Bentley Arnage

The processes of biological repair and regeneration mean that my current body has little in common with the corporal form that hosted my soul in childhood. Similarly, in the Arnage T half of the V8's components have been replaced and at least three quarters of the remainder have been modified. It is reckoned that less than 15 per cent of the original 1959 engine survives unmolested. In this respect the Bentley V8 is a little like the proverbial old broom that's had three new handles and two new heads. Physically, it's utterly changed, but in spirit it's still the ancestral sweeper that has served the family for generations.

In the Arnage T, the 6.75-litre lump still bellows and snorts. It's more like a stroppy carthorse than a frisky thoroughbred. But it is now the most powerful Bentley engine ever, with 373kW and 1000Nm of torque, and it propels the world's fastest four-door saloon.

The instant the pedal is kissed by the sole of a bench-made brogue, the T takes off as if struck by a runaway train; so if you're the sort who wears those lumpen boots you're going to be in real trouble. The acceleration - 100km/h in 5.5 seconds - is of a magnitude sufficient to elicit a rather uncouth allusion to carnal relations with one's old boots.

If the Arnage T was just another brutal performance Bentley it would be exciting enough, but it's more than that. It's the first of the Arnage Series 2 range. Features like its twin turbos will make their way onto the 'standard' Red Label later in 2002 (the T wears a black badge), but in slightly detuned form. The 15kg of extra stiffening is already appearing in the bodyshells of lesser versions. The wreckage of the BMW-engined Green Label is still smouldering somewhere in a field in Kent.

The styling has matured nicely in the T. Deeper bumpers and the deletion of most of the exterior chrome has given the obviously retro shape a more contemporary vibe - especially in this grey colour scheme. Note the stiff upper boot-lid lip, there partly for aerodynamic reasons, partly to distinguish the T from the whoopsie 336kW Red Label.

This is nothing compared with the inside. The pleated black hide on the door panels and reshaped seats could easily have ended up looking like an incontinence sheet, had it not been so beautifully tooled. Engine-turned aluminium inserts can be had for the dash and door cappings, and should be, and all the switches, door handles and lock buttons (even the tiny knob for the dashboard dimmer) have been exquisitely knurled. The combination of sober black upholstery with glittering metalwork creates the most inviting interior I've seen since the Audi TT's. This can't be a coincidence, surely? By popular demand, there is an engine start button, the gear stick is topped by a huge rubbery ball, the instruments are black-faced, the steering wheel is much chunkier and there are new side curtain airbags that automatically deploy if an oik peers in through the window.

I still imagined that all this would be spoiled on the road, following some indiscreet use of the dreaded word 'sporty' up at Bentley headquarters. Fortunately, firmer spring and damper rates have not created the anticipated sensation of being kicked up the arse by John Bull himself. Certainly, a pothole will generate a deep crump like a distant howitzer, but on the whole the ride is surprisingly supple. And this is on the optional split-rim 19-inch wheels. On standard 18 inchers with higher profile rubber, it is apparently even more forgiving.

What a bloody marvellous motor car. As you lift off to brake for a glorious left-hand sweeper, the twin turbos' wastegates emit what sounds like a moan of pure ecstasy as the engine prepares for another climactic delivery. Yet, curiously, the twin-blower arrangement was inspired not by a quest for power, but by the need to fuel the cylinders more accurately and thus ensure that the venerable V8 continues to cheat emissions legislation until at least 2005.

Well, if that's what an environmental conscience does for engine development, I'm all for it. I hope I die before it gets too old.

James May