I have some donkeys. The small one that looks like a cow is called Eddie. The
quiet grey one that doesn’t do much, except bite the hand that feeds it, is
called Geoffrey, after the chancellor that did for Mrs Thatcher. And then
there’s the beautiful one: she’s called Kristin Scott Donkey.
I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for Ms Scott Thomas. I’ve seen The
English Patient 20 times, except for the bathroom scene of course. I’ve seen
that so often the DVD’s got a hole in it.
As I’m sure we all know, Kristin lost both her father and her stepfather in
air crashes. She went to Paris to study drama and still lives there today
with her obstetrician husband, François Olivennes — a man for whom I’ve felt
nothing but hatred. Until now. Because the crush is over.
In a recent newspaper interview Kristin laid into Britain, saying it was stuck
in the 1950s, that everyone who goes to hospital dies, and that we’re all
fat, acquisitive television addicts.
Now I’m sorry but no one ever emigrates because of the success they’ve enjoyed
at home. No one ever says, “Well I have a happy home life, I’m rich and I
have many friends . . . so I’m off”. The only reason anyone has for going to
live in another country is because they’ve cocked everything up in their
own. So their views are bound to be jaundiced.
Everyone you see planting olive groves on those endless “new life abroad”
programmes is inevitably a sad and lonely individual who thinks their
homeland is to blame for everything that’s gone wrong in their empty,
shallow, friend-free, halitosis-ridden lives.
This is why Australians are all such chippy bastards. Because every single one
of them is descended from someone who, at some point, made a complete and
utter hash of their entire life. This means they all have a failure gene in
their make-up.
Of course, I also think that Britain is a nation of inarticulate, pugilistic
slobs. I agree with Kristin, completely, but I’m allowed to say this because
I live here. I’m also allowed to say that I much prefer France. I like
France so much, in fact, that I’d like to demonstrate the point publicly, by
buying a French car.
Of course, a French car is built by disgruntled and uninterested Algerians in
a factory with a floor made out of mud, so it’s not going to last very long.
But then it’s a statement more than a car really. I mean, a French car shows
other road users that you loathe Tony Blair, that you disapprove of his
stance in Iraq and that you prefer a quail’s egg to a burger any day of the
week.
The problem is that while the French are very good at mushrooms and shooting
pigs, they’ve been in an automotive oxbow lake since about 1959. Now,
though, we have the Citroën C4.
You’ll no doubt have seen this on your television, turning into a robot and
dancing. Well, in real life the car can’t do that. But it can do pretty well
everything else. It may be the same size as a Ford Focus or Vauxhall Astra
but it costs less, and it can do far, far more.
For instance, if you nod off while driving down the motorway, sensors under
the front bumper will detect the moment when you stray into another lane and
set off a vibrator in the seat to wake you up. My wife liked this feature so
much she drove all the way to London last week on the hard shoulder.
Then there’s the steering wheel. The rim turns but the middle bit stays still
so all the buttons are always in the same place, and my, what a lot of
buttons there are. You can set the sat nav, organise the cruise control,
change the radio station, adjust the volume and answer the phone. There are
so many buttons, in fact, that you’ll almost certainly stray out of your
lane while trying to find the right one.
Don’t worry, though, because if you don’t want a Meg Ryan moment there’s even
a button to turn the Rabbit off.
Now. Have you ever inadvertently pulled the bonnet catch while driving along?
No, neither have I, but that hasn’t stopped Citroën fitting a flap to make
sure you can’t, unless the passenger door is wide open.
I bet you have worried, however, that your car will be broken into. Well the
C4 has an alarm and an immobiliser as you’d expect, but in addition its side
windows are made from laminated glass. It’s not bulletproof, but it’s the
next best thing.
Next up, we have the air-conditioning system, which comes with a little flap
into which you can insert a tailor-made capsule full of your favourite air
freshener. That beats hanging a Christmas tree that smells of lavatory
cleaner from your rear-view mirror.
At this point I should draw your attention to the digital speedometer that is
designed to ensure it’s readable even in bright sunlight, the double door
seals to cut wind noise, the nine speakers, the six airbags and the 280-watt
amplifier. And then there’s the electronic brakeforce distribution, the
antilock brakes, the electronic stability control and the emergency braking
assistance, all of which have helped the C4 get a five-star Euro NCAP safety
rating.
I should remind you at this point that I’m not reviewing a £100,000 S-class
Mercedes. I’m writing about a normal, everyday family hatchback; a family
hatchback that’s an orgasmatron with swivelly headlamps. Yup, when you turn
the bit of the wheel that does actually turn, the searchlight-bright xenon
bulbs turn, too, illuminating bits of the road that would otherwise be
hidden.
Of course, the old DS had this feature about 200 years ago, but it didn’t have
front and rear parking sensors, or wipers that come on when it rains, or
lights that come on when it’s dark, or tyres that let you know when they
have developed a leak.
It’s not often that I’m stunned by any car, leave alone a family hatchback.
But the C4’s equipment package genuinely had me reeling in open-mouthed
disbelief.
And now you’re expecting the but. The moment when the whole pack of cartes
comes crashing down.
Well, sorry, but the five-door version is elegant and the three-door is
properly striking. And I must say the 2 litre VTS coupé I drove went,
handled and stopped with much aplomb and vigour. It wasn’t as much fun as a
Golf GTI because it felt heavy. But then it would, with all that stuff
weighing it down.
If you don’t fancy the hot version, don’t despair because there are 22 models
on offer, including four trim levels, five different petrol engines and a
choice of three diesels. You’ve got to be able to find something you like in
there.
You’ll certainly be able to find something you can afford because even the VTS
rocket ship is listed at £17,195. That’s a full £2,000 less than a Golf GTI
and that on its own is a good enough reason to ignore the VW. But then you
have the £1,100 cashback deal that Citroën is offering at the moment. Factor
that in and the price falls to just £16,095. And that . . . that is truly
incredible value.
Of course, I can pretty much guarantee that your C4 will break down every 15
minutes. Citroëns just do, and I’m not fooled by the three-year warranty on
this one. Having the fault fixed for free in no way compensates for being
stuck on the hard shoulder at three in the morning. Although, if you leave
the lane sensor on, you will at least have a nice time waiting for the tow
truck.
Certainly, I would expect Kristin Scott Thomas, with her love of the French,
to have a C4. But in fact it turns out she has a Volvo estate. How English
is that? You can do better. You can be English and have a French car.
VITAL STATISTICS
Model: Citroën C4 VTS coupé
Engine type: Four-cylinder, 1997cc
Power: 180bhp @ 7000rpm
Torque: 149 lb ft @ 4750rpm
Transmission: Five-speed manual
Fuel/CO2: 33.6mpg / 200g/km
Insurance: Group 15
Acceleration: 0-60mph: 8.3sec
Top speed: 140mph
Price: £17,195
Verdict: C'est magnifique!
Rating: Four stars
