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You know what the Vectra’s main problem is?
Well I’ll explain. As you drive around, there’s nothing to distract you from
the awful realisation that you’re a dullard, in a four- door, family saloon

This morning, I’ve been for a spin in the
new Nissan Primera and must say that as a device for moving you from place to
place, it’s probably a little bit worse than the Vectra. The engine shouts
itself hoarse but never actually takes its jacket off and gets stuck in. The
ride is only just on the right side of awful. And the quality of materials
might just about do in a Chinese toy factory, but is woefully short of the mark
for grown ups.

However, you aren’t ever given the time to
think about these things. You just sit there, over-awed by the centrally
mounted dials, the utterly fabulous satellite navigation system - the first
time I’ve ever said that - and the jaw dropping reflection coming back at you
from the shop windows.

Such is the aesthetic appeal of the Primera,
you simply don’t care that it’s a four-door Nissan, and that it’s shaking all
your fillings out. Think of it as George Clooney. Can he act? Who gives a damn.

Ford pulls off a similar trick with the
Mondeo. Sure, it couldn’t match the Nissan in a Conran design competition, but
there’s an intrinsic rightness to the steering and the suspension. So, as you
barrel from corner to corner, revelling in the poise and the grip, you forget
that you’re in a Marks and Spencer suit, with elbow patches.

And let’s not forget the Renault Laguna.
Who’s going to notice that it’s Mr Conventional when it comes with a starter
button, a credit card instead of a key and a dash more French than a burnt
British sheep?

The Vauxhall Vectra, on the other hand, has
none of these things. It’s just a plain, normal, middle of the road, middle
England, four-door Cliff Michelmore.

Back in the Sixties and Seventies, if you
had a car, it was a four-door saloon. If you had a shop, or a dog, it was an
estate. And that was it. The Cortina enjoyed a 115 per cent share of the market
whereas today, the Mondeo takes just three per cent. That’s why Ford and
Renault and Nissan are trying so hard. They know the saloon car is dying.

Why? Well back then, the company car was a
big deal. My Dad worked for a timber company and no matter how much he dreamed
of a TR4 or a Maserati, he got an endless parade of four-door Fords, Anglias,
Classics, and then a selection of Cortinas.

“It’s just a plain, normal, middle of the road, middle England, four-door Cliff Michelmore”

Today’s timber salesmen, however, don’t want
company cars because of the tax liabilities. So they take the money instead and
quite the last thing they’re going to buy is an automotive British Rail
sandwich. They don’t have to either, because there’s a wide selection of exotic
alternatives - from the mini people carrier to the Japanese coupe, to the
off-roader, to the convertible, to whatever they damn well want.

Got a catholic attitude to birth control?
That was no problem back in the sixties - you just hammered children into the
back, and the front and the boot if necessary. And you kept on hammering until
one of them suffocated. But it’s so much easier today. If you have suffered in
the past from over- productive wedding vegetables, you could have a Fiat
Multipla or, if your eyes are still working, a Zafira.

Firing blanks? Well what about a Mazda MX5
or a Honda S2000 or even a second- hand Mercedes SLK?

Live in Manchester? Well you’ll be needing a
roof then, so consider the Hyundai V6. My Dad simply wouldn’t have been able to
do this, partly because his firm had an account with Ford, but mainly because
there was no such thing as Hyundai back then. Korea was a war, not a country.

But Vauxhall just doesn’t seem to have
realised this. It seems to think that we’re all living in a world where there’s
nothing to do in the evening but watch one of the two television stations. It
doesn’t realise that we now have a choice in everything we do; where we send
our children to school, which bus company we want to use and when, exactly,
we’d like a flight to New York.

You can’t even buy a cup of coffee these
days without being grilled on exactly how you want it to be served, whether you
want a tall, grande or gigantico and whether you should go to Starbucks, Nero
or the other one who’s name has gone from my mind.

The days of instant coffee, slopped in a
cracked saucer and furnished with horrid HST milk have gone. But that’s what
Vauxhall seem to be offering with the new Vectra. It is a car. And it will move
you around when asked to do so. But it has no flair, no individuality, nothing
that makes you go “hmmmm. I fancy a bit of that”.

If my company gave me one of these, I’d drive it at full
speed into the boss one night. And if they offered money instead, I’d buy
something else. Anything else. It really is a case of meet the new Vectra. Same
as the old Vectra. And as a result, you’re still not safe at the airport’s car
rental check-in desk.

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