeared themselves to all six of us!’

Trousers to be tested to limits as Morgan puts 400bhp in new Supersport

Breaking the fourth wall here for a moment, but sometimes myself and other car journalists that I like go for a beer and talk about cars. A miracle we’re all in relationships, but I digress. It’s rare for all of us to meet up and agree about a single thing, but the Morgan Supersport was one of those moments. Universal acclaim and praise poured forth faster than pints could be refilled; the Supersport was and is a triumph, and there could be no debate about it.

This was news to me as I had not driven the Supersport (Morgan, if you’re reading this, email me) and the one time I had driven a Morgan before, I got so frightened that I had vowed never to drive one again. But cars (and people) can change.

Anyway, the Supersport is now even more super and more sporty. The company announced at the end of last month that they have made the most powerful production Morgan yet, the Supersport 400. Powered by a BMW six-cylinder turbocharged engine, and paired with an eight-speed automatic box, the car also features the Dynamic Handling Pack as standard, delivering ‘enhanced composure, precision and control’. That will be necessary in a car that weighs 1,170kg. Fruity stuff.

‘From the outset, our aim has been to create a vehicle that is sharper and more deliberate, ensuring the additional power is delivered in a way that feels balanced, intuitive and deeply rewarding for the driver. At the same time, a subtle design evolution gives Supersport 400 a more distinct and purposeful character,’ says Matthew Hole, managing director at Morgan Motor Company.

‘We are immensely proud of Supersport 400. It stands at the pinnacle of our range and reflects the progress we are making as a business. It demonstrates how we can evolve our platform to increase capability in a way that remains distinctly Morgan — defined by handcrafted construction, human engagement in the driving experience and a commitment to delivering pure driving joy.’

If you picture a farmer, you might imagine muddy boots, early mornings, and the steady rumble of a tractor crawling across a field. You probably don’t picture 198 mph, a screaming engine, and a man in a fireproof suit. And yet, Cornwall-based Alex Quinn seems perfectly at home in both worlds.

By weekday, he’s tearing up the track as a race car driver, chasing milliseconds and podium finishes. By weekend — or whenever the tyres cool — he’s back on the land, trading pit stops for pasture checks and horsepower of a very different kind. It’s an unlikely double life, but one Alex wears as comfortably as his overalls.

In a world that often feels split between the fast and the traditional, Quinn somehow manages to live in both lanes at once, proving that you can take the farmer off the field, but you can’t quite take the field out of the farmer — even at full throttle.

What was day-to-day life like growing up on the farm?

I was born and raised on the farm. At a young age, I was always out with my dad, and once I was old enough, I was on quad bikes and such. I really enjoyed that — and it was a way of life from a very young age. I remember racing home from school to get out and spend time either assisting or playing on the farm. When school finished, I worked full-time on the farm.

When I was 12-ish, I was trusted to drive the tractor for the first time on a quiet stretch of farmland. I remember how huge it looked back then.

Are there lessons from farm work — patience, mechanical know-how, long hours — that translate directly into racing?

Yes, 100%. It’s the hard work rather than the physical side; farming can mean long hours, and most of the time it’s in challenging conditions. I think that prepares you well because in endurance racing, you spend a lot of time in the cars and survive on very little sleep, all while having to stay concentrated.

Motorsport runs in your family — what are your earliest memories of racing?

My dad did rally driving, not professionally, but he said he was quite good. I remember we were in a motorhome when I was younger; he was racing around a caravan park in his rally car.

My dad was also my mechanic throughout my go-karting career. I’m really close to him. Not only do we work together on the farm still, but he got me into racing — and now he follows me and supports me up until this day.

I started karting at eight years old. On my first day in a go-kart, I put on a helmet — and it got stuck on my head. I remember how much it scared me; I’m glad that didn’t stop me from racing, though.

Was it inevitable that you would end up racing, or did you ever consider a different path?

It’s a funny one. I never remember having one day where I thought, 'I’m going to go racing now.' It happened naturally. I guess I just enjoyed it — and it went well. I can’t imagine doing anything else, other than farming, but I balance the two well.

What was it like balancing school, farm life, and racing as a child?

There was a lot of travelling and work involved. For example, I’d finish school, then we’d be off to a go-kart track somewhere in the UK doing the British Championship — and that meant they were away from the farm, too.

It was challenging, but I’m so thankful to them. I think it’s worked out for the best now, however.

Do you remember your first competitive race?

My first competitive race was in 2009, at a go-kart track near Exeter. I was a novice, meaning I was at the back of the grid. Sure, I was a bit scared, naturally, but I didn’t let it get the better of me. I enjoyed it a lot.

Motorsport can be expensive — how did your family make it work in the early days?

Today, you’ll often pay to progress within a team. But we've done a lot ourselves.

It’s very difficult to make it in professional racing, but everything just fit into place with me year after year — and I often wonder how it happened that way. I don’t have a manager, as my parents and I manage everything.

What were the toughest moments in your early career?

I had a foundation to help me get into Formula 4; however, that foundation stopped supporting drivers. This meant we couldn't afford to continue. The odd team let me race here and there, which gave me a chance to prove myself.

One of these teams was in America, and they wanted me to move there, but I couldn't leave my family or the farm behind. I had to sit out for two years of racing as a result. That was hard, but opportunities came.

Was there a race or season where you realised you could really make it professionally?

I started my endurance career in 2023 in IMSA, America. You start as a silver-graded driver; this is your chance to prove yourself. I was in my first year in America, and we won the championship. In 2024, as a gold driver, I was runner-up in the European championship. That was the turning point in my career.

What does a typical race weekend look like for you?

My week would start at the farm, then I’d fly out to wherever the race is. We’d get to the track and have lots of meetings to prep for the race. Then there’s practicing, qualifying, and the race.

When the race finishes, we pack up quickly. Then I’m flying home and driving back to Cornwall. Monday morning, I’m back on the farm!

How do you switch from racing driver to farmer?

It happens naturally now, because I’m so used to it. I drove the tractor after coming back from testing with Peugeot recently — and it feels so slow! That’s the moment I realised it’s a completely different world.

What do people in the farming community make of your racing career?

All of my friends are farmers. My best friend always tells people that he wouldn't even have known I was a racing driver when I'm at home. But I like that. I don't like to be in the spotlight when I'm at home. I want to be a normal person.

People hear about what I do and ask me questions. I answer them, of course, but I change the subject quickly.

What advice would you give to young people from rural backgrounds who dream of motorsport?

Motorsport is very difficult to get into. If it’s meant to be, however — and you’re good enough — and it’s what you want to do, then why stop trying? Keep going, but enjoy the moment you’re in and take each year as it comes.

What do we have here?

I am surprised you are even asking me that. Surely you have seen a Jaecoo before? All I see is Jaecoos, around every corner, in every driveway, parked on every street. When I wake up in the morning, I see a Jaecoo, and the last thing I see before the lights go out is a Jaecoo. Swirling in the aether of my thoughts as I dream, it is nothing but Jaecoo.

You will have seen them. In March this year, the Jaecoo 7 was the most popular new car in the UK. You might know them as the Temu Range Rover. This particular car is the Jaecoo 5, powered by a petrol engine. It is like the 7, but a bit smaller.

Now that I think about it, you’re right, I do see these everywhere….

Yes, considering that the brand only launched in the UK in January 2025, they have done a remarkable job in putting cars just about anywhere you would expect to see a car.

Why is that, do you think?

Simply put, because they are well priced and they look nice. I have written at length about how the Chery brand of Chinese cars (Omoda, Chery, Jaecoo) has simplified the car-buying process to great success. The formula is this: take a car, put everything a buyer would like in it as standard, let them choose the colour, and that’s it. Turns out, affordable and functional luxury is a winning proposition. Who knew.

Ok. So what is the Jaecoo 5 like then?

It’s an interesting proposition. It looks like the 7, which looks like a Range Rover, but is a little bit smaller. It comes with five seats, a decent-sized boot, and is currently sold with either a petrol engine or as a full EV.

Inside, there is heaps of space, even for a gigantic journalist such as myself. The driving position is nice and high, and I was a big fan of the two space phone holder, and the flying centre console with further storage space below. There is just room to store lots of things all over the place in here, which is useful for both families or those looking to explore and do adventurous things, which I would guess are the two target markets for this car.

There is heaps of tech as standard, most of which is managed via the giant touchscreen that occupies the centre console. Wireless AppleCarPlay and AndroidAuto is easy to connect and works, and you can adjust all sorts of things, such as the glass panoramic roof, the Sony audio system and lighting scheme. It also comes with in-car karaoke, if that’s your thing.

Materials-wise, everything is luxurious and unfussy. Some people might not like it compared to the more whimsical styles of European brands such as Renault, Mini and so on, but everything feels premium-ish, and I like leather seats.

All the safety features you have come to expect are here, and just as importantly, are very easy to turn off, should the bongs of modern life be too overwhelming. I found most of them to be very unobtrusive, which is nice.

That all sounds pretty good.

It is pretty good. As I said, you get a lot for your money with one of these cars. With minimal fuss. A happier world. £24,555 will get you the Pure trim, which comes with most of everything, while £28,050 will get you Luxury, which features the glorious panoramic glass roof, wireless phone charging and the Sony audio (which has speakers in the driver’s headrest).

A comfortable place to be then, you would say?

I would and indeed have said that, yes.

What about driving?

As a driving experience, the Jaecoo 5 is somewhat uneventful, but what else did you expect for a £25,000 car. The petrol version is carried along by a 1.6-litre petrol engine that produces 145bhp. This translates into a 0-60mph time of 10.2 seconds and a 113mph top speed. It is not particularly fast and it does not accelerate particularly well, especially when in Eco mode. But also, it’s not a sports car, in case that wasn’t clear.

The steering can be a bit ponderous, and the ride can be a little bright for what is supposed to be a compact SUV. It might look like a luxury European SUV, but it doesn’t ride like one, which is fine, because it’s a lot cheaper than most of them. It is a perfectly reasonable car to travel long distances in, and with an economy of 35mpg, it will go a long way on a single tank. And as previously mentioned, inside, there is plenty to keep you entertained on a long journey.

Is it a fun car to drive? Not particularly, but it will get you to where you need to go.

On the road: Jaecoo 5 ICE

Price: From £24,555

Power: 145bhp

Top speed: 113mph

0-62mph: 10.2 seconds

Economy: 35mpg as tested

Are there other versions?

Yes there are other versions. There is an EV model, as discussed. This has slightly more power at 208bhp, and a range of 248 miles (£27,505 Pure, £30,505 Luxury). There is also soon to be a hybrid version, which will use the Chery brand’s Super-Hybrid System (SHS). I have driven lots of cars powered by the SHS and I think it is one of the most enjoyable and economical engines out there at the price point, so my recommendation would be to get that one when it arrives (from £26,270).

This all seems very reasonable

It’s all very reasonable.

Is there anything you didn’t like?

Nothing that would be an absolute dealbreaker. The automatic gearbox can be a little slow to change down gears, which can make driving around the B-roads a bit louder than it needs to be at times, and I think the engine is a dash underpowered.

But then you must ask yourself what you are buying this car for? As a daily driver, it is everything you could want. It feels durable, has plenty of space and fun features, and won’t cost you a fortune to buy or run. Not everything needs to be a Porsche.

Life would be a lot more fun if everything was a Porsche.

If everything was a Porsche, then nothing would be a Porsche.

That’s a fair point. So you like this car? You would say it’s a good car? You would not laugh or cry if your friends were about to buy one?

I would say it is a good car. It is very well priced for what comes as standard, it looks and feels luxurious, and it will get you round comfortably if not especially quickly. For most people, that will be enough. It wouldn’t look out of place in front of a beautiful country house, which I think is perhaps its best feature. You might not like the fact that you will see lots of them on the road, but you might also not care at all.

If you were to ask me for proper advice, I would probably steer you towards either the EV or the SHS version, and definitely encourage you to shell out for the Luxury trim over the Pure. But with a car like this, you can’t really go too wrong whichever way you want to play it.

What have we here?

This is the new all-electric Renault Twingo. Cute, isn’t it? I reckon this is the coolest car of 2026, and here’s why: It’s a chic, cheerful and thoroughly modern small hatchback (what they call ‘A-segment’ in the biz), which takes design inspiration from the original Twingo that came out in 1992, but which doesn’t look retro in any way. Perhaps it’s fitting that we drove it on the island of Ibiza, because this fourth-generation car is like a Club Mix; it samples the frog-faced forerunner, ramps up the BPM via its digital juice (to the tune of 82bhp, via its 27.5 kWh battery), adds some EQ (as in, emotion) and mid-range (officially it’ll do 163 miles between charges), and looks like it wants to wave glow sticks and party till sunrise. Also, it’s surprisingly spacious on the inside (up to 360 litres of boot space), and it’s as cheap as chips. Or patatas bravas.

How much is ‘cheap as chips?’

Renault haven’t revealed UK prices yet, but they promise it’ll start at under £20,000 before government grants. In Europe it’ll be €19,490. Renault isn’t sure yet it if it’ll get the full £3,750 grant. The car’s built in Slovenia where the electricity grid is quite carbon-intensive, and Ed Miliband takes these things into account.

Are seats and a steering wheel optional extras?

No, they’re included. The cheapest trim level is called Evolution, which comes with a 10in multimedia screen and 24 driver assistance systems, including cruise control, lane-keeping, cross-traffic and blind-spot assistance and automatic emergency braking system. The price will rise roughly £1,500 for the Techno spec, which comes with Renault’s more advanced OpenR Link multimedia system, adaptive cruise control, one-pedal driving and a digital rear view mirror. Eighteen-inch wheels are an option, while 16in are standard.

You’re right, it’s very cute. How deep does the design inspiration go?

It looks every bit as friendly as the mk1 Twingo. It has the same smiling frontal inlet and frog-eye headlights, now with semi-circular white LED strips rather than old-school lamps, and the horizontal indicator lights are still underneath. The bonnet and windscreen share almost the same angle up to the roof. Proportionally, it’s evocative of what’s gone before, even though the wheels have been pushed out to the edges more – which makes it look very purposeful and fun. The new car is wider and taller too, with four doors rather than two, but it retains the same compact proportions as its ancestor. It’s a very sophisticated reinterpretation.

What’s it like inside?

It’s comfortable, airy and jolly without being childish. There’s a good balance of physical switches alongside the touch screen, and it’s a system that’s much easier to use than some (I’m talking to you, Chinese car makers). Press a button beside the steering wheel twice to deactivate all the annoying so-called driver aids. Oblong motifs found on the exterior can be found inside too, including the shape of the air vents and the storage trays. There are body-coloured accents that bring some of the personality of the outside in. De-bossed Twingo logos and graphics adorn the car’s ceiling, so there’s no doubt you’re driving a Twingo and not, say, a Fiat 500. In the back there are slidable rear seats which move 17cm back and forth to create more boot room, and a six-footer will be comfortable.

How does it drive?

It’ll win every award going for design. It probably won’t for performance. Zero to 62mph takes 12.1 seconds, so you can forget about overtaking anything. Top speed is limited to 81mph so as not to drain the battery in an instant. However, it handles well and has refined ride. It only weights 1,200kg, with the battery contributing just 212kg, so it’s enjoyably chuckable. Regeneration paddles help to keep braking efficient. Overall, it feels more expensive than it is.

On the road: Renault Twingo E-Tech

Price: TBA (under £20,000)

Top Speed: 81mph (limited)

0-62mph: 12.1 seconds

Power: 82bhp

Range: 163 miles

Any downsides?

Only the 163 mile-range, which in the real world is going to be sub-130. That means a drive from London to Glasgow will require at least four half-hour stops — or longer, as its charging peaks at only 50kW. Having just four seats rather than five will mean it won’t work for bigger families. You may wish to consider the Citroën ë-C3 instead, which accommodates five and has a WLTP range of 200 miles. It costs £21,990 before any grants or discounts. But it’s not cool.

What colours are available?

You’ve got Absolute Red and Mango Yellow, which sounds like they might be the constituent parts of a sex-on-the-beach cocktail, and Absolute Green if you’d like the Twingo to live up to its nickname: La Grenouille. These all look fantastic in the sun. I’m not sure if it’s a coincidence red, yellow and green are also Rastafari colours. Subliminal advertising for exotic cigarettes? The Twingo will also be available in black, white and grey, presumably for miserable Parisians.

Didn’t they used to paint Twingos in raspberry sorbet?

Wasn’t that just sun-bleaching? That’s very much a feature of the first-gen car, if you can find one. And I think the colour you’re referring to is Rouge Corail – coral red. There aren’t many mk1 Twingos in the UK because it was never sold in right-hand-drive. We had to wait for the second-gen in 2007 to receive LHD Twingos on our shores, and the mk2 and mk3 were not design masterpieces.

However, anyone who’s spent time in France, or indeed Spain, Italy and Greece, will recognise the mk1 Twingo as the holiday rental by which all others are judged. Once the Absolute Red paint turns to the aforementioned raspberry, the Mango Yellow takes on the hue of a banana split, and holiday makers who’ve had an extra carafe of rosé at lunch add scuffs to the bumpers and new angles to the bodywork, it’ll have all the authenticity of the original.

When can we get our hands on one?

That is the downside. While Renault dealers will take your deposit now, you’ll have to wait until early 2027 before Twingos arrive at British ports. Think of it as a four-wheeled baby. They take nine months to come out too.

So you like this car? You would say it’s a good car? You would not laugh or cry if your friends were about to buy one?

I like it very much. The design is brilliant, it drives well, it has more tech than a £20k car rightfully should, and is that very rare thing among EVs; it has character. It is joyful. I would be tempted to pay six grand more and get the 150bhp longer-range Renault 5, for which the stylists in Guyancourt had another root around in their archives and pulled an 80s-inspired blinder.

But for a holiday in Brittany, Bergerac or the Balearics, the Twingo would be my first choice. If a friend buys one I will seek to borrow it, along with their gîte.

'THAT’S CARMA!’, screeched The Sun when Heidi Alexander’s Mini Cooper was damaged in a pot-hole encounter on the B4437 in Oxfordshire. The Transport Secretary saw the funny side and likened the size of the hole to a moon crater spotted by the crew of Artemis II.

Potholes now scar at least half of Britain’s 247,200 miles of roads, giving many highways the appearance of a colander, and they certainly provide journalists and social-media users with an unending supply of entertaining material. In fact, holes in the road seem to tap into Brits’ knack of making the best of a bad situation and the internet is awash with images of potholes doubling as flowerbeds, rubber-duck ponds and artworks. On Facebook you'll find a picture of a red road sign in Wiltshire that proclaims in white lettering: ‘ROAD IN POTHOLE.’

In the same town, another red sign on the A346 to Salisbury, situated close to an exceptionally pitted piece of tarmac, reads ROAD AHEAD F****D. Sometimes, only an expletive will do. After all, myriad drivers up and down the UK mutter one when their car tyre thuds into a hole as Alexander’s did, for, of course, this problem stretches way beyond the confines of Wiltshire and Oxfordshire and runs from the Wirral to the Wash and from Thurso to Truro, not forgetting Belfast to Balleek across the water.

No one knows the UK’s true pothole tally, although the RAC estimates that there are about six potholes per mile on England and Wales’s council-controlled roads. The organisation conducted a survey in 2023, sending a Freedom of Information (FOI) request to England’s 185 county and district councils. It received only 81 responses. From that it gleaned that the 556,658 potholes reported in 2021/22 should be doubled or tripled to find the true number (therefore, between 1.11 million and 1.67 million), not least because Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland hadn’t been included in the research.

Forget 2021/22, however. This winter and spring has felt like no other in terms of the frequency of rubber and metal striking the jagged edges of cavernous holes, especially when they are obscured by water. More RAC statistics confirm this, with 6,290 members citing potholes as the catalyst for their break-downs logged on the myRAC app during February. The number during February 2025 was 1,842 — a 241% hike.

Last year, councils filled in 1.9 million potholes, but the recent Asphalt Industry Alliance (AIA)’s Annual Local Authority Road Maintenance (ALARM) survey highlights the scale of the problem, with the backlog of repairs in England and Wales set to cost £18.62 billion. ‘The answer is to get to the point where local authorities have the right level of funding over the long term to allow them to proactively plan and deliver the necessary resurfacing and proactive programmes that will stop the potholes forming in the first place,’ the AIA’s David Giles says.

An increase in potholes also goes hand in hand with a rise in accidents, as Nicholas Lyes of the road safety charity IAM RoadSmart points out. ‘Crumbling road surfaces are more than just a nuisance, they are a road-safety hazard,’ he states. ‘In 2023, there was a 12% year-on-year increase in the number of casualties where defective road surfaces were identified as a contributory factor. Moreover, our research shows that drivers are taking risks to avoid hitting potholes, including swerving and sudden braking. For cyclists, hitting a pothole can result in serious injury or worse if they come off their bikes.

The fact that only a trifling number of our roads have seen any maintenance will come as no surprise to many, so it’s imperative that additional investment from Government is put to good use to ensure smoother and safer journeys.

Fixing Britain's roads

Country Life conducted its own research, contacting the majority of councils in England, Wales and Scotland, often using FOI requests. The results show workforces engaged in constant battles to stop their roads resembling Swiss cheese, even if motorists may not see it that way.

Surrey County Council, for example, allocated £300 million between 2023 and 2028 for repairs. It now employs tools such as AI cameras to assist in the detection of defects and repair crews have been upscaled by 100%. They are ‘out on our 3,000 miles of roads working day and night to fix, on average, 400 potholes every day,’ a spokesperson states. Lancashire County Council delivers akin to a football pitch (about 54,000sq ft) of repairs each week. ‘People will start to see the difference as the weather improves,’ says a spokesperson. ‘Through our new maintenance contract, repairs are now about three times larger than before and backed by a 12month warranty… helping to prevent potholes returning.’

Ceredigion Council in West Wales states that it has managed to ‘control and even reduce’ its pothole numbers over the past year, ‘not with new technology, but by being able to increase the use of old technology in the form of surface treatments (surface dressing and resurfacing). Using a combination of Local Government Borrowing Initiative (LGBI) and county funding to invest in these treatments across 117km of our highway network, we have managed, since April 2025, to repair at least 4,688 potholes and prevent 35,161 from developing’.

In the Scottish Borders, the council admits to a £123.2 million backlog of road maintenance in general and having paid out £16,598 to drivers for pothole-related compensation claims during 2024/25 and £5,244 so far for the 2025/26 period; it states that one of the reasons for pothole prevalence is increased traffic volumes; and that various options being explored to improve the situation include ‘innovative types of repairs and materials. However, all come at a cost, which current budgets struggle to support’

Compelling the council to act

Motorist Kate Sissons was singularly unimpressed with her local county council — Oxfordshire — when it refused to cover the £4,500 cost of her classic Overfinch Range Rover’s broken suspension, as well as damaged tyres and rims, incurred along the heavily rutted Bridewell Lane, known as the Lane of Doom. She set up a Facebook group, ‘Is this Britain’s biggest pothole? Bridewell Lane, OX29 6QN’, which garnered thousands of followers and aimed to force the council both to pay for damaged vehicles and repair the road.

‘My neighbour nearly died when an ambulance got stuck on a ridge and had to reverse more than half a mile and go around another way to get to her,’ states Kate, who cites 20 years of neglect for such issues. ‘The lane was so bad, the local landowner built his own road for his tractors.’ Eventually, Kate lodged a Section 56 notice to try to force the council to repair Bridewell Lane — and won. ‘A council has 30 days to respond and mine started work on the lane on day 30. It was extremely effective and pushed them to start doing something. The great joy of it is that it is a piece of legislation for the people. It is easy to do and I urge everyone to do it.’

Meanwhile, with the council using a Section 58 defence against claims for damages, Kate told them that, due to the state of the roads, this defence is no longer valid. ‘It’s why I’ve now been mostly paid for my car problems,’ she says. ‘[The council] is still refusing to settle one claim, but I’ve threatened to sue and they’re now re-examining it. I would urge anyone in a similar situation to never give up. Why should any tax-paying road user be paying for punctures and damage caused by a council’s neglect?’

Motorcyclists are twice as likely as car occupants or cyclists to be killed or seriously injured on roads with surface defects, according to the Motorcycle Action Group (MAG), whose director of campaigns and political engagement, Colin Brown, the man behind in the Resurface Our Roads campaign, states: ‘Riders aren’t complaining about worn-out roads because of the damage to their tyres — it’s the very real risk of serious injury or death. The Government needs to front load investment in local-authority road repairs to reduce motorcycle KSI [killed or seriously injured] casualties.’

In February, Cycling Weekly’s news editor Adam Becket cycled straight into a cavernous pothole in rural Wiltshire. ‘It broke my front wheel,’ he says. ‘Somehow, I stayed upright, but that was more down to luck than judgement. If I had come off, a broken collarbone, wrist or concussion were all plausible outcomes. This is in my mind now every time I go out and it has added hesitancy to my usually confident riding life.’

Cycling Weekly’s inbox is constantly filled with stories of readers’ pothole encounters. ‘When I wrote about my experiences, I had people emailing to tell me of their woes, from mechanicals to serious injuries,’ adds Adam. ‘A cyclist has a helmet for protection at most, so when you are thrown from your bike, things are likely to get quite nasty. A flat tyre on a car might be a costly problem, but it’s unlikely to be a life-changing incident.’

This article first appeared in the April 29, 2026, issue of Country Life. For more information on how to subscribe, click here.

When it comes to driving, there are few true rites of passage left. No more meandering home from the pub with one too many of your friends bundled into a hatchback, no more ripping donuts under the glow of yellow street lamps and definitely no more Fast and Furious-style drag racing. But the 'health and safety' mob can’t deny us a great British road trip, and surely no trip is greater than Land’s End to John o’ Groats.

Long before the first car ever put rubber to road, Brits have been trundling to and from the ends of the UK in every which way you can imagine. Only A and B are determined; at its shortest, the journey spans roughly 800 miles, so your chosen mode of transport is as much about endurance as anything else. Do you go for something classic? Something sporty? Or something comfortable? Why not a bit of everything?

My weapon(s) of choice for my first 'LeJog' were all four generations of the Mazda MX-5. If we were living in 1976, I’d pick an MGB GT V8 in a heartbeat and just accept that breaking down along the way was inevitable. But it's 2026 and I want to make it out of Cornwall without calling The AA, so its spiritual successor is the next best thing.

In true rat race style, our journey began before we even left the hotel. Fog worthy of a Japanese onsen obscured the landscape from my room and a 1990 Mk1 MX-5’s yellow headlights winked at me through the mist. Between me and my Scottish co-pilot Jim, who’s dangerously close to his bus pass, it was up to me to dash outside and claim the crystal white Mk1, so we could work our way through the models sequentially.

Just a decade prior to the MX-5’s launch, the MGB was the best selling sports car in Britain. While a two-seater roadster from a Japanese manufacturer might seem worlds away from this formula, the two have more in common than you might think.

As Mazda’s product planner in the 1980s, Bob Hall had a thing for British sports cars. During the Second World War, Hall’s Dad was stationed over here and, after the war, returned home to the USA with an Alta 2-Litre as a souvenir. He owned a string of 1960s and ‘70s British icons, which inspired Bob to add some Japanese reliability to the classic sports car impracticality he’d grown up with. And so, the MX-5 was born.

We decided to lean into the 'impracticality' from the off, as out of the haze came a not so bright idea: 'Let’s all make a pact to keep the roofs down and stay topless (behave), no matter what, until we reach the finish line.' Before I could answer, my co-pilot’s brogue voice gave an affirmative 'Aye' and we were off in search of sunnier horizons.

Around the first bend, the Mk1’s excitement was palpable, as it almost landed us in a ditch; its fidgety steering responds half a second quicker than you’d expect, darting into position before your brain catches up. Once you master it though, it’s immensely gratifying, but still slightly terrifying in the wet.

While 114hp in a sub 1-tonne car feels ideal on back roads, where all the fun is happening under 60mph, it lacks that extra oomph needed to make motorway miles tolerable. By noon, we’d conquered our first, fairly uneventful 300 miles to Bicester Heritage, stopping for finger sandwiches and milky tea, catching up with the sun we’d missed in the morning.

The schlep onwards to Sheffield was an excruciating leg at 50mph on the M1 but being the enterprising lot we are, we channeled all our Scalextric experience into overtaking one another an inch at a time. We squawked on walkie talkies about specs and classic car eye spy. I started up a little jock translation service for my Scots companion since the static and accent combined meant no fully formed words came out at the other end. When we eventually fell into the hotel, I realised, thanks to our pact, I'd managed to give myself a colour match sunburn with the Soul Red Mk3 we’d been following.

Day two and we were off to Kendal mint cake country in a stunning 1999 10th anniversary Mk2. The high bite point of the clutch was the first hint that this example had spent more time being on the road and track than as a garage queen.

Unbeknownst to me, Cumbria was where the rally stage started. Everyone disappeared into the trees and the geography killed our comms. As any good rally driver knows, they’re only as good as their navigator and our sat nav had already given up the ghost. Not pointing any fingers, but this was my third road trip with Jim and we’ve managed to get lost every time.

There wasn’t time to fret though, lunch was waiting for us at the Windermere Motor Boat Racing Club and if you know anything about motoring writers, you'll know they don’t wait for anyone when it comes to food. So, we threw ourselves into the labyrinth of the Lake District and prayed we’d come out the other side.

The pocket-sized Dodge Viper settled into this groove where fourth helped you to build speed out of the bends and third would give you ample engine braking to control your speed into the next twist. Every straight was an opportunity to push fourth so hard that you could skip fifth up into sixth and I’m convinced I got air on more than one crest of a hill.

With lakes on one side and mountains on the other, each sweeping bend revealed something new, accompanied only by the aggressive chirp of the 1.8-litre four-cylinder engine. At 140bhp, it was way more gutsy than the Mk1 and far more willing to take abuse. Part of its charm is that it makes you feel like an accomplished driver; throw in some gold wheels and call me Coleena McRae.

At Carlisle we joined a deserted M6 and started practicing our cinematic driving combinations. Singing 2-4-6-8 Motorway we were like the most uncoordinated synchronised swimming team you’d ever seen. As the miles went on I began to develop a deep infatuation with the Mk2, so when Gretna Green came into focus I took it as a sign that we should elope together, with Jim as our witness, living out our days in Scotland.

Sadly, my time with the Mk2 ended before we could exchange vows. We swapped out into a 2014 25th anniversary Mk3 to cross into Scotland where we immediately hit a wall of water. Not in a cutesy April showers kind of way, in a 'get Noah on the phone' kind of way. Initially, I was pretty skeptical about the Mk3’s capabilities. It’s carrying a bit too much weight, takes itself far too seriously and is much more sensible than its predecessors. I also suspect it’s where the hairdresser car allegations started.

Thankfully, my co-pilot had a sneaky plan up his sleeve to show off the Mk3 at its best. Instead of sticking to the main roads, Jim diverted us across the countryside towards Edinburgh. We managed to lead two other MX-5s in our party astray and break away from the support car. Though, in hindsight, the support vehicle was equipped with sensible things that MX-5s don’t have like spare wheels, power tools, tow ropes, extra fuel…

Nevertheless, we felt like teens on a school trip that had managed to sneak away for a cheeky ciggie. And believe me, we took advantage of it. In the shadow of the valley, on beautiful flat winding roads, we honed our racing lines. Channelling our inner Knievals, we made it to the outskirts of Edinburgh out of breath and ruddy faced.

While we’d finally made it to the city, the rain still hadn’t let up, so much so Jim would have to bail us out at every traffic light. Once we got free of the congestion, we realised that 45mph was the perfect sweet spot to create a low-pressure air pocket around the cabin to keep us dry. Any slower and the rain would get in and water would flick off the windscreen wipers and land on our foreheads in big cold globs.

Despite its heft, where the Mk2 felt like it could be unsettled, the Mk3 hunkers down and sticks to the road like sh*t to a shovel. Each time I tried to hold out longer before braking, it taunted me for chickening out. Perhaps the Mk3’s biggest strength is why it feels like it drifts too far away from the original MX-5 ethos, it doesn’t feel breakable and that edge of destruction is what makes the first two generations so alluring.

At dusk we pulled up to Dunkeld House Hotel, a quintessentially Scottish bolt hole on the banks of the River Tay. While I longed to get up early and spend the next day in waders fly fishing for salmon, we tucked into dinner and a local dram before an early night ahead of our final leg.

Although driving chronologically felt like the only way to truly respect the lineage of the MX-5, it also turned out to be unintended genius, as we spent the coldest, most miserable day, battered by North Sea winds, sitting on our toasty Tunnock’s tea cakes thanks to the 2019 30th anniversary Mk4’s heated seats.

Tracing up cliffs overlooking the raging North Sea was surreal. The Mk4 ate up the road like it had been here before. Unlike the previous three generations which all held the speedo pride of place, the rev counter is front and centre on the dashboard, asserting its performance focus. With 181bhp, the Mk4 is no slouch and punches way above its weight, making one question why you’d ever consider spending ten fold on a supercar you’d be too scared to drive on the road.

A year after the fourth generation launched, Mazda reached over 1 million MX-5 sales, cementing its status as one of the world’s best selling sports cars. While each generation’s evolution took a different turn, it’s fundamentally one of the best and most affordable ways of enjoying any B-road the UK has to offer.

On the final approach to John o’ Groats we caught up with a caravan of caravans that we swiftly dispatched to our rear view mirror. It was crunch time and we weren’t about to be crawling behind holidaymakers when the end was in striking distance. We hurtled into the carpark and barely stopped to pull up the handbrake before making a dash for the sign.

We took customary victory pictures and ducked into the nearest shelter, which turned out to be the 8 Doors Distillery, the most northerly in mainland Scotland.

As I sipped on their sherry finished single malt, it felt like a bittersweet ending. I was now well and truly acquainted with the MX-5 lineage, but gutted that none would be making the trip home with me. It’s easy to see why everyone seems to have (or needs to have) an MX-5 story — they’re approachable, overspilling with character and utterly lovable.

When it comes to Councours, Salon Privé is about as good as it gets on these shores. Last week, the supercar circus rolled into London, where a gallery of glorious examples from Ferrari, BMW, Jaguar, Aston Martin, Koenigsegg and so on. If you can think of it, chances are it was there.

The three day event saw 18,000 visitors descend on the hallowed lawns of the Royal Hospital Chelsea, where guests mixed with Pensioners and collectors and indulged in the great British sunshine. A field of 80 exceptional cars was judged by Keith Bluemel, Tony Willis, Thomas Howarth and Freddie Atkins, and the overall winner (The 2026 Concurs de Vente Prix d’Honneur) was a 1970 Monteverdi 375L shown by Alan Carrington Classic Cars, praised for its ‘rarity, elegance and quality of restoration’.

We’ve picked out the best pictures from the event, so you won’t have to worry in case you missed it.

What have we here?

Something rather special. It’s the Aston Martin Valhalla, the first ‘series-production’ mid-engined car Aston Martin have ever produced, and their first PHEV. A total of 999 will be built — so rather more than the Valkyrie, with which it shares some similarities in shape. Other major differences lie in the fact that unlike the Adrian Newey-designed Valkyrie, the all-in-house Valhalla can be driven every day without making you deaf, and it won’t try to kill you quite as often. It’s not a knuckle-dragging racing car with a number plate, it’s a brilliantly calibrated hypercar that is equally able on road and track.

One imagines it’s quite fast and expensive…

Correct on the first count. On the second, it’s all relative. The Valhalla boasts 1,067bhp, 817 of which comes from its Mercedes AMG-derived, Aston-modified 4.0-litre twin-turbo V8. The other 250bhp comes from three electric motors; two on the front axle, one on the rear mated to the dual-clutch transmission (another first for Aston). Top speed is 217mph and it’ll hit 62mph from standstill in 2.5 seconds. It costs £850,000, which is twice as expensive as the similarly thrusting Ferrari 849 Testarossa and Lamborghini Revuelto. However, they are comparatively common or garden supercars, rather limited-edition hypercars.

What makes a hypercar? As well as speed, it’s down to rarity, technological innovation and extraterrestrial design. At 999 units, the Valhalla will not be quite as rare as the McLaren W1 and Ferrari F80. However, it’s £1.25m cheaper than the McLaren and £2.35m less than the Fezza. A bargain, really.

How come it doesn’t have a massive spoiler?

Actually it does, but it’s shy. The active aero is triggered when ‘race’ mode is selected, and the massive wing emerges from where the boot might be in a regular Aston. It raises 255mm and moves between air brake, drag reduction and a whole variety of settings in between. There’s also a full-width front wing that pops down from the underbody like an inverted F1 car’s, but which is completely hidden from view. It switches on the turning vanes and feeds the rear diffuser. The Valhalla’s body is riddled with apertures; negative spaces carved out not for aesthetics, but for pressure management. Air is guided, accelerated, split and recombined with a level of intent that would have seemed outlandish from Aston a decade ago. Ferrari has finally met its match.

Wasn’t this car in a Bond film already?

Well spotted. An early prototype appeared in No Time To Die, a blink-and-you’d-miss-it cameo set in the bowels of MI6 (turns out Q has his own full-scale wind tunnel). That movie was shot in 2019, which was five prime ministers ago. It’s a timeline that has also seen four different Aston Martin CEOs, hinting that political upheaval is not restricted to SW1A. The Valhalla’s gestation has been elephantine, but against all odds it has been seen through to reality. I’m thrilled to report it’s been worth the wait.

So it’s nice to drive, then?

It can make you look like a driving God. The active aerodynamics bend the air to the car’s will, automatically transitioning from the slipperiness of a bullet to generating 610kg of downforce. Ploughing in and out of corners, if you’re brave enough to divert your eyes from the upcoming corner to the rear view mirrors you’ll see the wing dancing around like a matador’s muleta. The electric motors fill torque gaps, stabilise the chassis, and subtly rewrite the laws of physics at the front axle. Unseen is torque vectoring wizardry that can keep all that power planted by delivering the oomph to the wheels individually, along with a hugely adjustable electronic stability control system that lets you select how much yaw and slide you’d like to experience through the turns.

Most impressive is the Valhalla’s composure, the ease with which you can drive it on the road and on track, and the level of comfort and quality that would allow you to drive it every day on any tarmac. In Sport and Sport+ modes I found it to be a thoroughly able cruiser. Perhaps its greatest strength is the ride quality. Aston could have built a car that generates 1,000kg of downforce if they wanted, but they haven’t because that makes for a rubbish road car. The Valhalla ingeniously bleeds off its downforce above 150mph so it doesn’t overwhelm the suspension. It’s a perfect balance.

On the road: Aston Martin Valhalla

Price: £850,000

Top Speed: 217mph

0-62mph: 2.5 seconds

Power: 1,067bhp

Economy: 20mpg (or 9-mile all-electric range)

Did you get a lot of attention driving it?

I drove it in northern Spain, where I witnessed a young man at a zebra crossing whose jaw nearly shattered on the pavement when he saw the car, and who grabbed his skull with both hands as if to prevent his brain from exploding. That’s the reaction you would hope for.

Would I like sitting in it?

If you’re used to the ambrosial leather and polished walnut of 20^th century Aston Martins, I’m not sure you would. It’s rather austere. The square-edged instrument screen and touch screen don’t feel very integrated on account of the scuttle being so low. The massive dihedral doors require long arms and some muscle to open and close — my poor mother would be trapped inside. Ingress and egress are surprisingly easy — there’s loads of space to swing your legs. The exposed carbon-fibre seats are praiseworthy: skeletal with thin soft padding that’s in all the right places. The seating position is excellent and at least 20mm lower than its rivals.

Storage space is less than a mouse’s bedsit. There is no boot, just a couple of tiny cubby holes in the cabin. This rather spoils Valhalla's tremendous potential as a continent-crushing hyper-GT, but I suppose you could always send your trunks ahead with your valet. At the end of the day, it can’t be a Tardis. The lack of luggage room is a result of the inboard suspension springs, e-motors, hidden spoilers and the engine behind your back. You’re buying it for that, not its practicality.

Is there anything else wrong with it?

The steering wheel has been optimised for road use rather than track. There are buttons on the central arms for the usual everyday stuff, and I kept accidentally pressing them as I grappled with the wheel through tight turns. You don’t want to lose your rev counter and gear graphic and replace it with the radio station while pulling a few Gs through a corner, especially when you might rely on the shift lights so as not to snag the abrupt rev limiter. It sneaks up on you. Also the big indicator stalk looks like it would be more at home in a Mercedes S-Class. Jeremy Clarkson will disagree with me here, but on a quick-steering car like this I prefer to have Ferrari-style indicator buttons on the steering wheel that I can tap with my thumbs.

Finally, I’m not sold on the sound. That’s due to the flat-plane crank — a compact motorsport-derived solution which is lighter and higher-revving. The downside is they’re not known for their musicality. The Valkyrie’s normally-aspirated V12 sounds like Pavarotti stepping into a scalding bath. The turbocharged V8 Valhalla sounds less Luciano, more like an X Factor finalist doing yoga. It’s a little muffled and strained and difficult to get excited about.

Ok, the most important question: What colour should we buy it in?

That tension between aggression and elegance is the car’s defining aesthetic. Order it in a restrained colour is my advice. I’d go for a nice shade of silver or green, with the Valhalla’s grille in silver too, not black, to reinforce that handsome David Brown DNA and make it look that little bit more Aston-y. For a long time silver was the most popular colour for Astons, of course, but now it’s green. Formula One’s Fernando Alonso now has more influence than Britain’s most famous fictional spy; a sad indictment of our national defence capabilities.

Is that a reference to our Royal Navy having a depleted fleet of just 63 vessels, none of which work properly?

How did you guess.

But you like this car? You would say it’s a good car? You would not laugh or cry if your friends were about to buy one?

This is the most accomplished Aston Martin ever made. And given Aston Martin is the coolest car brand in history, this is a car I like very, very much. As an investment, there are better options. Too many are being built to enable you to flip it for £2 million in two years, for example. You may even lose money. But next to the Ferrari F80, it represents outstanding value. It’s also, dare I say it, much classier than your average hypercar. I don’t know anyone who’d be embarrassed to be seen in it.

When Royal Yacht Britannia first set sail in 1953, the starboard deck was equipped with a unique and ingenious feature: a bespoke garage, with gleaming state vehicles ready to make a royal entrance at the turn of a key. It was considered an essential modification to ensure Elizabeth II enjoyed suitably regal transport, where and whenever the newly crowned monarch stepped ashore. Motor cars were always shipped with the yacht, a royal residence for 44 years that covered more than one million nautical miles, propelled by two sets of enormous steam turbines, and was a regular feature on 986 state visits.

Arguably the most prestigious occupant of the yacht’s floating garage was a Rolls-Royce Phantom V limousine. Combining elegance and imperiousness, the chassis and drivetrain were built at the company’s factory in Crewe, Cheshire, before the bodywork was applied by coachwork specialists Park Ward of London.

Rolls-Royce discreetly codenamed the car Canberra, suggesting the vehicle was destined for a buyer in Australia, rather than the Royal Mews. It was equipped with a high roof and Perspex rear section — modifications that allowed the Queen’s loyal subjects to see her more easily wherever she went. It also had some 220bhp on tap — a serious amount of power in the 1960s — and, if required, the V8 could power it along at 100mph. It was a car that couldn’t fail to make an impression, which may explain why future buyers included Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, the former Shah of Iran, John Lennon and another ‘king’ — Elvis Presley.

The Phantom, primarily used for ceremonial state events, was joined in the garage by a humble Land Rover Series 1, the second ‘his and hers’ workhorse in the royal fleet. More than capable of coping with rugged terrain and private excursions ashore, the lightweight utility vehicle was originally designed for agricultural use. Its aluminium body proved less prone to salty air, although the steel, box-section chassis was sadly so.

Now aged 69, Peter Young was the Queen’s Coxswain and Seaman of the Boats on Britannia from 1977–97. He stayed until the very end and the famous decommissioning ceremony at Portsmouth docks in 1997, said to be the only time the late Queen shed a tear in public. It was a sombre occasion that ended a long tradition of British royal yachts dating back to 1660 and the reign of Charles II. The high cost of running an ageing ship had forced John Major’s government to announce a much-needed refit would not happen. ‘Like a lot of sailors, I joined the Navy to see the world, but Britannia was something special,’ Peter remembers. ‘She was old-fashioned, steam-driven and, with a crew of 235, very demanding at times. If we had a state banquet, then what-ever your rank or title, you stepped up to help.’

At the start of her reign, the Queen had swapped an ageing state Daimler for a hand-built Rolls-Royce Phantom IV Hooper Landaulette and Peter was duly sent to Rolls-Royce for special instruction on looking after it. ‘It was a week-long course on how to clean and care for the car. I also completed a Royal Marines course on specialist driving, which included hand-brake turns, something you didn’t do in a Rolls-Royce.’ The splendid vehicle was painted Royal Black and Royal Claret and shipbuilders John Brown & Company in Clydebank, Dunbartonshire, used its measurements to plan the new garage being constructed on Britannia. ‘It was a snug fit, but when the larger, Phantom V Park Ward limousine arrived as a replacement in the 1960s, the crew had to work out a new way of moving the vehicle around,’ recalls Mr Young. The 6.2-litre limo was huge and weighed three tons. Measuring almost 20ft long, both front and rear bumpers had to be removed to get the car out of the garage and on to a mobile carrying platform, which was then lowered over the side of Britannia on a davit or crane.

Carrying state cars onboard to provide reliable transport for a monarch seemed a ship-shape idea at the time, but the practicalities of on- and off-loading, often at remote locations with poor or no facilities, were far more complicated than any land-lubber might imagine. ‘One of the most difficult jobs for the crew was moving the Rolls-Royce and Land Rover off the yacht,’ reveals Peter. ‘It was an extremely complicated process that involved a motorised transporter moving on sunken rails along the teak deck. A lot of seamen became involved and both processes required the sort of military precision the Navy is famous for. The logistics of landing the Rolls-Royce could easily take a working day to prepare.’

To complicate matters, Britannia’s garage was situated directly inboard of the Royal Barge, a 40ft tender used by the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh to travel ashore. Built by Camper & Nicholsons in 1964 and powered by two 125hp engines, the barge first had to be moved out of the way to allow car operations to begin. ‘The car would be lowered on a large metal frame with ramps located either end. Once the frame was secure on dry land, the Rolls could be driven off ready for duty. Factor in sea swell, the vagrancies of each location and it could be a major operation.’

There was at least one occasion when it was deemed impolite to unload a state car. In preparation for the Queen’s tour of New Zealand in 1963, the Crown was made aware that the New Zealand government had spent so much money refurbishing its own state fleet for the visit that the Phantom V should remain onboard. If unloading the Rolls-Royce proved a challenge, the Land Rover was frequently worse. The Series 1 and later models, such as the larger 110 V8, were often lashed on deck, lowered and gingerly sailed ashore on an inflatable known as the ‘sea truck’. ‘We couldn’t drop the metal transporter frame and the vehicle onto the raft at the same time because it would sink,’ explains Peter. ‘The Land Rover had to be lowered by its four wheels, suspended in netting. Of course, landing the inflatable on shore could prove another big headache.’

Some of the most demanding locations were in the Western Isles of Scotland, where the late Queen enjoyed summer cruises with her family, away from the cameras. ‘The Land Rover came into its own there,’ confirms Peter. ‘Those holidays were more relaxed affairs. We had a concert called the Sods Opera, where the crew put on a show for the Royal Family under an awning on the foredeck. I have the rare distinction of performing Riverdance in front of the Queen!’

Although the original state vehicles have long been sold or moved to museums, including the Sultanate of Oman’s Royal Cars Museum and the Stables Courtyard at Sandringham in Norfolk, several cars are still on display aboard Britannia, now a floating museum at Leith, in Edinburgh. One is a 1950 Land Rover painted Royal Navy Oxford Blue, a faithful reconstruction of the yacht’s original. The other is a black Rolls-Royce Phantom, first registered in 1967 and similar to the one shipped to the Royal Mews. On the quay next to the ship, a dark green Land Rover V8 is currently on show, fitted with leather seats, a special radio system and grab handles that allowed the Queen’s gillies to ride on the side of the vehicle.

Once state vehicles for royal visits became easier to source via dry land, rather than onboard with Britannia, the redundant garage eventually morphed into a space that was more popular with the crew for entirely different reasons than what it was originally intended for: ‘The building could hold 2,000 crates of beer — crucial when you are away from home for so long,’ concludes Peter with a smile.

What’s this?

This would be the Lexus RX500H. Or to give it its full name, the RX500H F Sport Performance. Catchy. But for the purpose of the rest of this article, we’re just going to call it the RX. It costs £80,695.

F Sport Performance? Is it sporty then? Looks quite big?

It is quite big. But it’s not the biggest SUV rolling around out there. It’s a cool 4.9 metres long, and 1.9 metres wide, which means it does pass the Rotherhithe Tunnel Test, although you will have to concentrate when going through the barriers.

As for its sporty aspirations, it is powered by a 2.4-litre turbocharged four-cylinder engine, as well as some batteries. Total power is about 370bhp, 0-62mph is 6.2 seconds and a top speed of 130mph. So, to answer your question, it is sporty for a big Lexus, but it is not sporty per se.

But neither is it supposed to be, really, because it’s a Lexus. Lexus’ (Lexii?) or supposed to be elegant and comfortable. They are for cutting through Tokyo traffic in dignified luxury while ringing up deals on the Nikei. This is that, but with some extra oomph.

I think my friend’s parents had a Lexus RX, now that I come to think about it

Probably. My friend’s parents had a Lexus RX, and there were plenty rolling in and out of the school gates back in the day. This version is the sixth generation of the RX, a car which first debuted in 1998 and first brought hybrid power to our shores all the way back in 2004. Lexus sells heaps of these cars worldwide, especially in the USA, where it was the highest selling luxury vehicle in 2025. It sells slightly less well here and in Europe, because of your Audis, your BMWs, your Volvos and so on.

I love statistics. I love logging on to the internet to read statistics about car sales

Sorry, just trying to make the point that it’s a popular car.

Fine. Tell me about the popular Lexus.

So the 500H F Sport Performance is, unsurprisingly, the top-of-the-line model. You can also get a 350H and a 450H+, which are less sporty, less expensive and are more economical. Something for everyone.

The idea is to move many people, and their things, in executive level comfort. In this endeavour, the RX succeeds with aplomb. The interior is delightfully luxurious, rich with plush leather, brushed bits and pieces and everything is very nice to the touch. I am also a big fan of how the dashboard and instruments panel have a gentle curve around the driver, which makes you feel like you’re sitting in a spaceship cockpit. The ratio of screen-to-button is a sensible one, with knobs and dials for climate control and buttons for de-icing windscreens.

Space is good, with plenty of room for five good-sized adults, supplemented with a boot space of some 612 litres. This extends to 1,600 litres with the rear seats folded down. It is as luxurious as it is practical.

On the road: Lexus 500H F Sport Performance

Price: £80,695

Power: 370bhp

0-62mph: 6.2 seconds

Efficiency: 35mpg

Top speed: 130mph

What is Tazuna?

I’m glad you asked. Tazuna is Japanese for ‘reins’, and it is the latest interior layout philosophy from Lexus (try saying that five times really fast). What it means in practice is that everything is designed to be easy to control from the driver’s seat, so that the driver can stay focused on the road with hands on the wheel as long as possible. It mostly works very well, apart from the central touchscreen, which you do need to look at to operate.

I’m very happy to hear it. We need more buttons and less screen.

I would agree

How does it drive?

It drives well. As discussed, it’s not sporty in a sports car kind of way, but it can shift itself about at surprising speeds. The four-cylinder turbo makes enough of a noise to raise a few hairs, and the combination of electric power means throttle pickup is pretty linear and instant. If you find yourself somewhere you don’t want to be, you can leave rather quickly.

That being said, I wouldn’t take it on the track. It’s a bit rolly through the corners, and the steering is a bit wafty, to be considered a true sporty SUV. It is not similar to the Porsche Macan or the Alfa Romeo Stelvio Quadrifoglio.

When being driven normally, it is ludicrously comforting and relaxing to drive. This is in essence what Lexus is all about, understated luxury and functionality. Motorway miles are happily deleted, it’s cheap to run when compared to other ‘sporty’ SUVs, and the audio system (in my case, the 17-speaker Mark Levinson addition) is wonderful.

How well does it compare to its European counterparts?

Very well. Looks-wise, it’s a bit more angular than something like an Audi Q5, Volvo XC60 or Mercedes GLC. It will turn heads, not necessarily in an ‘Aston Martin’ kind of way, but it certainly looks different to other things on the road.

In terms of feel, technology and luxury, it is absolutely on par with the Germans and the Swedes if not better. Lexus prides itself on its luxury, and the RX is leading that particular charge nicely.

Is there anything not to like?

Not really. The old RX series used to feature a V6 engine, which would have given the car a little more gravitas in the F Sport Performance stakes, and the door handles being buttons/catches rather than proper doors is perhaps a case of the interior designers keeping busy just for the sake of being busy. Also, having to be wired in for Android Auto (AppleCarPlay is wireless) is mildly inconvenient. But, realistically, the car has no obvious faults.

But you like this car? You would say it’s a good car? You would not laugh or cry if your friends were about to buy one?

Yes it is a good car. Very much one to file under the ‘practical’ rather than ‘entertaining’ bracket, but there is nothing wrong with that. It is a pleasure to drive long and short distances, and surprisingly manageable in the city. I did not take it off-roading, so alas can’t comment on its pure SUV skills. If you fancy standing out from the usual European SUV crowd, then this is a perfect alternative.

The history of BMW suggests that it has made few errors. It has baffled us with impenetrable strings of technological acronyms, surprised us with some of its more recent styling, and shocked us with the amount of power it can wring from an essentially everyday engine. Pedants would argue that it has produced the odd mild duffer — the original 3-series Compact, for example — but, if we want evidence of genuine fallibility, we need to return to the mid Seventies and the BMW M1.

It remains the only mid-engined production car in BMW’s archive, and the only one to be made of plastic (GRP to engineers, but to the rest of us the thing that school canoes are built of). It was intended to end the Porsche 911’s dominance in international sports-car racing but, by the time it was ready, the rules had changed, making it completely uncompetitive. Not quite the feather in their felt hats the Bavarians had hoped for.

With time at a premium, BMW handed the design and engineering to Lamborghini in Italy, who promptly went bust. BMW’s motorsport division broke into the Lamborghini factory to rescue the bodywork moulds from the receivers.

In Britain, the M1 cost about £35,000 at a time when Ferrari’s 308 was not much more than half that. In fairness, the part that BMW built itself, the 3.5-litre straight-six engine, was gloriously good and became the inspiration for the M5 saloon and every subsequent BMW Q-car. A top speed of 161mph and 0-60mph in 5.8 seconds is respectable even by today’s standards.

Every other Seventies supercar I have driven has been a fairly grim affair: hard work, hot, uncomfortable and unreliable. Yet the M1 is still likeable. The controls are easy, the visibility good, the race-car breeding clearly evident. It even looks reasonably contemporary, bar the distinctly psychedelic wheels. The engine went on to feature in more mainstream BMWs, so it can be assumed to be dependable.

Only about 500 M1s were built, all left-hand drive and to exactly the same specification. Reckon on £35,000 as a starting price — and do not underestimate the expense or annoyance of sourcing replacement parts.

Major errors of judgment rarely have such an agreeable long-term effect. This is perhaps BMW’s best-ever bad car.

You know the weather means business when people start to gear up before the plane lands. After a few hours heading north, flying above increasingly white and frozen landscapes, every passenger is adding layers, beanies and gloves before the plane touches the ground. This is what happens when you land in Ivalo — Finland’s, and the European Union’s, northernmost airport, which sits 250km above the Arctic Circle. It’s currently -28ºC and I am underdressed.

I’m not here to see the Northern Lights or go skiing. Rather, the nearby Saariselka is home to McLaren’s Arctic proving ground, where every year it sets up camp to put its latest supercars to the test on a sprawling, 25km frozen lake. It is here where I’ll try my hand at the McLaren Arctic Experience, drifting a £200,000 Artura through a series of technical courses carved into the ice, from simple circular tracks designed to perfect the art of holding a slide, through to handling courses that combine longer bends with sharp hairpins.

This isn’t the Artura’s natural home. McLaren’s first hybrid V6 car, it sits in the middle of its range, and is billed as the ultimate everyday sports car. It has a huge breadth of ability, and can be driven through cities comfortably in pure electric silence, or thrashed around a race track, with its 690bhp and intuitive handling making it as exciting as anything on four wheels. It’s also, unlike many new performance cars, not huge, making it enjoyable for dissecting the UK’s technical B-roads like the best British sports cars of yesteryear.

These are all good reasons to test it on the ice though. As part of the McLaren Arctic package, clients can explore the car’s limits at the firm’s Finland ice track, appraising both the handling capabilities and their own skills. Previously, McLaren had a fleet of GTs based here in the winter, but now the Artura is the weapon of choice. It’s a decision made for the car’s performance, but also for its ease and intuitive handling. Since it was released in 2021, the Artura has been widely praised for its accessibility, as well as its outright pace.

‘It’s been designed with super lightweight engineering in mind, a core McLaren attribute,’ says Max Hunt, product manager at McLaren. ‘It's class leading in this respect at 1395kg dry. It's a very important part of what makes it such a fantastic handling car and why it performs so well on the ice. It's got a massive bandwidth, from touring to urban driving, to the Artura Trophy race car, built on the same platform, or indeed, drifting around a frozen lake in Finland.’

The Artura is the first McLaren since the MP4-12C to be built entirely from the ground up. It didn’t borrow the twin-turbo V8 found in every subsequent car, but rather a brand new 3.0-litre hybrid V6. It was also built around a completely new carbon fibre monocoque known catchily as McLaren Carbon Lightweight Architecture. This helps keep weight as low as possible, while also providing the stiffness and rigidity expected of a McLaren.

While its hybrid system is technologically complex, it is a simpler car in other ways. The suspension is a conventional set up of adaptive dampers and springs, used instead of the hydraulic system found on the 750S, and the steering remains hydraulic, offering more feel over the electric systems used by its competitors. This, on the ice, makes a big difference. The natural steering feel provides constant feedback, giving you confidence when the back end starts to move. Hydraulic steering is ‘a hill we've died on for a long time now,’ says Max.

Outside it is freezing, but behind the wheel the Artura is the place to be. The steering wheel is free of any buttons or unnecessary controls, and while you are sat low, the view out is expansive thanks to McLaren’s characteristically low dash. ‘We go to great lengths to make sure the visibility around the car — especially if you're going sideways and you're looking out of the passenger window — is absolutely fantastic. You've got a helicopter view of everything around you, so it’s not an intimidating place to be.’

In practice the Artura is incredibly predictable. The low grip surface of the ice slows things down, allowing you to anticipate and balance the limit of the car. With ESC turned off, the car’s systems don’t interrupt the accelerator pedal, so you can explore beyond the edge of grip unassisted. With the only barriers to speak of being soft snow verges, the worst that can happen is you get beached with your tail between your legs. It makes for a freeing way to practice drifts in one of the world’s more extreme environments.

The Artura is also remarkably easy to learn with. Stick with 2nd gear on the handling course and moderately accelerate into a corner. The back end begins to move slowly and predictably; counter steer and apply consistent throttle and you’ll hold the slide through the exit, before dabbing the brake on turn in for the next bend. Link the slide with the back drifting out again, hold the throttle and opposite lock again while power sliding out. The car’s light weight and intuitive steering feel make it far easier than it should be.

As part of the Arctic Experience, guests stay in the family owned Javri Lodge in Saariselka, a cosy 13 room Lappish hotel replete with sauna, swimming pool and floor-to-ceiling windows to admire the great frozen landscape outside. There is also dog sledding, ice karting and possible Aurora Borealis sightings. But the highlight is exploring the depths of the Artura on ice. It’s brilliant on regular tarmac roads, but get it on a frozen lake, ESC off and drift into a soft Finnish sunset. You won’t have more fun than that.