Stop. Don’t turn the page. Look again at the picture of this morning’s car. Pretty, isn’t it? It might not cause other motorists to swivel round in their seat, nor will it send a frisson through crowds on the pavement. It’s not pretty like Abi Clancy or Meg Ryan . . . was.

With its slim side windows and those gently dished alloy wheels, it’s quietly pretty, subtly pretty. Pretty like Daphne du Maurier. The sort of pretty you don’t really notice until it’s pointed out to you. And then you can’t get its prettiness out of your head.

There are other cars that pull off a similar trick. The new Renault Laguna coupé, for instance. But, of course, that is French and therefore the sort of car that beckons you in with many sultry promises and then has a massive breakdown.

The car in this morning’s picture is unlikely to do that, because it’s German. In fact it’s the new Volkswagen Passat CC, and that’s a bit unfortunate. It’s like meeting the girl of your dreams and discovering, at the last moment, that she’s called Ermintrude. Or Daphne, for that matter.

Actually it’s worse because “Volkswagen” smacks of National Socialism and “Passat” has a whiff of the municipal golf club. That’s a really bad image to have in your head. Hitler in Rupert Bear trousers, swinging a nine iron with his mates Rudolf and Martin at the council’s eighth tee.

However, you’d put up with the bad name and the horrific imagery for a slice of this pie. Same as you’d put up with Daphne du Maurier’s apparent fondness for dining at the Venetian Y. I would too.

I’m a sucker for pillarless doors. One of the reasons I like the Subaru Outback so much is that the windows are frameless. In fact when I look back at all the cars I’ve owned over the years, it’s a common thread. The CLK Black I have now, the BMW CSL, the Honda CRX, the Ferrari 355, the Gallardo. Some people buy cars for speed; some for practicality or value. It seems I buy on the strength of a frameless window in a pillarless door.

Step inside the CC and after you’ve rubbed your head better — you will bang it the first time, because the roofline is lower than you were expecting — you will note that all is well. Better than well. In the base models, everything is a bit dreary, a bit public convenience, only without George Michael to liven things up, but in the car I drove, it was all brushed aluminium and ivory leather and splashes of chrome.

I thought when this car came out that what it would say about you most of all is that you couldn’t afford a Mercedes CLS. That still holds true. It is a less expensive rip-off of the Benz original — base model for base model, it’s £25,000 cheaper — but you know what? The VW is better.

Certainly, it’s better in the back, because even though the Mercedes is the larger car, the Passat offers more room for the two passengers it can carry back there. It really is two, though. The centre of the back seat is suitable only for people who like sitting in cupholders. Or who actually are cans of Coca-Cola.

Further back still, we find a boot that is vast, and as we slam it we’re left scratching our heads. Cavernous, well priced, good looking and nicely trimmed. So where’s the catch? Apart from the municipal golf club handle.

Well it’s simple, really. You can dress a VW Passat up in whatever you like in the same way that you can dress me up in whatever you like. But underneath I’m still the same clod-hopping, fat, wheezing, middle-aged man.

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