Alan Judd

There recently left these shores a benign and fecund angel of the automotive realm, Dr Franz Josef Paefgen, retiring chairman and CEO of Bentley. Benign because he was unfailingly polite and helpful and understood the Bentley tradition and the sort of people who buy into it. Indeed, he empathised with a wider tradition than that: he must have been the only Bentley (or any other?) CEO who would sometimes drive to work in his Morris Minor. Fecund because, despite his appreciation of tradition, he was thoroughly modern in his approach to engineering and product development. It would be an exaggeration to say that without Dr P, as he was known, there wouldn’t be a Bentley today; but it mightn’t have been the success it has, for all VW’s half-billion investment.

The skies are brightening over Warwickshire, where they breed Aston Martins. The recession reduced staff from 1,200 to 900 but now they’re back up to 1,000 and are opening a dealership in — of all places — Dublin. After spending almost a century in the red, they’ve finally nudged into profit under the leadership of Dr Ulrich Bez. If asked by a friend to let him have an Aston at cost price, Dr Bez need no longer reply by quoting former owner David Brown: ‘You couldn’t possibly afford that. It’s cheaper in the showroom.’ It takes about six weeks to make one, which includes 50 hours’ paintwork and 70 to do the trim.

When I was young I knew an elderly Scottish gentleman who had the good sense to fall for and marry, despite his advanced years, an American widow of verve and charm. Nor did he lack those qualities himself: although half crippled by childhood polio, he became a pilot and a keen motorist. His cars smelt intoxicatingly of Turkish cigarettes. At that time his stable included a Jaguar XJ Series 1 (1968–73) and a Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow of similar vintage. I was somewhat in awe of the latter but he insisted the former was the better drive and kindly let me canter each over those empty winding Speyside roads. He was right. The XJ was a sensation at its launch, a kind of automotive Usain Bolt that, at a stroke, changed the game.

The motor industry likes anniversaries because they help sell cars. This year is the centenary of Ford’s assembly plant at Trafford Park in Manchester — its first outside North America — which produced the Model T from kits. It’s also the 50th birthday of the E-Type Jaguar (how many times will we see the word ‘iconic’ alongside that this year?). My favourite, however, is the shapely Nelly Thornton, immortalised in 1911 as the Spirit of Ecstasy that has adorned most Rolls-Royces ever since. It’s not proven that Eleanor Thornton, mistress of Lord Montagu and secretly mother of his child, modelled for Charles Sykes, creator of the Spirit, but rumour becomes myth and myth historical reality if enough of us believe it.

And so to my 72nd car (71st if you don’t count the horsebox). And so to my 72nd car (71st if you don’t count the horsebox). Oppressive financial responsibility has slowed the recent rate of change and I’ve had my 1999 old-shape Discovery 2 for an unprecedented eight-plus years, although one or two others were run in harness with it during that time. It has been a good and faithful servant. Purchased from main dealer Caffyns in 2002 for £17,000 (minus £3,000 for my trade-in Range Rover) at 37,000 miles, it needed expensive warranty work on the gearbox and ECUs (electronic black boxes) in the first year. Since then virtually nothing has gone wrong. After 121,000 miles it’s still on its original clutch, exhaust, injectors and battery.

I have seen the future and it looks like a Jaguar. It’s sleek and curvaceous and, although it’s a fraction under four-feet high, ingress and egress are easier than in a flattened fag-packet Ferrari. A 195bhp electric motor at each wheel means 0–62mph in 3.4 seconds and zero tailpipe emissions in urban use. Switch on the diesel-powered twin turbines and you can recharge on the move, giving a range (with a 60-litre tank) of 560 miles and nugatory emissions of 28g/km of CO2. Above all, it’s beautiful. That’s what makes you think it must be a Jaguar. Confirmation came in the form of Jaguar’s legendary designer, Ian Callum, in Knightsbridge to present the C-X75 on a morning of frosted sunlight.

I picked up the Bristol 410 from Spencer Lane-Jones, the Bristol specialist in Warminster whose clean and cheerful workshop had swiftly eliminated the petrol smell. It had to have been something simple: the (replaced) fuel tank was from a later Bristol and whoever replaced it failed to reinstall the correct breather. Marque specialists are a good thing.  Often trained by main dealerships, they have all the knowhow at half the price and, crucially, the enthusiasm and interest to keep older models going. Spencer Lane-Jones is a former colonel of the Royal Engineers who set up his business on leaving the army in 1987.

New tyres this week for my 1999 Discovery. The last lot, General Grabbers, lasted 30,000 miles. Their Michelin predecessors (bought and fitted at Costco, 20 per cent off) did 37,000 miles. I doubt the new £88 Cooper Discoverers will achieve that but I’ll be disappointed if they don’t reach 30,000. New tyres this week for my 1999 Discovery. The last lot, General Grabbers, lasted 30,000 miles. Their Michelin predecessors (bought and fitted at Costco, 20 per cent off) did 37,000 miles. I doubt the new £88 Cooper Discoverers will achieve that but I’ll be disappointed if they don’t reach 30,000. I was speaking thus while admiring a neighbour’s newish Audi Q7.

If money is a universal act of faith — working when we believe in it, collapsing when we don’t — what about value for money? Is that just part of the beneficial illusion or is it something more tangible? If money is a universal act of faith — working when we believe in it, collapsing when we don’t — what about value for money? Is that just part of the beneficial illusion or is it something more tangible? I was pondering this recently in relation to Hyundai and Aston Martin. One range starts at £7,725 (the excellent and frugal Hyundai i10, champion beneficiary of the scrappage scheme) and the other at £88,995 with the scorching V8 Vantage.

It’s fairly safe to say that when the experimental Lohner-Porsche became the world’s first four-wheel-drive car in 1899 its designers did not anticipate that exactly a century later another prestigious German manufacturer would launch a rather more successful 4WD that was — in one respect — technologically less advanced. That earlier car was powered by an electric motor fitted to each wheel, which is the sort of technology that manufacturers such as BMW, makers of the X5, are now beginning to look at. Meanwhile, we can all feel pretty content with the offspring of Herr Rudolph Diesel (d.1913, presumed lost overboard from the Antwerp–Harwich steamer) that powers the current X5. The 3-litre lump is lively, flexible and frugal, offering 38.

One of the perks of this job is the loan cars. Manufacturers keep press fleets of current models for launches and for loans to motoring writers to try out and write about. When the cars leave the fleet, they are usually sold into the dealer network, from where they are sold to you, as demonstrators. They’re a good buy: well maintained, immaculately cleaned and, if — perish the thought — the hacks have knocked them about a bit, properly repaired. Most loans are for about a week, like the BMW X5 I’m awaiting today, just in time for Badminton.