It’s hard to understand why so many people watch Top Gear. Some say it’s the
cinematography. Some reckon there’s a chemistry between the three
presenters. Most think it’s because there’s nothing else on at that time on
a Sunday evening.
I think, however, that its main appeal is this: when something goes wrong for
one of us, the others don’t rush over with furrowed brows, concerned tones
and a silver post-car-crash blanket. Instead, we point and laugh. “Ha ha ha.
Look. James’s head has exploded.” And that makes a refreshing change in a
world full of counsellors and sobbing footballers.
Of course, you might imagine that this is all done for the cameras; and that
after they’ve all been turned off we put our arms round one another and
behave like women. ’Fraid not. In fact, when the cameras are turned off,
we’re even worse.
Just last week, the three of us were waiting for a delayed plane in Belgium.
Or it could have been Holland. Or Japan. Whatever, we found a copy of what
is basically Asian Babes for petrolheads. It’s called Top Marques and is
stuffed full of classified ads for cars you can nearly afford.
Naturally, we decided to see what our own cars are fetching in these times of
rising fuel prices and eco-mentalism. This turned out to be a rich comedy
gold mine because two-year-old, ultra-low-mileage Porsche 911s, just like
Richard Hammond’s, are going for 75p.
His little face was destroyed. He sat there working out how many crappy awards
ceremonies he’d hosted to buy that car and how it had all been for nothing.
He may as well have simply lobbed his money on a bonfire. Christ, it was
funny. James May and I laughed that dangerous life-threatening laughter; the
sort where your brain starts to run out of oxygen. At one point, I coughed
up my own liver.
Eventually, after about two hours, we’d calmed down enough to see how much
James’s Boxster might fetch. And this, unbelievably, was even funnier. Not
because of the drop, which was mighty, but because most of the enormous
depreciation was not as a result of market forces or events beyond James’s
control. No. He’d brought the massive hit on himself by being an idiot.
It hurts, I know, to tick all the options boxes when buying a car. But the
simple fact of the matter is this: if you don’t, it is going to be worthless
when the time comes to sell.
Think about it. A combination of events in the Middle East, sub-prime
mortgages in California, Northern Rock and a galactically stupid government
has caused all Boxsters to lose half their value in 10 minutes. So the only
way you can make a car with wind-down windows and unicycle tyres appeal in
the pages of Top Marques is to sell it for even less than the going rate.
And boy did James scrimp. He didn’t even fit satellite navigation and who
wants a Porsche with no sat nav? No one. Not unless they deliberately live
in a house with an outside bog.
What’s more, James – as we know from his hooped jumpers – likes an unusual
colour combination, which is why his steel-wheeled, understudy Porsche, with
its gramophone and no guidance system, has a brown roof and a brown
interior.
There is simply no call for a car like this. It could only be part-exchanged
for some used butter. Plainly, James was very hurt by this. He’d worked hard
for his car and now it was worthless. If Richard and I were girls, we’d have
put our arms around him and hugged some sympathy into his system. Instead,
Richard fell off his chair and my kidneys came out of my nose.
There is a serious message hidden in all of this. When buying an expensive new
car, accept, like a man, that it will plummet in value in the manner of a
fat man plummeting from the top of a tower block. Accept, too, that unless
you spec it up with every conceivable extra there will be nothing to cushion
the fall. And most important of all, avoid bonkers colour combinations. You
may think that a brown roof makes you look sultry and interesting but in the
long term it will make you look more sort of bankrupt.
Of course, you might think that the best way of avoiding depreciation problems
in expensive cars is not to buy one in the first place. Unfortunately, if
you go down this route, you may well end up at the wheel of a diesel-powered
people carrier like the Kia Sedona. Billed by Kia as a slice of luxury at a
down-to-earth price, it comes with seven seats that whiz about in all sorts
of interesting ways, rear doors that slide electrically back and forth, an
MP3 player, various airbags and braking systems that, they say, “help you
stop”. And you can have the all singing, all dancing top model for less than
£20,000 if you haggle hard.
This, then, sounds a brilliant substitute for a proper car . . . in the same
way that a bunch of flowers from your local petrol station sounds a
brilliant substitute for a proper bouquet from a florist – right up to the
moment you give them to your wife as an anniversary present. And then, all
of a sudden, they are not brilliant at all. They are an affront to
everything in life that matters.
And so it goes with the Sedona. Behind the veneer of common sense and good
value beats the heart of a wizened chrysanthemum. Its 2.9 litre turbodiesel
engine pulls with all the vigour of a primary school tug-of-war team. The
suspension is absolutely unable to deal with imperfections in the road
surface. It jolts and shudders, and sometimes you get the worrying
impression that the body is going to come off. Then your children will be
sick.
It gets worse. The Sedona is thirstier than you might imagine, there is wind
noise on the motorway, the interior appears to have been made from plastic
that Lego rejected and the exterior has the visual appeal of a smashed dog.
I hated this car in the same way that AA Gill would hate microwaved meat. Or
Brian Sewell would hate The Crying Boy. I hated it in the same way that I
hate own-brand stereo systems. They have all the buttons and they have the
low price tags but they have no soul. They were designed simply to milk
people who know nothing about the subject. The Sedona is a white good. It is
a fridge freezer with windscreen wipers.
And if you don’t believe me, consider this. Kia Motors is heavily involved
with getting kids to walk to school. It will provide free high-visibility
jackets along with information on how it can be done safely, and how you can
get in touch with other parents to form “walking buses”.
It is actually saying that its Sedona is so terrible that you are better off
taking your kids to school on foot. And it’s right.
And now I’m going to knock the final nail in the Sedona’s coffin. You might
imagine that because it’s so cheap to buy, you cannot possibly lose much
money. Really? I’ve just been on the Auto Trader website and as far as I can
work out, a Sedona sheds half its value in about 18 months. Not even a
wattle-and-daub Boxster can manage that.
Happily, there is a solution to all this. Much to the annoyance of James May
and Richard Hammond, it seems there’s one car out there that is able to sit
in an oxbow lake, away from the turbulence of the mainstream and its
vicissitudes – a black Mercedes SLK 55 with red leather seats and all the
trimmings. Coincidentally, that’s what I have.
Vital statistics
Model Kia Sedona 2.9 CRDi TS
Engine 2902cc, four cylinders
Power 183bhp @ 3800rpm
Torque 253 lb ft @ 1750rpm
Transmission Five-speed manual
Fuel 36.2mpg (combined cycle)
CO2 206g/km
Acceleration 0-62mph: 15sec
Top speed 122mph
Price £21,745
Road tax band F (£210 for 12 months)
On sale Now
Verdict A white good with wheels
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