I have said before that to be born Italian and male is to win first prize in
the lottery of life.
But who romps home in last place? Which group of people were made on a Friday
night when God’s team of angels were running low on parts? What’s the worst
handle or affliction you can be born with? Being German, obviously, is a bad
thing, but I think we can do better than that.
Certainly, I’d much rather stroll through life in a custard-coloured jacket
than waddle through as an American.
Imagine knowing that everyone else in the world hates you and that you can’t
fit in a revolving door. Imagine, too, what it feels like to know that
you’ll one day spawn a child that talks through its nose and will want to
play Little League baseball. Imagine the tweeness and be grateful that you
live in a country fuelled by sarcasm, hatred, irony and abuse.
I thank God, too, that I’m straight. The thought that I could have been born
with a two-way street in my nether regions brings tears to my eyes. Also,
having to visit the gym every day so that I looked good in a white T-shirt
would be tiresome. But being homosexual isn’t all bad, chiefly because your
lover will be another man. Which means he’ll leave the seat up in the loo
and push it all the way back when he gets out of the car.
Which brings me onto what must surely be the worst thing you can be born with:
shortness.
Yes, having casters instead of legs is handy on aeroplanes but in every other
way it must be a constant pain in the neck. Literally. At concerts you pay
£50 to watch a pair of shoulders. At weddings you only ever see hats. And in
the cinema? Well, put it like this: if there are subtitles at the bottom of
the screen you’ve had it.
In a car you have to sit so near the steering wheel that if you have an
accident the airbag will punch you to death.
This is God’s way, I’m afraid. Modern medicine means He’s lost the ability to
kill off the weak with diseases so now He’s using technology. God is 6ft
7in, by the way. And He drives a Dodge Viper.
The fact is that tallness is a sign of superior intellect, breeding and
civilisation. As each hundred years slides by man grows by another inch,
which means short people are basically Neanderthals equipped only to hide
behind bushes so that they don’t get devoured by mountain lions.
Speech, using a knife and fork, seeing where they’re going in a car: all of
these things do not come easily to small people, which is why they are
equipped with giant egos. “Did you see that? I just turned that twig into a
rudimentary spear. Aren’t I brilliant? Aren’t I a genius?” Television,
inevitably, is full of midgets. The exceptions are few. There’s Peter Snow —
the only person at the BBC capable of reaching the top of the swingometer —
and me. And I’m hidden away on BBC2 where I won’t frighten the others.
Behind that desk, Jonathan Ross’s legs don’t even reach the floor. And he, of
course, proves my theory about short people not being able to talk properly.
Jonathan would argue that he’s actually 6ft tall, but what good is that?
Today’s 21st-century cutting-edge superhumans, like me, are 6ft 5in. On the
inch-a-century growth rate rule, Jonathan is back in the 16th century eating
beetles and waiting for Good Queen Bess to have his head cut off.
And tallness is not just a good thing for people. Tall cars work well, too.
From behind the wheel of a Range Rover you can see over the car in front,
and that gives you an advantage when the traffic is slowing down. Being in a
tall car makes you cleverer. It gives you the edge.
I was therefore drawn to the advertisements for Ford’s new Fusion. It’s a tall
car, they say, and I thought, “Good, I must try it.”
But it isn’t a tall car at all. It’s a Ford Fiesta on 2in stilts, and that’s
like putting Tom Cruise in platform shoes. The man’s still a dwarf. The
Fusion may be taller than a Fiesta but don’t think it affords a panoramic
vista as you waft along — you won’t even be able to see over a decorative
box hedge.
Not that you’ll be going past many hedges because, apparently, this is a car
for the metropolis. According to Ford it’s an “Urban Activity Vehicle”.
No it isn’t. Actually, I have no idea what an urban activity vehicle might be
— something that’s good at drive-by shootings perhaps — but whatever it is
this is no such thing. Nor, as is claimed on the bumf, is the “pepper red”
version red. It’s brown.
It is nearly impossible to describe this car. Pointless springs to mind.
Pointless and very badly equipped.
First of all, the key is just that. It is not a radio transmitter. You have to
put it in the lock and turn it, and when was the last time you did that?
Then, to get the windows down, you have to wind a handle. Air conditioning?
Nope. Metallic paint? No. Flaps and mats? No. Then you go for a drive. You
can have a petrol engine, of course, but the test car they sent me had a 1.4
litre common-rail diesel. That means 64mpg but not much in the way of power.
On a drive this morning I could not shake off a Transit van. Even on a long,
long straight the gormless face of Gary or Jason or Darren, or whatever the
van driver’s name was, continued to plague my rear-view mirror.
I just kept thinking that if this were a Fiesta I’d be at home by now, and the
ride would be more comfortable and it would be more deft through the bends.
The Fiesta is notably cheaper, too, and will hold its value better and has
more equipment provided as standard.
The Fusion fights back by having a front seat that turns into a table — why? —
and more headroom should you decide to go out in a stovepipe hat.
But if it’s practicality you want, why spend £10,665 on a Fusion 1 1.4 TDCi
when you can have a diesel Citroën Berlingo Multispace that is much bigger,
more commodious and still £305 cheaper when you’ve equipped it with air con,
electric front windows and remote central locking? In fact, the more I think
about it, the more annoyed I’m getting. Ford has been on a roll these past
five years with a seemingly endless succession of cars that border on
greatness.
The Focus is still the best mid-range hatch. The Mondeo is still the best
repmobile. And while it doesn’t set the world on fire, the Fiesta is
cheerful and safe.
So what the hell was Ford thinking of when it came up with the Fusion? It’s a
slightly raised, brown Ford Fiesta estate car. If that’s what you want I
pity you even more than I would if you were half-German, half-American, gay
and 4in tall.
Vital statistics
Model Ford Fusion 1 1.4 TDCi
Engine type Four cylinders
Capacity 1399cc
Power 68bhp @ 4000rpm
Torque 118lb ft @ 2000rpm
Transmission Five-speed manual
Suspension (front) struts, lower wishbone, anti-roll bar
Tyres 195/60 R15
Fuel 64.2mpg (combined)
CO2 116g/km
Company £842 for higher-rate tax payer
Acceleration 0 to 60mph: 15.5sec
Top speed 98mph
Insurance Group 5
Price £10,665
Verdict As pointless as a blunt instrument
Dimensions 4020mm length x 1488mm height x 1721mm width
