What I’m currently up to in a (largely) professional capacity.
I am currently teaching at the University of Salford and the University of Sunderland. I am module leading on Digital Journalism and Magazine Journalism at Salford and teaching on MAC297, the NCTJ-accredited magazine production module at Sunderland.
I contributed four pages of content to the Q3 edition of Professional Manager, including my ‘best of’ top ten and an article on MPVs – and followed with my regular column (on execs) and car reviews for the Q4 edition.
Recent car reviews and press cars include: Infiniti Q50 Hybrid, Jaguar XF, Suzuki S-Cross and Citroen C4 Cactus. You can hear the PetrolPod podcast on the latter below with me and Gav.
The City Tribune was a huge success and plans are afoot for further editions nationally and internationally. You can read my featured articles on the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine and Liverpool’s gaming and automotive sectors. Dealing with the usual people in Liverpool’s public sector was a typically dispiriting and fruitless affair so I doubt we’ll do any more in the city.
I’m writing some stuff for Bitten, a magazine about food and drink in the North-West created by Dave Lloyd who I founded SevenStreets with.
I’ve written some more stuff for All About History Magazine, most recently on Casanova. It’s nice to know that editors come to me when they want an expert on famous historical playboys.
Some more spreads from the articles I’ve written appear below.
A DPS I wrote for Professional Manager for fleet managers and user-choosers on choosing a new car across the sectors
Deciding on a new car is hardly easy at the best of times. With a dozen factors to bear in mind it can be a fiendishly difficult task – with a rapidly-changing marketplace and a fragmenting sector it’s harder than ever. But if you know what you need – small car, big car, posh car, cheap car – we have some suggestions that might just make your job easier.
There are some surprises in there alongside some old favourites; some so new they’ve still got that fresh smell and some that have been around the block. They’re not selected by their notional jargonistic sector – they’re chosen to fit your needs, whatever they may be. Fleet cars needn’t be dull – and neither should choosing a new car. This is the the fun stuff – and with cars like these there’s never been a better time to test drive a new car…
Best for city driving: (Mini/Supermini) – Suzuki Swift
I’m not quite sure how Suzuki has done it, but the Japanese brand has made something big fit inside something small, TARDIS-style. With a punchy, versatile 1.3-litre diesel engine the Swift never feels outpaced, nor underpowered or noisy on the motorway, but it is brilliantly nippy around town. Factor in a genuinely-possible 60mpg and, for £15K for the high-spec with most of the toys you’d want, the Swift is impossible to ignore.
Best for fuel economy: (Family Car) – Peugeot 308
Finally reinjecting some good looks and genuine VW-matching quality into its volume range, Peugeot comes up with the good on the new 308. Peugeot engines are always good but the exterior styling and interior quality – including the smallest steering-wheel ever and a dashboard so clean you could eat your dinner off it – mean you can have German quality without the prices. Go for the 1.6 HDi and you get an incredible 91.1mpg and emissions of 82g/km – that makes it the most efficient car on the road today.
Best for shifting people: (MPV) – Citroen C4 Picasso
At higher specifications the new C4 Picasso – or Grand C4 if you really need to move a lot of people – is a classy piece of kit. Long gone are the days when MPVs were mutton dressed as, well, mutton – inside the car belies its size while inside the French people-carrier has genuine je ne sais quoi. Which is French for lots of interior space, top-range trim and all the toys. Citroen worked hard on the C4 Picasso and, with countless clever interior touches, it paid off in spades.
Best All-Rounder: (Crossover SUV) – Nissan Qashqai
The Qashqai may hard to get excited about; but it’s impossible to ignore. Currently being garlanded with Car of the Year awards, with Summer barely upon us, the new Qashqai follows in the footsteps of the car that defined the crossover segment and immediately goes back to the top of the tree. A quantum leap in interior quality, strong engines and impressive versatility – and all Made In Britain – the Qashqai is almost a no-brainer in the sector if you’re looking for a comfortable, versatile people-carrier.
Best off-roader: Volvo XC60
No, the XC60 isn’t the best mud-plugger out there but if you’re genuinely driving across fields on a daily basis go and buy a Land Rover Defender and have done with it. The XC60 has plenty of off-road chops but you won’t need a new spine after cruising down the M1 for three hours in it either. It’s also very spacious and endlessly practical. The SUV is the best car in Volvo’s range, offers a stylish alternative to the Germans in the sector and goes beautifully with roll-neck jumpers and minimalist furniture.
Best Family Car – BMW 3 Series
The 3-Series has long been a benchmark in the sector and that’s not changing any time soon – not for nothing is BMW still known as the Ultimate Driving Machine. It’s certainly the best to drive but has engines, refinement and technology to match anything in the sector. Fuel economy is strong and BIK is as low as 17% meaning you won’t pay through the nose for a genuinely desirable car.
The Head Turner (Large Executive) – Jaguar XF
The XF has assumed something of the role of the pride leader – perhaps it’s getting on a bit and there are some younger cats snapping at its heels, but it’s still unquestionably the Daddy. The car that saved Jaguar still oozes quality from the second its vents rotate into place and offers stunning fuel economy with the excellent 2.2-litre turbodiesel engines. Sleek looks, controlled power and a badge that’s the envy of every motorist on the road.
Best Alternative Car (Alternative fuel) – Vauxhall Ampera
With Chevrolet set to leave the market in 2015, Vauxhall’s Ampera will be the default E-REV of choice. Drive it as a petrol car; drive it as a hybrid; drive it as an electric car – the Volt looks like nothing else on the road and is good to be in either way, transporting four in style and space. Depending on your commute you could save a bundle too. Ever wonder what happened to the car of the future? Wonder no more.
Best for posing (Luxury Car) – Range Rover
If you must have a huge car that turns heads and speaks for itself, there’s really only one way to go. The Range Rover is the ultimate in luxury cars: a mud-plugging beast than isn’t out-of-place on The Mall. If such things are consideration there are economical diesel engines available but it’s the plush elegance, startling technology – the dual-screen infotainment system will make your jaw drop – and serene performance that make the Rangey what it is: unbeatable. It is big – and it is clever.
Best for load lugging (Van) – Ford Transit
When brand names attain the status of the colloquial – think Hoover, Sellotape or Google – you know they’ve gone big. The Transit’s reputation is based on being the van of choice for tradesmen over many decades. The fabled white van beloved of builders, bakers and candlestick-makers across the land is still going strong and in more variations that you can shake a rolled-up copy of The Sun at. Versatile, clever and surprisingly good to drive, the Transit does it all.
My column for the 2014 Q4 edition of Professional Manager magazine on buying executive cars
People often ask me for car advice – generally just prior to ignoring it in favour of buying the car they’d had their eye on all along. That’s fine by me because the fact of the matter is that there aren’t any bad cars anymore. There just aren’t. Sure there are cars that are less suitable for some people than others – and many cars I believe are overpriced – but no true duffers in this day and age.
Recently a colleague asked me for my car recommendations for him and his young family. Two children, a dog, a wife with whom he shares the car. Immediately my thoughts turned to some of the larger cars – MPVs, estates and large family cars that I’ve spent time with recently. Cars such as the Vauxhall Insignia Sport Tourer, Citroen C4 Picasso, Peugeot 2008, Suzuki S-Cross and Nissan Qashqai.
He nodded his head slowly as I explained the various benefits of these cars – different but all perfect for his needs. Eventually he shook his head and, a little bashfully, added: “No, I need a badge – for the car-park.”
Sound familiar? In the industry it’s known as badge snobbery – the need to show off to friends, neighbours and colleagues how successful you are by displaying a little logo on the front of your car, be it BMW, Mercedes or Jaguar – or even Bentley, Porsche or Maserati. “Oh, Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes-Benz? My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends,” sang Janis Joplin. It’s a sentiment echoed today on forecourts around the country.
The concept is perfectly understandable and a part of the automotive landscape since houses were built with driveways, yet among car journalists and others I meet in the industry a badge means very little. These people are impressed – or otherwise – by the competencies of a car, regardless of the logo on the bonnet. And while some cars made by these manufacturers are more impressive than others, there’s scarcely a car in the Executive segment that isn’t superb.
This segment is defined by cars such as the BMW 3-Series, a ‘compact executive’ and perennial best-seller and favourite of company car drivers and the Jaguar XF, a ‘large executive’ that has left everyone else in its wake since 2008. The cars made by these manufacturers – along with Audi, Lexus, Infiniti, Mercedes and Volvo – constitute the models generally referred to as Executives: large saloons designed to ferry important people around the country in style, comfort and with all the toys you could want for in a car.
Owning one of these cars needn’t be an expensive business however. Executives used to be big petrol-engined behemoths. No longer. All now offer relatively small diesel engines that will return up to 65mpg and emit under 110g/km or more and cost. Those lower CO2 models will become increasingly important in the next five years as the government ramps up Benefit-In-Kind on more polluting models, and while the recent era of generous finance and lease packages may be coming to an end, there are some incredibly good deals out there.
Because owners of cars in this sector tend to be more demanding of a car’s handling ability, executives tend to offer magic-carpet-soft rides, to soak up the motorway miles in the most comfortable manner possible. A recent drive in an Audi S8 and Mercedes CLS confirmed how astonishingly refined cars in this class have become, while the Jaguar XF offers the most stunning interior of the lot. BMW models have the most dynamic handling, while the likes of Infiniti, Volvo and Lexus offers something a little different to the Teutonic monopoly.
My advice, if you’re looking for an Exec, is much the same as my advice to any car-buyer. Ignore your preconceptions and find the one that’s right for you. They may look fairly similar – buyers in this market tend to be more conservative than in others – but there’s a world of variety under the bonnet and behind the doors.
In the same way that you wouldn’t buy a bottle of wine in Oddbins based on its price, you shouldn’t choose a car for its badge. Wine is far too important to buy on the label; it’s the same for cars.
Finding the Exec that’s best for you
Executive saloons are built for transporting groups of colleagues around the country; famously they’re all built to swallow two bags of golf clubs to boot. But the difference between a Mercedes C-Class and S-Class is vast – don’t buy a big car for the sake of vanity.
Small Is Beautiful
As restrictions on CO2 have kicked in, even Executive cars have had to downsize. All are now available with a sensible diesel engine around the 2.0-litre mark. If you’re going bigger you should have a very good reason – running costs could become crippling in three years’ time.
Ride And Handling
Most Execs are built primarily to be comfortable, on the basis that they’re designed to do a lot of miles for business purposes. Consider the make of car, the size of its wheels and whether you can live with run-flats in tandem with a stiff suspension.
The Most Toys
Of any car on sale, Execs are designed to be workplaces as much as transport. Factory-fit satnav, telephony and internet connectivity should be serious considerations with a new Exec. As should the latest active safety aids such as collision warnings, adaptive cruise control and accident mitigation.
The Fleet Special
If facts and figures baffle you, look for a derivative designed for the fleet or business market. It should be easy to find and should tick most of the boxes in terms of running costs and gadgetry. Look for models named Business Edition or similar.
My Q3 2014 column for Professional Manager on the modern-day people-carrier
Very rarely are people impressed by MPVs, forever referred to in the vaguely Stalinist technobabble of the car industry as the Multi-Purpose Vehicle. Received wisdom dictates that MPVs are too big, costly, boring, hard to drive, ugly and even vulgar to take their place in the company car-park.
But I have been impressed recently by what manufacturers are doing with their MPVs. Incredibly the sector is introducing innovations that are new to the industry and reviving bonkers ideas that were once the preserve of sports cars.
Take the Ford B-MAX and Vauxhall Meriva, for example. The former has a rear sliding door; the latter has rear-hinged doors that were recently only seen elsewhere on the Rolls-Royce Ghost and Mazda RX-8. Why? Well, because they make ingress and egress (otherwise known as getting in and getting out – see what I mean about jargon?) a whole lot easier, especially if you’re trying to manoeuvre child seats or the less mobile into the back of your car.
Vauxhall has a number of innovations on the flex theme. For instance, the Flex7 system on the Zafira Tourer means the family can choose between a five-seater or seven-seater; or fold the middle seat in the middle row down to make a 2+2 formation; or even fold up all six seats for a flat load-space.
Perhaps it should come as no surprise that MPVs are flexible and versatile – that is pretty much their raison d’etre after all. But there’s more. What continues to impress me about modern MPVs is how manufacturers have acknowledged the historic problems of people carriers.
First-generation MPVs were more akin to vans than cars; big, gruff things that were physically difficult to drive with manual gearshifts that were harder to move than Excalibur lodged in rock. They were wholly undesirable – like a concession to middle-age, an unfavoured compromise candidate or admission of defeat to those who take pride in their cars.
Car-makers have addressed these problems in two ways. Firstly they’ve made them enjoyable to drive by dialling up suspension and refining grumbly diesel engines into the quiet, smooth and torquey powertrains we have these days. Dynamics have improved enormously since early MPVs, to the point where the large Ford S-MAX is a genuine pleasure to drive.
Secondly, MPVs look good. No really, they do. Take a look at the Seat Alhambra, Ford Galaxy or Vauxhall Zafira Tourer large MPVs. They’re smart, streamlined cars with knock-out interiors and plenty of gadgets to keep employees happy on their trips up and down the motorways. In short they’re excellent fleet vehicles, having thrown off the dull associations of yesterday’s MPV.
Still there’s a lingering suspicion that any big car – apart from SUVs – is something of a hair shirt. The fact that it’s largely budget or volume manufacturers making cars for this market doesn’t help. There’s a reason BMW, Audi, Jaguar and Lexus shy away from making a multi-purpose vehicle – and that subtle message pervades the minds of car-buyers and suggests to them that there’s still something vaguely shameful about owning an MPV; a kissing cousin of the badge snobbery that compels people to eschew excellent cars from the likes of Ford or Vauxhall.
My message is this. There is no reason in 2014 to ignore the humble MPV. There are sporty SUVs such as the Ford S-MAX; a hybrid seven-seater from Toyota; MPVs-in-disguise such as the SUV-like Chevrolet Orlando; mini-MPVs such as the Ford B-MAX and Renault Scenic; high-end MPVs such as the Mercedes B-Class; oddities such as the Citroen C3 Picasso and van-orientated MPVs such as the Citroen Berlingo Multispace.
There are even fleet specialities such as the Vauxhall Zafira Tourer Tech Line, rammed with technology, attractive details such as large alloys and privacy glass and equipped with engines that will emit as little as 119g/km and return fuel economy as high as almost 63mpg.
Like much of the car industry over the decade, the sector has diversified into niches to suit emerging customer profiles. What constitutes an MPV – beyond manufacturer blurb – is no longer especially clear; the DNA cross-fertilised with estates, SUVs and hatchbacks. What is clear is that the sector has thrown off its historic connotations.
Received wisdom has a habit of lingering in big-ticket industries like automotive, but just look at Skoda. As with the Czech car company – once derided, now offering some of the best cars on the road – if you listened to the man on the street when it came to MPVs, you’d be wrong.
Carrier Signals – Five MPVs
Impossible to ignore for the money, the Alhambra is a more affordable version of the VW Sharan, which means strong build quality and a good range of modern engines.
A compact MPV with five seats, the B-MAX is notable for not having a central pillar between front and rear doors to improve access. Excellent range of diesel and petrol engines too.
One of the cars that relaunched a flagging Peugeot range, the mighty 5008 boasts a practical, spacious interior with plenty of useful touches around the cabin.
Europe’s first full hybrid seven-seat MPV emits under 100g/km and returns almost 70mpg. Running costs, high specifications and green branding are worth weighing up.
Citroën C4 Picasso
Perhaps the car that kickstarted the MPV revolution, the Picasso is sleek and different, while the interior is airy and quite massive.
Paradigm shifts don’t frequently occur in the car industry, a sector so conservative that it still thinks The Rolling Stones are what the young kids are listening to. Which is why it’s taken the Cittoen C-Cactus six years to make the transition from coo-able concept car to double-take road merchant.
When it was first announced, back in 2007, the C-Cactus concept was so radical that it appeared to have a dock for a Sonic Screwdriver. Looking back it’s equally difficult not to be impressed by Citroen’s foresight – the concept looks remrakably similar to the current trend for jacked-up supermini SUV cars such as the Renault Captur, Vauxhall Mokka and Range Rover Evoque – as it is to not be amused by the sometimes-wonky visions of the future. Ford Nucleon? Aston Martin’s Lagonda SUV? Renault Avantime?
At the time, along with an all-electric powertrain, a diesel-electric drivetrain with a combined fuel economy of 69mpg was mooted. Such a figure seemed the stuff of a Bond villian’s dream at the time, so it’s odd seven years later to look at the raft of new cars that are capable of such figures from petrol engines. The new C1, for example, officially returns up to 74mpg without any diesel or electric trickery. This figure, it transpires, will crop up again later.
What’s interesting is that these seachanges in the industry rarely happen by accident, or without an imperative. The economic crash of 2008 brought with it a sudden new awareness of CO2 and MPG that had little to do with saving the planet and more to do with saving a few coins when it came to renewing tax and filling the petrol tank.
EU emissions targets – fought tooth and nail by the industry at the time and written off as dangerous, unachievable and possibly insane – forced manufacturers to think differently. Hybrids became a serious consideration, as did electric cars (as did biofuel, but let’s move swiftly on). More significantly, for the C4 Cactus, came a rethinking of what a modern car needed and didn’t need. Clever-clever new powertrains were all well and good, but what if the unthinkable happened – a new car was actually lighter than the ones it replaced?
The C4 Cactus concept also boasted panels made of recycled material, and while the car industry hasn’t quite gone that bonkers, the production model does have rubber panels along the sides to protect against scrapes and bunts in supermarket car-parks. What’s more they’re easily replaceable at a nominal cost, so theoretically they’ll save money on potential repairs. Opinion seems split at the moment on the airbumps, but why the heck not?
The ‘Airbump’ technology consists of pockets of thermoplastic polyurethane (TPU) filled with air and will protect against errant supermarket trolleys, says Citroen. Quite who will be brave, stupid or important enough to test this out remains to be seen – for now my money is on a young, thrusting blog called TorqueSteer! or The Sun’s motoring correspondent.
One of the things that marks this car out as a Citroen is the ability to choose two-tone body panels. For example, there are Cacti that wear bright lemon, deep purple or a lovely pearl white metal, but have contrasting Airbumps. Amusingly I found myself in one car that boasted a Shark Grey body colour with Stone Grey Airbumps, bringing to mind an episode of Red Dwarf where Rimmer paints and repaints the ship in Metallic Grey and Gunmetal Grey to the point where he can’t tell which is which.
All of this does beg the question as to whether we’ll see the likes of Airbumps adopted more and more on cars – as we have with the DS3′s personalisation – and I can’t see why not. It’s presumably cheaper than steel, it’s a smart way of styling a cost-saving and it will cut down on weight. And as our cities get more and more crowded – and resources more scarce – why not kill several birds with one stone? Without actually killing birds – or polar bears for that matter.
My money is on a new Citroen sub-brand, rather like Dacia is to Renault, even if it’s unofficial. Think BlueMotion and the like that volume marques went with a few years ago to delineate their ultra-efficient models. With the DS range already selling to the premium end of the market and in the process of being spun-off as a brand in its own right there’s a further opportunity to refocus Citroen as an mid-level brand while having a new budget brand. It’s having cake, eating it and then buying another cake.
Ultra-efficient, funky and inexpensive variations of platforms already used across the Peugeot, DS and Citroen brands make sense from a volume perspective and a brand perspective – particularly in the current business climate. It’s interesting that, following years of European brands trying to head upmarket to escape the squeeze from the likes of Hyundai and Kia, the volume players are now embracing the high-volume, low-margin sector and developing genuinely interesting cars.
Consider the Citroen C5 – a car so forgettable that I seriously doubt most car-buyers even know it still exists. Now consider the C-Cactus – a car as individual as it is fascinating. Which one speaks of Citroen – the brand as it is understood by car buffs and even the general public – more?
The answer is as plain as the nose on Gerard Depardieu’s face. None of this means anything, however, if the car is rubbish. Previous models that speak of design insanity – the Nissan Cube and Daihatsu Materia to name but two – have flattered to deceive. Sure, the Cube turns heads, but get inside and you’re faced with the insipid mid-Noughties Nissan fascia underpinned by the Sunday-afternoon 1.5 dci. Mutton dressed as Snail Porridge.
I was cautious when I got to sit inside a C-Cactus – indeed, I conducted a whole podcast from within the Cactus with MajorGav of PetroBlog – as I suspected this might be the case. For all the airbumops and lovely clean console and luggage-inspired grab handles I suspected a weedy engine and rough transmission and a driving experience less interesting that being a passenger in a Hyundai Sonata. And without going for a Clarkson-style bait-and-switch, I was wrong.
The Cactus is rather lovely to drive, if you accept that there will be no hooning and simply enjoy it for what it is. There are problems. Of course there are problems – there are with any car. But that shouldn’t put you off, just as indigestion is unlikely to put you off demolishing a delicious meal.
So, the rear pillars are incredibly thick – as thick as the rear screen is tiny – and make rear vision very difficult. Rear visibility is horrendous when parking as a result.
Look up and there’s a lovely blue vista of sky, assuming you’re in the UK during one of the few days when the sun is out. If it is, ultra-violet screen or no, you’re going to get hot. Whether it’s driven by the need to save weight, open up the cabin or it’s designed by a man who yearns to feel the sun on his bonce while at the wheel, the C-Cactus will get rather warm with the sun streaming in. Thus far I have been very hot both times I’ve been in a Cactus.
What else? Well, there’s no spare tyre and the rear bench doesn’t splitfold. Instead it folds down as one in a style that’s bound to stir memories of the nineties as efficiently as Wayne’s World. There is more, depending on which model you choose. My friend, should you go with the autobox, you and the Cactus are not going to remain on good terms, airbumps or no.
The autobox in the Cactus is the worst I’ve ever come across. Every gear change is accompanied with the sort of rocking motion you might try and woo child to sleep with, only rather more vigourous, while the pause as the gear disengages suggests a toddler sucking in a breath prior to a huge screaming fit: you brace yourself.
The overall sensation is literally nauseating as you roll back and forth. Meanwhile the car’s wafty suspension means that lateral movement is akin to a rollercoaster. It’s quite the most unusual, unpleasantly unusual, experience I’ve had while driving a car – certainly one I’m willing to admit to anyway.
While the sideways rocking that accompanies any sort of tight cornering is still present with five-speed manual transmissions, the jerking of changing up or down is not. It’s not a particularly direct or precise gearchange, but it doesn’t need to be in a car like the Cactus. This is a car built for comfort and to buy one – with it’s ickle engines and Posh Spice kerbweight – and then whinge about the driving dynamics would be as fruitless as a hot-hatch Prius.
Get up to any speed on a B-road and the Cactus takes on a character not unlike I’d imagine driving a runaway tea-trolley would be like. It’s simply not set up for it, which makes the ability to turn off stability control even more bemusing. All becomes clear within seconds of disengaging the active safety aid, however. Reach any sort of revs – or seemingly speed – and ESP simply re-engages itself. It’s a definite Gallic finger-wag, but it probably has the right idea.
Oddly enough, the powertrains feel up to a bit of abuse. The 1.2-litre three-cylinder petrol engine has 110bhp but an eye-catching 151lb-ft that propels the water-retaining legume along at a fair lick. While the gearing is quite long, meaning it has to be worked quite hard during overtaking or any thrashing, it doesn’t feel strained when the revs are up.
It will happily coast along at around 30mph in fifth gear too and anti-stall means you can gentle the car along at a shade above tickover without the car complaining. If you have a mind to you could probably hypermile all the way to the 60mpg that is claimed in mixed driving. I still managed 40mpg after some fairly expressive driving, so suspect that mind-50s will be possible. There are 107 CO2s, which is impressive for a car of this size and good for running costs. Big ticks for this powertrain.
The real gem in the engine range, however, is the Blue HDi 100 – a four-cyinder 1.6-litre diesel engine mated to a five-speed manual. The stats speak for themselves: 88mpg on the combined cycle and 89g/km. Should that prove insufficient you can spec the Cactus with smaller, low-rolling resistance tyres that eke another three MPGs out of the engine. 91mpg. I am wont to scoff at claimed mileages, which are not the fault of manufacturers who make the most of an impossible job in homolgating fuel efficiency figures, but tend to be absurdly overstated. As a rule of thumb, if you’re getting two-thirds to three-quarters of claimed fuel economies in everyday driving you’re doing well.
I managed just over 74mpg in normal driving conditions – a mixture of curvy B-roads and swooping A-roads with some urban driving in beautiful Aylebsury and moderate traffic – without really trying. 74mpg. That is stupendous. On a full tank – not a large one especially at under ten gallons – you could travel almost 750 miles. From Elgin to Penzance – a gnat’s chuff shy of the fabled Land’s End to John O’Groats – for £65. Quite possibly for less, depending on the weight on your car, your driving style, traffic, route and more. If you cycled it would cost more to refuel you over that distance.
Where the Citroen C4 Cactus succeeds isn’t really in its nifty touches – scratch the admittedly lovely surface and you start to notice some nasty hard plastics, gaps between materials, poor rear legroom, vast rear pillars, no splitfolding rear seats… there are things that could get on your nerves here though I suspect the baggage-strap-like handles, surface bevels and lovely unadorned dashboard will always pull you round. The trim levels are called Touch, Feel and Style – they should be Touch, Feel and Fondle.
No, where this works is in the fact that it does work. That name isn’t simply a handy bit of greenwash marketing. If ever a car deserved a name that promises so much it’s the C4 Cactus. Personally I’m hoping it’s joined by a larger model called the C4 Camel. Either way, this is a car that sips petrol like I drink Laphroaig (neat, slowly and while flirting with a Russian spy – neat and slowly, anyway).
There are issues, to add to the flea bitings I mentioned above. To buy the Citroen C4 Cactus will cost from 12,990 to £18,190, the latter for the worst of the lot – the abysmal ETG6 autobox with the less frugal of the diesels. Realistically to spec it to the levels that I enjoyed during a day’s driving around the Chilterns you’d pay closer to £20K – all three cars that I drove cost a smidge shy of that landmark.
Most of the cars I drove came with a lovely metallic paint job (£495), insulated sunroof (£395), leather trim (£695), different-coloured Airbumps (£150), City Park (an absolute must at £325), Citroen’s eTouch Emergency & Assistance System (£250), body-coloured mirrors (£50) and a spacesaver spare wheel (£75). Two-and-a-half grand’s worth of extras on a car that starts at £13K. And I wonder what the stripped-out model will be like. Alas, the three cars I drove were all of mid- or top-range spec – Feel and Flair respectively – so I can’t enlighten. But I’d like to drive that base spec model before I committed completely to the Cactus.
But I do love the car for what it is and what it looks like. It looks different and it’s been built by people who have managed to drag themselves out of the the same headspace to which aerodynamics, cost, weight, fuel economy, drivers safety, pedestrian safety, prevailing design tastes and a dozen more factors anchors them. I celebrate cars that are different and I celebrate cars that are genuinely good at what they do. Citroen’s Cactus falls into both of those categories.
Some people ask me how I can think that a silly Citroen is a better car than a Porsche Cayenne, or why I’m more interested in curios than exotica. It’s because I’m a fan of genuine innovation, wit and flair rather than a slave to horsepower and cock-waving design. How many cars do what they say on the tin?
The C4 Cactus fulfils on its touchstone promise: it’s economical. What’s more it does it with a cheekiness that’s irresistible and may just redefine a sector as conclusively as the Qashqai did a few years ago. Consider my curiosity pricked by this French succulent.
I stumbled in from the pub tonight and flicked through the channels until I came across an episode of Cracker. It was To Be A Somebody, the incendiary episode starring Robert Carlisle as Albie – a white, working-class scouser-turned-serial-killer – and I watched the last 15 minutes as rapt as I was when I first watched it at the age of 16.
Even then I knew I was watching something important – something that included Hillsborough, racism, working-class socialist bigotry and a host of other issues that send a shiver down the spine of any middle-class liberal. A disturbing confluence of issues – overlapping on a Venn diagram – as relevant today as they were 20 years ago.
Watching it back it’s hard to not view Albie’s call-to-arms in terms of Irish republican violence, 7/7 and even the rise of UKip, BNP and EDL. A touchstone for the disaffected white working-classes, denied the social gravity of work, unions, church and football. It struck me, although the outcomes may be somewhat different, that it’s hard to disagree with the thrust of his script.
I interviewed Jimmy McGovern in 2005 for Black & White Magazine, a Liverpool culture magazine I edited back in the day. At the end of some delicate negotiations I had an email exchange with Jimmy where we exchanged questions, discussion and gossip.
He was incredibly accommodating, polite, funny – I have not a bad word to say about him. Doctor Who was gearing up for a return at the time and he gave me some juicy gossip involving Christopher Eccleston, whom he obviously held in high regard. I also got a lovely Christmas message from him at the end of the year – I like to think he’d appreciated something in the questions I asked.
As is always the case, we lost touch and I doubt he even remembers the exchange ten years on. But I remember his personal kindness to a young journalist to whom he owed nothing – he also allowed me to sell the interview to Tribune – and willingness to engage on subjects we both found interesting. Thanks Jimmy.
Ten years on from that interview – and 20 years from the episode’s debut – the issues of which we spoke are still relevant. And, with The Street and Accused, so is Jimmy McGovern.
The following represents the compiled Q+A I assembled from our email conversations, printed in Black & White Magazine and Tribune. Inevitably I feel I was a little gauche and tactless – and wish I’d pursued certain lines on inquiry, but remain pleased with the exchange.
Can you tell us what you’re working on at the moment?
Right now I’m trying to do final polishes on the Cracker special and a six-parter for the BBC provisionally entitled The Street. As for the six-parter I’ve written only two eps and been a sort of lead writer on the others. The Americans would call it “show runner” but to hell with the Americans and their cultural imperialism. With the exception of a man called James Quirk the writers on The Street have been relatively inexperienced – but they all had good stories to tell and that’s the main thing for me. I’m sick of watching telly and seeing the same old stories being regurgitated. When I’ve finished these polishes I’ll be switching over to a musical about the history of cotton. We’re trying to blend negro-spirituals from the cotton fields with brass band music from the cotton mills. God knows if it will work.
What made you decide to come back to Cracker?
I’ve gone back to Cracker because I used to be co-organiser of the Hillsborough Memorial Golf Day and we needed a sponsor so I went to Granada and told them that if they sponsored the golf, I’d write them another Cracker.
Do the characters you create inevitably stem from aspects of your own personality – even if it’s a small one?
You’re right: if you’re in any way serious as a writer, you will always write characters based upon your own personality. That’s easy to say when it’s people like Fitz [from Cracker] because people like him despite his flaws. Not so easy when it’s characters like Albie [from the episode To Be A Somebody] but Albie was based on how I felt in the aftermath of Hillsborough. I don’t think I could have killed anybody over Hillsborough. In fact I’m sure I couldn’t. But I certainly felt like killing Bernard Ingham, Margaret Thatcher and every single member of the South Yorkshire Police. And as for The Sun… I think every single killer in Cracker has come from somewhere deep within myself.
Hillsborough seems to be something of a touchtone across more than one of your works; something that has deeply affected Liverpool. Is this a fair reflection?
And you’re right again: because of that, some people think I’m a headcase, a hot-headed, angry, frustrated Scouser. But I’m not. I’m fifty-six. I’ve been married for thirty odd years; I’ve got grandkids; I play golf. The secret is, I know I’m nothing special. I know I’m not particularly good. Or particularly bad. I’m just like everyone else. And if I’ve felt like doing horrible things, then I’m bloody sure everybody else has as well. Nobody’s unique. Well, everybody’s unique but you know what I mean.
I have always seen myself as left-wing but, honestly, throughout the eighties it was hard to be a left-wing, white, working class male. We were blamed for everything: racism, sexism, fascism. And, of course, the epitome of the white working class male was the football fan. People hated them, especially people on the left. Hillsborough came out of all that and, after Hillsborough, I said to myself that I would never let people attack us (white working class males) like that again. And Fitz came after that – the first post-feminist, post political-correctness TV series.
I never had any doubts about writing the story of Albie in Cracker. In fact the Hillsborough families came to a screening and supported it. They, more than anyone, understood Albie’s anger. As for the drama-doc itself, I wrote it because the families asked me to write it. As simple as that.
Do you still have a personal faith, or are you a cultural Catholic?
I have never attacked the Catholic faith. I have never attacked any religion. There was one particular journalist who slyly hinted that I might be anti-semitic but I can tell you I’m not. The great religions, when they are properly adhered to, are a force for good. It’s the institutions that sprout up around those religions that get up my nose. And the hypocrites within them. One example, the Catholic Church sheltered child abusers for years. If it had done this out of compassion for the abusers, well that might, just might, be understandable. But it sheltered the abusers because it was frightened of losing its great wealth in the courts.
What would be the worst and the best we can expect to come out of Liverpool winning Capital of Culture?
I’m ambivalent about Capital of Culture. On the one hand, if we ever get my cotton project onto the stage it will probably be because of Capital of Culture money. On the other hand I’m not prepared to be gagged because of that. I think 2008 will pass the vast majority of Scousers by, just as whatever-year-it-was passed the Glaswegians by.
Liverpool has given you a lot of source material in the forms of Hillsborough and Dockers, albeit frequently tragic and terrible. Does this make you ambivalent about living here?
No. I thank God I was born here. I have always loved this city and the older I get, the more I love it. The people above all, their humour and passion and sensitivity, but also the river, the architecture, the parks, the history of the place…
I have always had a soft spot for Ireland. My wife has 100 per cent, pure Irish blood in her veins. And, of course, I have the obligatory great grandad who came over in the Famine. But I see myself as a Scouser, a catholic, white, working class Scouser. That means I’ve plenty in common with the Irish but, no, I am not Irish; I am a Scouser. Lots of people see themselves like that, I think, and that’s healthy surely.
Where did The Lakes come from? Was there an element of it being something that was ‘fun’ to write?
I am proud of the first series of The Lakes. The trouble was the second series. We brought in a lot of very good writers, each with his or her own “voice” so the second series went all over the place. But the first I liked. And a lot of it was autobiographical. As was Hearts and Minds of course.
I know I’ve got this reputation for grittiness but, actually, the first two things I wrote, other than Brookside, were Felix Randal and Traitors. Felix Randal was based on the poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, about a farrier in Liverpool in the late nineteenth century and Traitors was about Father Garnet’s involvement in the 1605 Gunpowder Plot.
Are there particular actors who you prefer to work with?
Because I write a lot about working class characters, I like to work with actors who are working class. It’s the hardest thing to pull off for an actor, I think: to act outside your socio-economic group. Interestingly, Irish actors can do it. It’s often very hard to spot an Irish actor’s background. But for the English it’s not so easy.
I used to fight like mad to get my programmes made in Liverpool. But I got tired of people accusing me of portraying Liverpool in a bad light. You know, the people of Manchester have never said to me, “Hey, you Scouser, how dare you portray our city as full of headcases and psychopaths!” That’s because they understand that film and TV production brings millions into the local economy.
What are you most proud of of your scripts?
No matter how well something has been done, it could always have been done better. I’m proud of Hillsborough of course because it helped people. I’d say the same thing about Dockers, Sunday and Priest. But Heart, a small movie, was a bit of a failure as was the second series of The Lakes. As for Mary Queen of Scots, I wrote it as a big-budget movie and, in hindsight, I should have fought to get it made as such. But failure is good for you, you know. Particularly if you’re Catholic.
What I’ve been up to on a professional footing over the last few months…
I’ve finished teaching at the Universities of Salford and Sunderland, with only marking remaining. Over this academic year I’ve taught around 300 students at three universities and eight modules.
I’ve edited The City Tribune over April and May, it’s a new publication whose first edition covers the International Festival of Business in Liverpool during Summer 2014. Read it here. Interview here.
I’m currently revamping Liverpool Underlined.
I’ve recorded two PetrolPod podcasts with Gavin Braithwaite-Smith. The latter was recorded at the SMMT driving day at Millbrook in May.
I’ve written a four-page special feature on cars and gadgets in the fleet sector for Professional Manager Magazine, the official mag of the Chartered Management Institute. I’ve had a number of press cars on review, including the Peugeot 2008, Peugeot 308, Nissan Qashqai, Suzuki Swift and Citroen DS3.
I’ve contributed several articles to All About History magazine, the most recent of which was on the fall of the Aztec civilisation, the front page splash – finally the A/S Level in Archaeology came in handy.
I’ve also written articles on Richard Nixon, Jack The Ripper and the birth of Hollywood for the magazine.
I’ve watched the latest series of The Great British Menu with a growing, open-mouthed horror. Not because of the litany of absurd dishes – burned food, ash and soil seems very popular this year – but because there’s some of the stupidest, most facetious plates of food being created in the name of celebrating the 70th anniversary of D-Day.
Every year the show has introduced a far-fetched conceit that is shoe-horned into programmes showing peole thinking about cooking, then cooking, then watching in lip-biting tension as Marcus Wareing asks them if their cooking is sufficiently English. Last year seemed to mark the nadir, when bewildered chefs were consistently asked if their food was funny.
This year they’re being asked if their food honours terrified Allied soldiers fighting their equally terrified German opponents. Which seems a bit like asking whether my teaching pays sufficient tribute to Norse gods – or whether the Roundheads would be impressed by my podcasts.
Leaving aside the notion of ‘celebrating’ D-Day – the line between commemoration, memorial and celebration seemingly blurred these days – how does one pay tribute to a bloody battle through the medium of food exactly? This year’s dishes have seen ammo crates, ration cards and shrapnel helmets employed to house plates of nosh. What japes. Why not go one step further?
“Adam has served his venison parcels in hollowed-out chemical grenades, with a side serving of gravy in a canister of Zyklon B.”
At what point does a pivotal moment in a war become beyond the pale? How about the liberation of Auschwitz? The detonation of Little Boy above Hiroshima? The carpet bombing of Dresden? The attack on Pearl Harbour? Presumably we wouldn’t deign to ‘celebrate’ these instances with a plate of saltmarsh lamb and samphire or a salted caramel creme brulee, nor serve a gigantic field mushroom rising above a flattened Japanese town constructed with burned edamame beans? Perhaps you think my rhetoric offensive – in which case ask yourself whether an entire programme predicated on exactly the same notion is offensive.
Is this an issue of time elapsed? I can imagine a silly programme where chefs from Lancashire and Yorkshire compete to see who can make the best regional dishes with a passing reference to the Wars of the Roses. But many WWII veterans are still alive. On that score would we serve a cocktail to ‘honour’ Vietnam vets called Agent Orange? Centre a throwaway food entertainment show around the Falklands conflict? First Iraq War? The Troubles? 9/11? Of course we wouldn’t.
So how has this one got the OK? Here’s how one foodie blog sees it:
This year’s theme is a whopper: the 70th anniversary of D Day. As such, chefs must create dishes that evoke the wartime spirit of the generation which fought for our freedom as well as honour the bravery shown throughout the Second World War.
Let’s parse this for a second. Food that accurately represents what dodging hot metal, designed to tear your body apart, is like? Food that accurately represents what it’s like to face down a Nazi war machine that exterminated six million Jews in concentration camps? Food that accurately represents what plunging a bayonet into the chest of enemy troops is like? Hmm.
There’s talk of one chef travelling to Normandy to the scene of the allied invasion; Frances Atkins retracing her father’s D Day experiences through her menu; and Emily Watkins drawing inspiration from her grandfather, a prisoner of war.
Asking someone about their experience of being a prisoner of war so you can cook some powdered-egg cake off the back of it? How can no-one see how blithely offensive this is? Here’s a tweet from the Twitter account of the same blog:
— Great British Chefs (@gbchefs) April 17, 2014
Would people who fought, killed and died on foreign battlefields care about the lack of dates on a dish created as a ‘celebration’ to their sacrifice 70 years later? My guess – and I recognise that I’m going out on a limb here – is that they would not.
Foodie types – those who commission these programmes and those who participate in them – seem to have come to the utterly mistaken conclusion that their work is in some way important. In show after show we’re showed meals that are supposed to be witty and humourous, produced by some of the most humourless, self-important and monomaniacal people who walk the earth. They have come to believe their own press – that putting a pork loin in a water bath is, in some way, worthy of praise.
It’s the only explanation for a programme where one chef asks another whether his potted shrimp dish ‘honours’ the combatants in a protracted series of battles in which 20,000 people lost their lives.
• Am I alone? Thankfully not. Here’s what Twitter makes of it.
Great British Menu: had I survived the Normandy beaches on D Day, I'm sure I wouldn't want a meal reminding me of them 70 years later.
— Gary Fairley (@StumpyRider) May 6, 2014
Many of the dishes cooked on Great British Menu this week were intended I'm sure as 'witty' and 'thoughful' tributes to the horrors of D-Day
— Mister Neil Kulkarni (@KaptainKulk) May 3, 2014
Watching Great British Menu. This year commemorating the 70th anniversary of the D-Day landings. Nobody is serving their food from an MG32.
— Foamcow (@foamcow) May 2, 2014
Good lord. The latest interminable round of the Great British Menu is premised on making D-Day themed chicken nostril parfait. Bleak.
— PeatWorrier (@PeatWorrier) May 1, 2014
Finding D-Day theme for Great British Menu a bit weird. In 70 years will someone be making a mousse in the shape of the siege of Benghazi?
— Kate Hewson (@katejhewson) April 29, 2014
The Great British Menu has passed into absurdity now. Recreating the D-Day landings with prawns
— Anita Singh (@anitathetweeter) April 26, 2014
'How much do you think this fish dinner has told the story of D-Day?' The chefs on Great British Menu do talk some cock.
— E O Higgins (@eohiggins) April 24, 2014
FFS Some tosser of a chef on the Great British Menu comparing the 'drama' of his dish to the D-Day landings! #BBC2
— Derek Murray (@DerekJMurray) April 8, 2014
— Ralf Little (@RalfLittle) April 25, 2014
Anyone else think the Great British Menu's designer food based on the Normandy landings is in really poor taste? No pun intended.
— Mathew Lyons (@MathewJLyons) April 8, 2014
My first book, Fast Cars, is in shops now. It looks like this.
I have completed an article on Jack The Ripper for All About History magazine and will be commencing my latest article for Professional Manager Magazine this month, probably on crossover SUVs.
I’m teaching at the University of Sunderland over five modules this semester. Most of the modules I’m teaching on revolve around digital and social media, including MAC114, MAC296, MAC297, MAC299 and MACM69 at Sunderland.
I am also teaching digital media at the University of Salford.
I’ve finished at the University of Westminster, where I delivered a module I wrote on News and Feature Writing.
I’m currently working on editing a magazine for the International Festival of Business, which will be held in Liverpool this Summer.
I recently attended launches for the Citroen Grand C4 Picasso and Volvo D4 engine range. I recorded podcasts at both with Gavin Braithwaite-Smith. You can hear the former below. I recently updated a page on my automotive experience too.
A few decades ago, when a hydrogen fuel-cell or the Porsche Cayenne were mere dreams in the mind of a madman, there was such a thing as a diesel-electric powertrain, pushing people and freight all over the country and no-one batted an eyelid. The diesel engine generated electricity that drove the wheels. Clever eh?
Fast forward to the 21st Century – you know, the new millennium when we’d all get to work in a flying car and eat food pills for breakfast – and General Motors has rediscovered this revolutionary powertrain. It works like this: A small engine burns petrol and, instead of driving the wheels, it generates electricity. This electricity, in turn, powers an electric motor that drives the wheels. It sounds more complicated but, weirdly, it’s more efficient (although GM has admitted that on very rare occasions – Christmas and the Queen’s birthday and so on – the petrol engine can drive the wheels directly, though this is akin to the USS Enterprise passing Warp 9.9).
But there’s more. Energy can be recovered while coasting or heading downhill, meaning you can generate more electricity from movement and gravity. More cleverness. If that doesn’t float your boat then you can plug it into the mains and charge it up at home, at work or at one of the (rather low) number of charging points around the country.
Chevrolet calls this technology Voltec – and it’s new in the automotive world. As we’ve seen, this technology has been around for a long, long time however – a sign of how slowly the car industry grasped the necessity for change that it’s only just become financially viable. Not that it is for GM, who are reckoned to lose money on every Chevrolet Volt and Vauxhall Ampera sold, of course. Whether it’s cost-effective for private, business or fleet buyers is an intriguing question too. But more of that later – here are my thoughts on the Volt (and Ampera too – I’ve driven both and the differences are not meaningful).
I love it. I wholeheartedly love it. It delights me, it amuses me, it surprises me and it wows me. Years ago we might have called this the X-Factor. Let’s say it has a certain je ne sais quoi.
The Volt looks cool; it has a certain whiff of the muscular styling that left the country with Dodge and Cadillac a couple of years back. But while they looked rather clunky – the automotive equivalent of a 20-gallon hat and Smith and Wesson sticking out of a belt – the Volt looks imposing and rather different.
Step inside and this impression continues. It’s not uncommon to see car interiors compared to TARDISes – or smart LCD screens imagined as Starfleet technology. The Volt reminds me of Blake’s 7 starship The Liberator: bright, white, smart and clean – a vision of the future from a time when that didn’t mean the dirty industrial neo-noir of how we tend to envision things to come in these permanently-disappointed days. The Volt doesn’t talk to you in a haughty voice – I’d guess Justin Bieber if it did talk – but you wouldn’t be inordinately surprised if it started yakking at you about the weather.
Start up the car and there’s a bunch of noises more akin to a gaming console firing up. That sensation is compounded by the displays that spring into life when you press the start button, swimming into sight like the interface of the 360 or PS3. This is clearly not accidental; in fact it’s one of the first of a new paradigm in how we communicate with our cars. It’s not the first example of the way that our cars will dazzle us with information via a pretty screen, but it’s one of the more noticeable.
If you have any charge in your Volt’s batteries, you will pull away with the gentle, almost imperceptible, whoosh of an electric car. This is a genuine thrill that has yet to wear off for me and it’s a constant audible reminder that the car you’re driving is Other, something new.
It’s at this point that the Volt can go one of several ways. It is an electric car, with caveats. It is a parallel hybrid, if you drive it that way. It is a series hybrid, if you run out of electric charge. It’s a plug-in hybrid or a KERS-powered hybrid, or both. Or it is essentially a petrol car with some brake energy regeneration. It depends entirely on how you drive it and how you treat it. And that determines entirely how much it costs to run.
Drive it as a pure EV – this is possible if you follow a logic diagram and can tick yes all the way down – and your bank manager will kiss you. Drive it as a pure petrol car – this is possible if you take every path of least resistance – and your bank manager will tut and shake his head. Children will cry when they see you and you will feel all hollow inside. The difference, over 10,000 miles a year, could amount to thousands of pounds.
Still, either way, Boris will ensure that you don’t pay the Congestion Charge in London; the Treasury won’t be chasing you for any road tax and neither insurers nor your local repair man will be your friend as you’re unlikely to be putting as much business their way. If you ran the Volt purely on electricity it could cost you as little as £5,000 to cover 10,000 miles in a year by my reckoning (I have a C in GCSE maths so make of that what you will) – perhaps less than half of a similar petrol car.
That means the quoted fuel economy and CO2 figures are quite, quite meaningless. That’s not Chevy’s fault, but these European homologation numbers seems to get more absurd with every new car. You might as well ascribe a mile-per-gallon rating of 270mpg to your house, cat or Yorkshire Pudding as the Volt. The answer, in my view, lies somewhere between 40mpg, 80mpg and N/Ampg. Where 270mpg comes from is a genuine mystery to me. So too the 27g/km for CO2. Eh?
The Volt is, then, a tool and it’s up to you to use it in the way for which it was designed. You wouldn’t buy a hammer to fix your broken china pot nor a bicycle to cover your daily 100-mile commute. The Volt can be used incorrectly in much the same way, though the worst that can happen is that you blow a lot of money on a cool car – you wouldn’t exactly be the first to make that mistake. Use the Volt well – remember how we’re taught that electricity can be our friend if used properly? – and I think it could the start of a beautiful friendship.
If this were a Top Gear review then, at this point, I’d do a massive switcheroo and suggest you shouldn’t buy one. So should you buy one?
No. And, yet, yes.
Car-buying is about to become a heck of a lot more complicated. Oh, sure, these days you have to factor in running costs to special offers, divide by cashback, multiply the finance and reverse the polarity of the neutron flow. But that’s child’s play to what’s coming. It is phenomenally hard to work out whether a car such as the Volt will save you money.
To do so you need to know your annual mileage, your electricity tariff, your most likely commutes, the proximity of various charging points and your projected savings on the likes of road tax, insurance and maintenance over, say, seven years. Got that? OK, here’s your next task.
What are the Volt’s likely resale values? How long will the battery last? Should you buy a wallbox for faster, more efficient charging? Will a new generation of superconductors make electricity much cheaper? Will petrol prices rise exponentially in the next decade? You might even have to bear in mind the prevailing temperature in your part of the world, how hilly your commute is, how busy it’s likely to be at certain times of the day, whether you mainly drive in urban or motorway environs…
Only you can answer any of these questions. In the same way that fleet managers spend time poring over spreadsheets, gnawing on a pencil and frowning before handing you a piece of paper on which they’ve written VAUXHALL ASTRA and HYUNDAI i30, you will have to calculate up to a dozen factors – some of which will be hedged bets and best guesses – before deciding whether the Volt will save you money.
My own experiences with this car, in this area, have left me nonplussed. On the launch I was mightily impressed by the figures achieved and potential savings. On a more recent encounter, when I racked up around 600 miles in the car, I was less impressed. Whether because of my style of driving (fairly conservative, believe it or not), weather or other conditions, I got barely 20 miles from charging the car up – a long way shy of the potential 50 miles the Volt is capable of.
For those 20 miles I had the car plugged in to the mains at 120V for around 12 hours; by my reckoning at a cost of about two quid. Now, how far would a new diesel engine at 50mpg combined cost to cover the same distance? I suspect the difference is down to a few pence. I’m well aware of the other financial savings on road tax, maintenance and the like, but the Volt has an asking price of around £30,000 (£35,000 without the government incentive for which it currently qualifies), perhaps double the price of cars that offer comparable size, performance and economy. There are numerous cars that go for £30K but I find the most instructive example to be the Jaguar XF. A Jaguar XF!
I could say more – in fact I once delivered a piece to camera, in one take, on the mathematics of electric cars that lasted well over a minute and has driven all who’ve seen it to horrible tears – but I think the point is made. You will spend a lot of time figuring out whether an EREV makes sense for you – and when you have it you will need to have your wits about you like never before.
Because while you can drive the Volt as if it’s a pure ICE car it would be utterly pointless to do so. It would be like insulating your loft and then leaving all the windows open in Winter. It would be like buying a Toyota Prius and driving it down the motorway at 90mph. It would be like pateintly collecting and sorting all your recycling every week before throwing it in the bin. As a pure petrol car the Volt is a little short of poke and returns about 40mpg. Further, like the Prius example, there is no point in buying one if you have a heavy right foot – you’re simply chucking money down the drain.
30 years ago you had a simple choice. Small family car; big family car. Little car; big car. Slow car; fast car. Cheap car; expensive car. 4-star petrol, manual, two seatbelts and a choke. Not any more. Rather like the way that privatisation has made choosing an energy provider a baffling and distressing paper-chase of incomprehensible tariffs, car-buying is becoming similarly discombobulating. Whether this concerns you or not depends entirely on your approach to buying and owning cars.
If you’re a worrier, a pen-chewer, a bean counter then the coming age of EVs, EREVs, hybrids, turbo petrols and ultra-efficient diesels are going to make your life a living hell. If, on the other hand, you simply buy cars because you like them – and to Hell with the cost – you might revel in the dazzling range of choices.
And I think the Volt (and its Ampera sibling) might just delight the discerning car-buyer. It’s new, quite different, vaguely futuristic and exciting in the way that few new cars are. It’s a technological marvel, it has style and it’s a car that certainly says something about you. I’m not entirely sure what it will say, but I perceive a much bolder, more offbeat, pretentious-in-a-good-way vibe to the Volt. That name, that powertrain, the gaming-like interface and the fairly radical centre stack. It screams that it is different to the rest of the car parc; a commitment to awkwardness; a statement of uniqueness.
The Volt is, in essence, the new Saab. I can imagine architects driving this car. Doctors, dentists, history teachers. People who own a coffee table book of Klimts, the DVD of that Scorsese film on Bob Dylan and a black rollneck sweater. Glib? Yes, I don’t care – you can read the What Car? review if you want luggage space or ISOFIX information. The Volt is the new Saab, you read it here first.
That means the Volt is my car of 2012, not because of its economic or ecological credentials, not for its rather ordinary driving manners or somewhat awkward use of interior space. But because of what it is not. It is not like most other cars; it is not like any other cars. It makes driving feel like a new experience again – new skills to learn, new sensations to come to terms with – a car that feels like a kick up the arse in its use of computer trickery to communicate and cajole.
It’s the way that GM has not made a hair shirt of this car; rather something bold, futuristic and exciting. Instead the differences are made a virtue; accentuated and pushed to the fore – an ECU that has more information than you can comprehend, showing you what your car is doing in real-time and making it a defining factor of what this car is all about.
How many decades have passed since the first diesel-electric trams and trains? 50 years later EREVs and plug-in hybrids will be the norm soon – the opportunity to offload responsibility for power generation onto national grids will be too good for car manufacturers to resist. It’s ironic that this very old concept has been reanimated as a car of the future, but that’s what it is. And guess what, we can expect to see petrol-electric trains using this form of powertrain again in years to come. Good ideas never die – they just go out of fashion, but then they come back. The Volt is the new Black.