Don't Stop Me Now (8 page)

Cars like the Rolls and the Volvo (which plods around like a tractor) and the Mégane, which doesn’t ever go fast enough to crash, are undoubtedly in tune with the times.

Maybe so. But despite this, the big news in 2003 was the sheer number of out-and-out fun cars that came on to the market in a flurry of spinning bow ties and clown shoes. There were so many, in fact, that I’ve made a video and a DVD about them. It’s called
Shoot Out
, and I shall be forever in your debt if you go out tomorrow and buy it.

I shan’t tell you here which car from the most fun year in the history of motoring I reckon is… the most fun. But to give you an idea of just how intense the competition was, I shall write instead about a car that didn’t even make it to the final magnificent seven: the Porsche GT3.

The first thing you need to know about this is that Porsche is a difficult, arrogant, humourless company; and on the face of it, that’s not a very good thing to be when you’re in the business of making fun cars. A 911, you always sense, ‘likes a laugh as much as the next man’, which is probably another way of saying ‘doesn’t like a laugh at all’.

None of the truly great comedians are funny when you meet them in real life. Rowan Atkinson, Ben Elton, even Richard Curtis. For these people, you see, comedy is a science, which means it must be approached in a straightforward, methodical fashion.

Creating a situation designed to make an audience fall off the backs of their seats is no different from creating a bridge or a chest of drawers. Seriously, folks. Tell Steve Coogan a funny story and he won’t laugh; he’ll probably say, ‘That’s funny,’ but without a hint of a smile. Or, more usually, if he’s listening to me: ‘That’s not funny.’

So it goes with the po-faced and utterly humourless 911. It’s not a fun car. There’s no
joie de vivre
in its styling and no sitcom at all in that dark and gloomy interior. But put it on the right stage and all that Teutonic fine tuning pays off, because then it starts to deliver fun, and by the skipload. That said, I’ve never much liked the whole 911 thing.

Yes, I’ll pay to see a comedian strut his stuff in the theatre, but what’s the point of socialising with a person who thinks that someone with a bad wig is ‘a possible source of interesting material’? Am I disappearing up my own backside here? Whatever.

While I respect the ability of the modern Porsche 996 Turbo, I much prefer the madness of Ferrari and the sheer idiocy of Lamborghini. And there’s another thing: life is way, way too short to try to get a handle on the depth and breadth of the 911 range, with its endless variations on a single theme.

All you need to know is that, over the years, the 911 has become increasingly soft core, with pixellated private parts and silicon breasts. But every so often Porsche produces an adult-rated version that harks back to the hard-core roots. Usually these cars bear the RS badge. But, as is the way with the 911, sometimes they don’t.

Whatever the case, every single one of them has been horrid. There was an RS in the mid-1990s that was about as awful as anything I’ve ever driven. I bounced all the way from Balham in south London to Cadwell Park race circuit in Lincolnshire in one, imagining that when I got there I’d find some recompense for the simply dreadful ride and complete lack of creature comforts. But no. After I removed its lead and took off the muzzle, it spent the entire afternoon trying to bite my head off.

This was a car that understeered badly every time I went round one particular corner, and then – for no reason at all – would suddenly decide to oversteer. I hated it.

So I really wasn’t expecting much from the GT3 which, for those of you who can be bothered to clutter up your heads with this sort of thing, is basically a Carrera 2. That means you don’t get aturbocharger and you don’t get four-wheel drive. And you don’t get bulging wheel arches either, although you do get a bill for
£
73,000.

Inside it, despite the enormous bill, you don’t get air-conditioning or much in the way of luxury, and instead of back seats there’s some scaffolding which I suppose could also be used as a roll bar.

Now, you’d be happy about all this minimalism if the end result were flyaway and featherlight. But it isn’t. Because the GT3 has the same body as the stiffer Carrera 4, it actually weighs more than the Carrera 2. I told you the 911 range was a muddle.

What isn’t even remotely muddling, though, is the way this car goes. With 381 bhp pumping out of the 3.6-litre flat-six engine in a muscular and seemingly never-ending scream of pure ecstasy, it absolutely flies.

And not just in a straight line either. Like all 911s since the year dot, the heavy engine sits at the back and gives huge traction in a corner; but, unlike any 911 I’ve ever driven, there is no punch-in-the-face punchline if you overcook it.

In terms of grip and handling, I don’t mind sticking my neck out here and saying that I’ve never, ever driven anything that gets even close to it. In terms of comedy, it’s
Fawlty Towers
– honed to perfection.

Bring the new M3 CSL to the party if you like. Bring a 911 Turbo. Bring a 360 Ferrari. Bring anything you want and so long as it costs less than
£
150,000, I guarantee the GT3 will nuke it.

In a little race I staged with an immensely fast and wonderfully satisfying Aston Martin DB7 GT, the Porsche was a full 10 per cent faster round the lap. That’s
10 per cent faster, as well as being 40 per cent cheaper and probably 98 per cent more reliable, too.

Yes, admittedly the GT3 is stiff and a bit jarring over the speed bumps, but it’s (just) on the right side of bearable. Think of it as Stephen Fry: probably a little bit difficult to live with from time to time, but you’d put up with the hard edges for those moments when one bon mot tears your sides literally in half.

The GT3 is not the first 911 I’ve respected. And, if truth be told, it’s not the first 911 I’ve liked. But, although it’s only the eighth most entertaining car from 2003, it is also the first Porsche 911 that I’ve thought long and hard about buying.

Sunday 23 November 2003

We read much these days about the benefits of modern diesel engines.

We hear about the new-found quietness, the relaxed gait on the motorway and, of course, the parsimonious appetite for fuel.

It all sounds jolly lovely, but when the school has just rung to say your daughter has fallen over and should really go to hospital, you don’t want a relaxed cruise and, frankly, you don’t give much of a stuff about fuel economy either.

It actually happened this week. A nurse at the school rang to say my nine-year-old had had a ‘little’ accident. Now in America that would mean she’d had a ‘little’ accident but here, in understatement central, it could be anything from a damaged hairstyle to total decapitation.

What I wanted for the mercy dash was a V8 the size of an office block. But, when news of my daughter’s ‘little’ accident came through, I ran out of the house to be presented, and there’s no other way of putting this, with a f∗∗∗∗∗∗ diesel.

Much praise has been heaped on BMW’s 3-litre oil-burner. It’s been described as refined and quiet and unusually powerful. Some say it’s actually better than BMW’s petrol engines.

Certainly I have no doubt that as paraffin stoves go it’s excellent, but can we be clear on something. Comparing it to anything fuelled with petrol is as stupid as comparing a typewriter to your computer. Yes, it’s more environmentally friendly. Yes, it’s cheaper to run. But you try downloading Gary Jules’s ‘Mad World’ on to a Remington Atlantic.

They say that on a motorway it is not possible to say which fuel is being used. But that’s codswallop. It’s like saying you can’t tell whether you’re listening to a cassette or a CD.

Or whether you’re eating fresh or frozen fish. You just know…

And puh-lease can we stop trying to pretend that the superior torque offered by a diesel engine in any way compensates for the lack of brake horsepower.

When you accelerate in a modern diesel there’s a satisfying surge, for sure, but it’s over in a moment. And there’s no power to carry the momentum. Time and time again I put my foot down in that Beemer, pulled out to overtake the Rover, and then when I was on the wrong side of the road simply ran out of oomph.

A petrol engine will spin happily, in some cases to 8,000 or 9,000 revs per minute. The BMW diesel is revvier than most, but it’s all out of ideas at just 5,000.

Of course, even when you drive like you’re on fire, it will refuse to do less than 40 mpg and that makes for massive savings at the pumps. I’m talking about halving your fuel bills. But if saving money is so important, why not go the whole hog and use the bus? A diesel would
work in a car that’s not supposed to be fun, a big 4×4 for instance or a small Volkswagen. But in a BMW, or a Jaguar for that matter, it’s daft.

These cars are supposed to be all about poise and balance and delicacy. They’re supposed to be the ultimate driving machines and they’re just not when you have a coal-fired power station under the bonnet. If you just want cheapness, why not save even more money and buy a Mondeo? Still, let’s leave the absurd and ridiculous engine out of the equation, shall we. Assume you’ll buy a petrol version and have a look at the rest of this remarkable car.

The new 5-series is very possibly the most talked-about new car of the year. Chiefly this is because the old one was just so utterly fabulous, easily the best car in its class when it came along seven years ago and, astonishingly, still the leader when they pulled the plug seven years later.

You didn’t have to think when you were looking for a
£
30,000 four-door saloon. You bought the Beemer and you loved it. But you do have to think with the new one, because the styling is, how can I put this, a bit challenging.

I’m told that as time passes we will become accustomed to the looks, which manage to be sharp and bulbous at the same time. But that’s like asking a seven-year-old to live on olives because he’ll like them when he’s an adult. In the here and now the 5 is truly gargoylian, a symphony of discords and stylistic infighting.

And it’s no better on the inside, with acres of extraordinarily cheap-looking plastic moulded into a series of shapes that jar.

This then is going to be one of the trickiest road tests I’ve ever done. Because I’ve got to ignore the engine and the styling. And the views of my children, who claimed it made them feel sick because they couldn’t see out. Even my wife didn’t like it, because she can’t understand why anyone chooses to buy a BMW and then doesn’t go for the M3.

Surprisingly, the new 5 is not that far removed under the skin from the old one. They have the same multilink rear axle and the same quasi-MacPherson strut arrangement at the front. And both use electronics in the shape of stability and traction control instead of mechanicals like a limited slip diff.

The only real difference is weight. Although the new version is a couple of inches longer and comes with more kit as standard, it’s 65 kg lighter. So it should be more nimble than the old one.

It isn’t though. The balance is still there and the poise, and the ride is exceptionally good for a car which handles and grips so well. In these respects it’s still far, far better than any Audi, Jaguar or Mercedes. But the steering is odd.

It’s fine when you’re moving at a lick, but it’s devoid of feel at low speed. Maybe it’d be worth buying the new
£
800 active system, which changes the amount of wheel-twirling you have to do as the speed builds. So, at 10 mph, a quarter of a turn of the steering wheel moves the front wheels as much as a whole turn does at 100. It works well.

The trouble is that this is just one of about 1,000 extras
that can be fitted. There are seven different types of wheel, eight different types of front seat, endless stereos and a trim selection that puts the Farrow & Ball colour chart to shame. Mercedes, it must be said, doesn’t give you enough choice when buying a car – ‘you vill have ze grey’ – but it could be argued BMW gives you too much.

If you go for the standard car it’s pretty well equipped anyway and costs
£
30,950. But you won’t, because you’ll buy the 530 petrol which is just
£
5 more.

Or will you? Yes, the new 5-series is unpleasant to behold and yes, its steering is a bit weird, but what else can you buy for this sort of dosh? You can’t have a Mercedes because it’ll break down all the time and the dealer won’t be able to fix it. The Audi A6 is on its last legs. The Saab 9–5 is mad. The Lexus is dull. You won’t pay
£
30,000 for a Volkswagen. And I’m sorry but if you’re worried about aesthetics you’re hardly likely to go for an S-type Jaguar.

The BMW, then, is still out in front. But only because all the other cars are so far behind.

Footnote

I wonder what would have happened had I been caught speeding on my way to the hospital in the 5-series.

Had it been by one of the two speed cameras I drove past, I fear no amount of pleading would have worked. You can’t argue with a box.

Whereas if we had real policing on the road, I feel sure
Plod would have been understanding. It’s a small point, but one which is rarely raised in the speed camera debate.

My daughter incidentally turned out to be suffering from a small bruise. And a large dose of hypochondria.

Sunday 7 December 2003

I have a fairly comprehensive, all-enveloping hatred of MGs. They may have been acceptable when Kenneth More was stepping out of his Spit and taking Susannah York to the saloon bar at the Downed German, but by the time I was old enough to notice they were absolutely horrid.

With their wheezing, asthmatic little engines, they were as sporty as a man in an iron lung. And with their botched suspension they cornered like a horse in wellingtons.

No, really. When the American safety wallahs announced in the early 1970s that every car’s headlights must be a certain height above the road, all the car makers redesigned their cars’ noses to comply with the new legislation.

Not MG, though. They simply stuck blocks in the suspension to raise the whole car a little higher off the ground. That’s a bit like cutting out draughts by fitting uPVC windows. Effective, but dynamically and aesthetically unwise.