No one is going to buy this car for its looks, which means it will just be bought by people for whom sex is no longer important. Which makes a change from the usual Porsche customer, I suppose.
29 October 2017
Beastly beauty needs a handsome plinth
Ferrari GTC4Lusso
I have never read the Bible. I’ve tried, but after a few moments I lose the will to live. It’s the same story with Shakespeare. You just know that no one is going to say, ‘Secure the perimeter’, and that even if they did, they’d need four hours to say it. And you’d need a teacher on hand to explain what they were on about.
However, when it comes to literature that’s completely impossible to understand or digest, you cannot top a Ferrari press release. Let me give you an example from one I have here. ‘The sophisticated and refined cabin is designed wholly around its occupants.’ Really? I thought it’d been designed partly around its occupants and partly for the tea lady’s dog.
Let’s move on to the vehicle dynamics. ‘The 4RM Evo system is more precise than ever. Management of front torque in particular has been improved across the board, but specifically in terms of SS4-based torque vectoring …’
That sort of guff may work well at a conference on industrial piping, but it’s a Ferrari we are talking about here. And there is no space in any of that world for dry engineering technobabble. Ferrari needs to understand this. I don’t need page after page of Shakespeare doing army-speak. Because the accompanying photograph is telling me so much more.
The photograph that came with this press release was of a car so beautiful, it haunted me long into the night – or, as Ferrari would put it: ‘Beauty itself doth of itself persuade / The eyes of men without an orator.’
It’s called the GTC4Lusso and it’s best described as a three-door sports estate. I’m a sucker for a car such as this. There’s never been a bad one. The Lancia HPE, the Volvo P1800 ES and the Reliant Scimitar (Princess Anne had one, you know). They were all tremendous, but this Ferrari trumped the lot. It was the best-looking car I’d seen.
I stuck the picture on my office wall and spent many long moments gazing at it. And I drove the production team mad by thinking up idiotic reasons why we should put it in the next series of The Grand Tour. The team would say we should do something on hatchbacks and I’d suggest the Ferrari. I suggested it for everything. And every time I was outvoted.
I can see why. This car is a replacement for the old FF, and that was rubbish. Or, as one Ferrari high-up said: ‘Yes, it wasn’t our finest hour.’ I tested one once on a frozen lake in Sweden and could not believe how comprehensively it was beaten in every way by the much cheaper Bentley Continental GT.
I also couldn’t believe how needlessly complicated the four-wheel-drive system was. Because the rear wheels were powered by a shaft coming out of the back of the engine and those at the front were propelled by a shaft coming out of the front. Which meant it needed two gearboxes. After the BMW Z1’s doors, it was the most complex technical solution to a problem that simply didn’t exist. And it didn’t work.
My colleague James May knows the FF well and doesn’t believe it’s a four-wheel drive at all. He’s even been under the car and still can’t get his head round it all. He, actually, was the most determined of everyone that the FF’s replacement would not be in our show. Ever.
I tried to explain that you can have the GTC4Lusso with a V8 engine and two-wheel drive only. But it was no good. I lost the argument. And now I’m quite glad.
I borrowed the four-wheel-drive V12 version and could not wait for the day it arrived. I so wanted to see it in the flesh. To see if it was as beautiful as it had been in the picture. And I was a bit disappointed, if I’m honest, because it was parked in a small car park near my flat and I simply couldn’t get far enough away from it to take in all its lines.
But that was OK. I was off to the countryside, and there’d be lots of space there to see it in all its glory. This is true. But only just. My God, this is a big car. If you want to see all of it at the same time, you need to put it in a field and walk away from it for ten minutes.
What’s weird is that it has broadly the same body as the terrible old FF, but just a few clever tweaks to the grille and the front wing vents and wheels have transformed it. The interior is equally sensational, perhaps because it was designed with the occupants in mind. Yes, it’s got all the usual Ferrari problems, namely the buttons for the lights, wipers and indicators are on the steering wheel, but – and I loved this – there’s a second dashboard in front of the passenger. They can choose whether they want to look at the rev counter or the satnav or a million other things. It’s brilliant.
And the back seats? No idea. I didn’t fit. And I’ve never met anyone who would. But the boot is the most beautifully trimmed thing since Mr Bonsai woke up one day and thought: ‘I know …’
Let’s pause for a moment now to laugh at the price. The basic version is £230,430 – of course it is – but my test car had a few extras. Apple CarPlay for £2,400, blue brake callipers for £1,178, a carbon-fibre sill cover for £4,992 and a glass roof for – drum roll – £11,520. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.
So what’s it like to drive? Not as exciting as you might imagine, actually. Of course, with a 6.3-litre V12 engine, it’s not sluggish, and it’s a Ferrari so it’s not sloppy either. But it’s not exceptional. It doesn’t cause the hairs on the back of your neck to tingle. Ever. It doesn’t even make a particularly tuneful noise.
That said, in town it’s docile and quiet, unlike all the people behind you, who are angry and honking because you’re having to back up again because your car’s too wide to fit through anything except perhaps a desert.
I understand, naturally, that if you are a fully paid-up member of the St Moritz Eurotrash set and you need a Ferrari because it’s part of the uniform, it’d be tempting to buy a GTC4Lusso. Because it has four-wheel drive. But I’ve never been to a ski resort where this would fit. Aspen maybe, but only just, even there.
And if you don’t live in a ski resort, why would you want a four-wheel-drive system that only really works at 4mph on snow? You wouldn’t. You’d have the two-wheel-drive V8 version. But that is the same size, so we are back to square one. There are few places on earth a car this big works. Dubai, Los Angeles and, er …
It’s probably best, then, not to think of it as a car at all. But as a garden ornament. The most beautiful piece of sculpture of all time. That’s what I’d do: save money on the extras and spend it instead on a plinth.
12 November 2017
This yob will make you smile and cringe
Honda Civic Type R
Fifteen years ago, when it became obvious economies of scale would cause all the small car makers to be swallowed up by the giants, I figured that in the fullness of time, only two of the then current crop would remain: Mercedes-Benz and Honda.
These were the only two that actually moved the game forward. While the rest were fitting their cars with gimmicky head-up displays to lure bored flies into their web of finance deals, Honda and Mercedes were innovating, working with hydrogen propulsion and dreaming up stuff that would make a difference. And I reckoned that ultimately this was what would keep them going in a world where big was good and bigger was better and China was the biggest of them all.
But then it looked as if Honda had just given up. It stopped making interesting, revvy little hatchbacks and exciting coupés, and intoxicating mid-engined supercars and … er, this is awkward, I can’t actually remember what it did instead.
I seem to recall there was a little off-roader that had a completely stupid shower in the back, and my mother at this stage bought a small Jazz because it was available in pink. But then it stopped that colour so she replaced it with a Volkswagen Golf.
After this, I really haven’t a clue. I drove fairly regularly past Honda’s giant plant in Swindon and I could see much activity but what they were making in there? Sorry. No idea. Nothing I’d want, that’s for sure. And
if you’re reading the motoring pages of the Sunday Times, I guess it’s nothing you’d want either.
There was talk of Honda’s best engineers working on a replacement for the much-loved NSX but every time I called to ask how it was getting along with what sounded like quite a clever hybrid drive system, I got a lot of ‘ers’ and ‘ums’, and some waffle about how the engineers were in California ‘benchmarking’ the Chevrolet Corvette. And some beaches probably.
Eventually the new NSX arrived in the showrooms but it caused as much of a stir as the company’s efforts in Formula One. It’s not a bad car by any means, but it doesn’t make you go: ‘Wow.’ You don’t take a drive and think: ‘God, I’ve got to have one of those.’
And Honda took such a ridiculously long time developing a hot and interesting version of the Civic that by the time it came out, the company was already winding down production of the car on which it was based. So it arrived in the marketplace and before the echo of the fanfare had died down, it had been dropped.
Happily, the manufacturer has been a bit quicker off the mark with the hot version of the new Civic. And yet despite the rush job, it’s like the Honda of old is back because it has created something a bit special.
The 2-litre turbocharged engine is said to be largely unchanged from the previous model but whatever small alterations Honda has made have transformed it into a big, comforting muscle. You find yourself pressing the throttle gently just to experience the beginning of a shove. It’s like limbering up for an arm-wrestle with a man who builds oil rigs. You haven’t felt the power yet, but you know pretty soon you’re going to have a dislocated shoulder.
However, it’s not the shove or the speed that impresses most with the Type R. It’s the chassis. There’s a wider track than on the last incarnation and a stiffer superstructure. And that sounds as if you’re in for more grip, if you can tolerate the bone-shaking ride. Nope. What you get is phenomenal grip and a ride that’s actually quite absorbent. It’s not a Labrador puppy, obviously, but it won’t shake out your fillings either.
This is a wonderful car to drive hard. Yes, it’s a bit of a fatty but you’re never really aware of the weight because it changes direction like an electrocuted swallow. Couple that to the 315 rampaging horsepowers, the 295 torques and the bark from a weird triple exhaust system and there’s no doubt Honda is back with a car that’s extremely good fun.
Is it as much fun as the Ford Fiesta ST? No, it isn’t. I know of no car that is more fun on an ordinary road than the Fiesta. What’s more, the Ford is little and the Honda isn’t and that matters. The point of a hot hatchback – and the reason I love them so very much – is they are fast and fun and brilliant to drive but when all is said and done, they are also hatchbacks. So they are practical and sensible and cheap to mend as well.
The original Golf GTI – arguably the first of the breed – played a big part in putting MG out of business because here was a car that was more of a laugh than the little sports car but which could also take a family of five and their luggage to the seaside. It was the Seventies, remember. People went to the seaside then.
And that’s where the Honda keeps on scoring because although it’s a rampaging Nürburgring meister, it also has five doors and a large boot and fold-down rear seats. You don’t get any of that in a Lamborghini.
What’s more, it comes as standard with 20in wheels and a reversing camera and a (fiddly) satnav system and so on. Prices start at £30,995, which is surprisingly low. So that’s good, as is the fuel economy, as is the depreciation. The insurance won’t be funny, I’ll grant you, but that aside, this will be an inexpensive car to run.
So there we are, the perfect hot hatch; fast, fun, frugal and fitted with five doors for a family of … God, I hate alliteration.
And I also hate the Type R because just look at it. Have you ever seen anything so wilfully yobbish? We’re told all its winglets and spoilers are there for a reason and I think I know what the reason is: to tell your neighbours you are very fond of football violence and shoplifting. And you have a knife.
I know a guardsman who is thinking of getting a Type R and I just know that if he does, he will wear his bearskin back to front.
I was embarrassed to drive it. Yes, a number of people pointed, made enthusiastic noises and took photographs, but a far larger number pointed for different reasons. You could see them thinking: ‘How small does your penis have to be before you’d buy a car like that?’
There’s a similar problem of course with the Ford Focus RS and Mercedes-AMG A 45. Neither is as in yer face as the Honda but they both wear their street-fighting credentials on the outside. Maybe this doesn’t bother you. Maybe you quite like to stir things up. But if you don’t, buy a VW Golf R. It’s not as much fun as the Honda and it isn’t as fast at top speed. But you will look less of a knob.
26 November 2017
It goes bong but my heart goes bang
Lamborghini Huracán Performante
We are used these days to cars that beep and bong constantly. They bong when you open the door, bong when you don’t immediately fasten your seatbelt, bong if you put a shopping bag on the passenger seat, bong if you try to start the engine without depressing the clutch first, bong if they think you’re going to bump into a lamppost, bong if you forget to turn the lights off or even if you leave your telephone in the glove box. Some even bong if you’ve nodded off.
But when it comes to making irritating noises all the bloody time, for no bloody reason, nothing gets close to the Lamborghini Huracán Performante. Bong it went when I set off on a chilly London morning. This was because its TSU was malfunctioning. I had no clue what its TSU was but it malfunctioned again moments later, with another bong to alert me of the fact. And then, after a minute or so, it did it again. This might have been bearable had it been regular but it had all the rhythmic timing of a bored dog.
So I called Lamborghini, which said it was a preproduction car and that its telemetry wasn’t installed properly. So I took it to a dealer, which applied a laptop and said that the bonging would now stop.
Bong, it said on the way back to the office. Once again, I reached for my spectacles to see what was wrong this time. And, according to a small message on the arcade-game electronic dash, something called the MMI had become disabled. For acronyms, this thing was worse than the British Army.
However, since the disablement of the mysterious MMI – it turned out to be the multimedia interface – was making no difference to my progress and there’d only been the one bong, I figured I could live with it.
That afternoon I left London for the country and as I joined the M25 the car bonged again. Once again, I reached for my glasses so I could read the message, which this time said that I should switch off the engine and check the oil level. It was 6 p.m. and I was on the M25 and it was drizzling, so I figured it could wait until the next services.
As I slowed for the slip road to the next services, the warning light went out. It had obviously decided that there was, after all, enough oil in the engine, so I speeded up and ten minutes later there was a bong to say the oil level was low and I should stop. Which I didn’t. I was too busy trying to turn on the satnav, which wasn’t working, or get information about traffic. But that system wasn’t working either. And then the oil warning light went out again. And all was well.
Except, it wasn’t. Because by this stage I was trying to find the windscreen wiper switch. Foolishly, Lamborghini has taken a leaf out of Ferrari’s book and mounted it on the steering wheel along with the switches for every other damn thing. So each time you want to turn on the wipers you end up listening to Classic FM with your left indicator blinking.
It gets worse when you are in the countryside and you need full-beam lighting because you push the button and when you let go, the full beam goes out. So you push it again, except at this point you’re going round a corner so now you’ve turned off the wipers.
In desperation, I fumbled away at the switches by my right knee un
til eventually all the lights went out. So now I’m doing 50mph, it’s raining and dark and neither the lights nor the wipers are on.
Shortly after sorting all this out – by swearing – I came up behind an Audi that was being driven by a headrest, with ears, at 35mph. I desperately needed to get home by 7 p.m. so I put the Huracán in Corsa, or Race, mode, which caused the dash to become one huge rev counter, and when we encountered a short straight I put my foot down.
Well, I’ve never heard a noise like it. Plainly, the engine had decided it was bereft of oil, after all, and had exploded. In a panic, I abandoned the overtaking move and took my foot off the accelerator. And then I realized that, no, that’s just the noise a Huracán makes when you poke it with a stick.
I finally managed to overtake the Audi but by then it was too late. I’d missed the 7 p.m. deadline and The Archers had started. But in the Lambo that was OK because this car is so loud you can’t hear anything at all. Ever again.
The sound starts off as a jackhammer and then when you floor it, you have babies crying, improvised explosive devices going off, Krakatoa, the Grateful Dead, a space shuttle rocket test, white noise, a latter-day V10 Formula One car at full chat, a squadron of F-15 Eagles on combat power, some lions, a hunt ball and a war. All going on in your car. At the same time.
What’s extraordinary is that it’s not a big car. Yes, it’s festooned with weird spoilers at the back and a snouty nose at the front. And my test car was a flat orange. But it’s not big. Which is what makes the sound it makes faintly ludicrous.
However, as I used the sound to drown out The Archers on that final few miles dash home, I’m afraid I fell head over heels in love. This is a wonderful car. A brilliant car. An absolute gem.
Lambo says that because it has developed a new way of making carbon fibre, it can use it to make small intricate parts, which means the Performante is lighter than you’d expect. Which it isn’t. At nearly 1.4 tons, it’s still a fatty. And it still has a cumbersome four-wheel-drive system, and the 5.2-litre V10 – the last of the breed, almost certainly – is broadly the same as the engine you get in the standard car.
Really? Page 36