The chance to drive a new Bristol comes about as rarely as an earthquake in Wolverhampton. Which, on both counts, is a shame.
In fact, the last time a car magazine was allowed to carry out a full road test on a new Bristol was when the Jensen Interceptor could still have been considered a cutting-edge rival.
Understandably, then, it comes as something of a surprise to receive an invite from Bristol chairman, pilot and ex-Grand Prix driver Tony Crook to come and have a go in his latest product, the Blenheim II.
Hurredly scuttling off to the company's solitary showroom on Kensington High Street, west London (it's been there since 1950), I'm greeted by the offer of a cup of tea and the chance to take a gander at the new car.
This latest model is the result of 52 years of steady Bristol evolution. Like its predecessors, it is still hand built in workshops next to Filton airfield in Bristol - home of the original Bristol Aeroplane Company. Development work is carried out by the same tester responsible for every model to date.
So in common with previous Bristols, the Blenheim II employs a set of six-and-a-half-inch thick steel girders welded to form a separate chassis. The body is crafted from aluminium panels and bonded to a steel frame, just as Bristol once built its planes.
The result is a car that's considerably lighter than other two-door luxury giants such as the Bentley Continental R or Aston Martin V8 Coupe. The intention remains very much for this latest Blenheim to provide 'dignified express travel for four six-foot persons and their luggage', and hence its body-shape, despite a few tweaks, is still the case of function over form that you see here. The styling revisions over the original '94-on Blenheim are limited to a reshaped nose, larger gas-discharge headlamps and a track widened to help the redesigned wheels do a better job of filling their arches. But that's about it.
Gliding out into west London's traffic, the fact that the Blenheim II's body is narrower than a Mondeo (though longer than an 8-Series BMW) comes in rather handy. The incredibly tight turning circle also helps out, as do raised corners acting as aiming points at the end of the mile-long bonnet.
As a six foot person, I can tell you that the Blenheim II's plush, Connolly leather-clad cabin more than lives up to its design brief. Those who prefer to drive rather than have their chauffeur do the job for them will be pleased to find that the redesigned seats cosset you superbly. There's plenty of space up front, while there's room for a pair of lanky passengers to relax in the snug but well-padded buckets in the rear.
The boot, similarly, is huge, helped by the spare wheel, battery and brake servo all being located in separate compartments located in the front wings.
The cabin is a smart but distinctly odd space to find yourself in, with a stereo mounted nearly at eye height and fat, shiny switches smattered all over the walnut dashboard with words such as 'air boost' and 'speed hold' written on them. Almost uniquely, the air-conditioning and ventilation systems are completely separate, allowing occupants to simultaneously fry and freeze should the whim take them.
Set far back in the vast engine bay is Bristol's reworking of a 5.9-litre Chrysler V8, uprated from the 237bhp version that's currently found in the fastest Jeep Grand Cherokee. As with any details of his reclusive band of customers (or of sales figures, for that matter) Tony Crook is reluctant to disclose details of power or performance. 0-60 feels like it should come up in a notch under seven seconds, with a top whack maybe nudging 150mph, though far more relevant is that the Blenheim II cruises with superb composure, makes a nice whoofly noise even at tickover (the rev counter only reads 1,700rpm at 70mph) and thrusts forwards with almost alarming surge when encouraged by a hefty right foot and the four-speed auto box shoved into a low gear.
This is a relaxing and enjoyable car to drive. Despite the fact that few cars this side of a Land Rover Defender or Hindustan Ambassador still come with a separate chassis and a live rear axle, this latest reworking of the Bristol formula rides beautifully, steers lightly, though accurately, and works its way around bends with little in the way of sill-scraping roll. But then it does have 52 years of careful refining behind it.
My time with the Blenheim II is enough to confirm how glad I am that cars like this still exist; I'm also glad that companies like Bristol still exist to make them. For a select bunch of very rich people, the fact that this latest Bristol remains so, well, incomparable, should be enough to please them too.
I'm looking forward to my invite to drive the next new Bristol. Just 30 years to wait, then...
Peter Grunert
