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Should you ditch your S-Classes and 7 Serieses, and buy a big square Japanese MPV instead?

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Should you ditch your S-Classes and 7 Serieses, and buy a big square Japanese MPV instead?

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
Should you ditch your S-Classes and 7 Serieses, and buy a big square Japanese MPV instead?

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Ladies and gentlemen, a respectful bow to one of the strangest vehicles ever to join the TGG fleet. The Lexus LM350h, a slice of Japanese weirdness that defies easy description, but, if we’re forced to give it a go, would have to plump for ‘£118,000 minivan’.

To be clear, I am entirely here for this weirdness. I love a van. If it’s hip to be square, it’s surely even hipper to be cuboid. With BMW and Mercedes cheerily charging six figures for a 7 Series or S-Class limo – vehicles in which you’ll struggle to wear even a modestly sized stovepipe hat – then I see no logical reason why a £118k minivan should not exist. More interior – and the LM has a LOT of interior – is simply the potential for more luxury.

The LM350h is based upon the Toyota Alphard MPV. We don’t get the Alphard in the UK, a decision for which I have never truly forgiven Toyota. The LM350h goes some way to alleviating the pain.

Like the Alphard, the standard LM can be had with three rows of seats. Our LM does not have three rows of seats. It arrives in Ottoman configuration, which brings just four chairs across two rows.

The two seats up front? Yeah, they’re fine, perfectly nice. The real story is the two in the back, a brace of vast, plump thrones packed with every seat-based amenity (apart from, mercifully, this one) including powered, extended footrests, and the ability to fold completely, totally flat.

The phrase ‘business class’ is applied too often to any vaguely posh car (it’s a squishy headrest and a bit of mood lighting, not Virgin Upper) but in top-spec Takumi trim, this is the first cabin I’ve seen to genuinely rivals the poshest airline seats. The LM’s vast rear compartment is a riot of creamy leather, brushed metal and fine wood. There are many, many blinds. There’s at least one large fridge, and possibly several more I have not yet discovered. There’s a 48in telly screen stretching the width of the cabin. Does a grander second row exist in the car universe?

The appointments, then, are unquestionably luxurious. The engine? Jury’s still out. This £118,000 minivan is powered not by some buttery twelve-cylinder mill of limitless torque, or indeed a whisper-quiet electric set-up. It’s powered by 2.5-litre four-cylinder hybrid – though not a plug-in – driving all four wheels through a CVT gearbox. It is fair to say that the words ‘continuously variable transmission and ‘six-figure luxury car’ have rarely appeared in the same sentence. Whether they make comfortable bedfellows, we shall see.

The LM350h, of course, isn’t really about the experience of the white-glove-wearing schmoe behind the wheel. It’s about the high-ranking dignitaries being chauffeured in the back. But I am not a chauffeur of high-ranking dignitaries. I am the chauffeur of my own children, a pair of primary school delinquents who, upon arrival of the LM, have been displaying clear delusions of grandeur.

Especially since they discovered that the privacy hatch between the two compartments is controlled by the rear-seat occupants. Bored of your parents asking you to turn down the volume of the massive telly on a long drive? Simply raise the rear screen and shut them out. Now that’s luxury.

So here’s the question: could this poshest of minivans represent the ultimate in family transport? If you prize heart-rate-lowering luxury above all else, is the LM350h the pinnacle of comfort? Exactly how many fridges are there on board? We’ve got six months to find out.

# data.attributes.body.processed
Ladies and gentlemen, a respectful bow to one of the strangest vehicles ever to join the TGG fleet. The Lexus LM350h, a slice of Japanese weirdness that defies easy description, but, if we’re forced to give it a go, would have to plump for ‘£118,000 minivan’.

To be clear, I am entirely here for this weirdness. I love a van. If it’s hip to be square, it’s surely even hipper to be cuboid. With BMW and Mercedes cheerily charging six figures for a 7 Series or S-Class limo – vehicles in which you’ll struggle to wear even a modestly sized stovepipe hat – then I see no logical reason why a £118k minivan should not exist. More interior – and the LM has a LOT of interior – is simply the potential for more luxury.

The LM350h is based upon the Toyota Alphard MPV. We don’t get the Alphard in the UK, a decision for which I have never truly forgiven Toyota. The LM350h goes some way to alleviating the pain.

Like the Alphard, the standard LM can be had with three rows of seats. Our LM does not have three rows of seats. It arrives in Ottoman configuration, which brings just four chairs across two rows.

The two seats up front? Yeah, they’re fine, perfectly nice. The real story is the two in the back, a brace of vast, plump thrones packed with every seat-based amenity (apart from, mercifully, this one) including powered, extended footrests, and the ability to fold completely, totally flat.

The phrase ‘business class’ is applied too often to any vaguely posh car (it’s a squishy headrest and a bit of mood lighting, not Virgin Upper) but in top-spec Takumi trim, this is the first cabin I’ve seen to genuinely rivals the poshest airline seats. The LM’s vast rear compartment is a riot of creamy leather, brushed metal and fine wood. There are many, many blinds. There’s at least one large fridge, and possibly several more I have not yet discovered. There’s a 48in telly screen stretching the width of the cabin. Does a grander second row exist in the car universe?

The appointments, then, are unquestionably luxurious. The engine? Jury’s still out. This £118,000 minivan is powered not by some buttery twelve-cylinder mill of limitless torque, or indeed a whisper-quiet electric set-up. It’s powered by 2.5-litre four-cylinder hybrid – though not a plug-in – driving all four wheels through a CVT gearbox. It is fair to say that the words ‘continuously variable transmission and ‘six-figure luxury car’ have rarely appeared in the same sentence. Whether they make comfortable bedfellows, we shall see.

The LM350h, of course, isn’t really about the experience of the white-glove-wearing schmoe behind the wheel. It’s about the high-ranking dignitaries being chauffeured in the back. But I am not a chauffeur of high-ranking dignitaries. I am the chauffeur of my own children, a pair of primary school delinquents who, upon arrival of the LM, have been displaying clear delusions of grandeur.

Especially since they discovered that the privacy hatch between the two compartments is controlled by the rear-seat occupants. Bored of your parents asking you to turn down the volume of the massive telly on a long drive? Simply raise the rear screen and shut them out. Now that’s luxury.

So here’s the question: could this poshest of minivans represent the ultimate in family transport? If you prize heart-rate-lowering luxury above all else, is the LM350h the pinnacle of comfort? Exactly how many fridges are there on board? We’ve got six months to find out.

# data.attributes.field_car_headline
Can a minivan possibly be worth £118,000? We’re living with a Lexus LM to find out

# data.attributes.field_car_teaser_description
Should you ditch your S-Classes and 7 Serieses, and buy a big square Japanese MPV instead?

# data.attributes.field_sub_title
Can a minivan possibly be worth £118,000? We’re living with a Lexus LM to find out