This is a proper French car to drive. Which is to say that despite the groundbreaking technical innovations and very clever thinking that went into its creation, the car, the machine, was never intended to be an end in itself. Travelling in a French car is always more about what you’re going to do when you get wherever you’re going - because what you’re doing, where you’re going and who you’re going there with are all far, far more important concerns than the machine you’re going in. Something that is never clearer than when the machine is as discreetly elegant as this and can move you around quietly and smoothly without ever interrupting the flow of conversation. Riding in this one, I can’t help but wonder just what urgent, hushed conversations, hurried declarations of love or passionate calls to arms were made in its plush, narrow confines. Then again, this car probably never dashed about Paris transporting philosophers and film stars; it was made in Slough, as were thousands of others between 1956 and 1966.