There’s no real need for lots of dials in a modern, computer-controlled car.
But they are still fitted, in greater numbers than ever. You still find oil
pressure gauges, volt meters, rev counters and so on. The new Bugatti has a
dial showing how much power you're using, while the Rolls-Royce Phantom has
one showing how much you have left.
But no car I’ve ever driven has a cockometer, a dial that shows how much of a
penis you look as you drive from place to place.
Take the new Range Rover Sport. If you are black or orange, then it doesn’t
make you look like a cock at all. But if you are a white marketing
executive, then your cockometer would be right into the red zone. You’ll be
at Defcon 4 of cockishness.
Then there’s the new Aston Martin Vantage, and oh dear. Anyone driving around
in such a thing must have placed his or her order long before they knew how
much it would cost, how fast it would go and how much space there was in the
boot.
They signed on the dotted line simply because they wanted to be first to pull
up outside the tapas bar in the new Aston. In other words, they ordered it
only because they wanted to show off. And how cockish is that? Of course,
they’ve been lucky. The Vantage is a wonderful car, but unfortunately if you
go out and buy one now because you like the way it sounds and the way it
darts into corners like a terrier, it’s no good. We’re going to see you and
we’re going to have you clocked as a cock.
The Mitsubishi Evo is an interesting case study. As a driving machine, it has
few peers. After you step out of that bin liner of an interior all other
cars feel lumpen and fat and unresponsive, so of course it attracts a
hardcore following of die-hard driving enthusiasts.
These are people whose need for speed overshadows all other considerations,
like style and comfort and value for money. So they’re prepared to drive
around in a car that has a spoiler big enough to sunbathe on and an exhaust
like the Mont Blanc tunnel, and that means they’re openly flaunting their
hobby, in the same way that trainspotters openly flaunt theirs by standing
on a windswept platform, knee deep in other people’s urine, with their
Tupperware and their Man at Millets clothing. People who flaunt their
hobbies in public are a bit sinister, I think.
Strangely, however, a girl in a Mitsubishi Evo is an altogether different
kettle of fish. Because by demonstrating her need for speed, what she’s
doing is scaring men away. This means that in all probability she’s a
lesbian. And that’s not cockish at all.
As a rule of thumb, then, any car that wades into battle with nothing in its
armoury except spoilers and sporting pretensions — Evos, Imprezas, Caterhams
and so on — will make a man look like a trainspotter, and any car that has a
long waiting list before it’s even on sale will make him look like a
terrible, social-climbing show-off who needs a flashy keyring to make any
sort of headway in life.
Nothing, however, is set in stone. Like fashion in clothing, fashion in cars
is in a state of constant flux. Take the Porsche 911 as a prime example of
this. Back in the Eighties, this was really the only expensive car that you
could realistically buy and use every day. So it’s what City traders from
Goodyear Stickleback & Bunson Burner bought when the seven-figure bonus
came through. Never in the field of human history has so much been done so
wrong by so few. The 911 had a cock rating of such magnitude they were
reading about it in seismology centres as far away as California.
Now, though, there are many expensive cars that you can buy and use every day:
the Aston DB9, the Ferrari 430, the Maserati Quattroporte and so on. All of
these are more current and more stylish, so once again the 911 is bought
only by people who appreciate its traction, its steering and its grunt.
Nowadays, 911s are bought for the right reasons, and that means it isn’t
cockish at all to have one.
Other cars that fit the bill are the Ford GT — that anti-fit blue and white
oval on the bonnet means you definitely didn’t buy it for showing off — the
Mercedes SLK 55, the Audi RS 4, the BMW M5, the proper Range Rover, the
Rolls-Royce Phantom, all small French hatchbacks and, sitting surprisingly
near the top, the Ford Mondeo. It really does hide a startling bright light
under an enormously impenetrable bush.
But the winner here, the least cockish car that money can buy, is actually the
Saab 9-3 estate you see above. If you put a Hummer H2 or a Dodge pick-up
truck at one end of the scale, then this is at the other. It’s not a
Hawaiian Day-Glo tank. It’s a special forces sniper. Quiet.
Unassuming. And invisible. Until you pull the trigger.
Saab was actually the third car maker to start using turbocharging but no
other has persevered for quite so long. There have been some mistakes along
the way. In the Eighties, for instance, your Saab would get from 40 to 70
faster than a Ferrari Testarossa, but so bad was the torque steer when that
mountain of torque hit the front wheels, you had no real say where you’d be
when 70 was achieved. Oh, and if you put your foot down in the wrong gear,
the lag was so bad, you wouldn’t move at all.
That’s all ancient history now, though. The car I drove had a brand new
Australian-built 2.8 litre V6 engine that will one day find its way into
various Vauxhalls, Opels and even the next generation of Alfa Romeos. In the
Saab, of course, it’s turbocharged to give monstrous potency in the mid
ranges, but now all the drawbacks are gone. Now you can put your foot down
wherever and whenever the mood takes you, and whoomph, everyone within range
will be left wondering why the car they never noticed in the first place has
just disappeared.
It’s good this. I really did fear when Saab was bought by the huge pensions
and healthcare company called General Motors that some of the turbo
individuality would be lost. And I was really scared when I found they were
putting the 9-3 on a Vauxhall Vectra platform, but I’m happy to report that
silent forced-induction kick in the back is still there. And some.
Speed, however, is only part of the Saab’s appeal. Style’s another and I have
to say this is a good-looking car, in the same way that Benicio Del Toro is
a good-looking man. It’s an especially nice place to sit. The seats are
stunning, the dash works like a dream, especially if you know your way
around the cockpit of an F-15, and the steering wheel’s half silver.
The only real drawback is the most dim-witted, slothful and complicated sat
nav system I’ve ever lost my temper with. You should have seen the
route it selected from Notting Hill to London City airport. An ant with ink
on its feet could have come up with a better solution. And more quickly too.
And it was a £1,200 option.
But this, really, is my only complaint. The boot’s vast and comes with another
load space under a flap in the floor that is just about big enough for badly
behaved children.
The handling’s pretty good, too, considering that under the floor it’s a
Vauxhall Vectra. But the best thing is the price. The range starts at less
than £18,000. And even the 2.8 litre Aero model I tested, which comes with
pretty well all the toys, is less than £29,000. You’d struggle to put a
similarly sized, similarly fast German car on the road for less.
And what if you succeeded? What if you did end up with a BMW or an Audi estate
car? You’d be constantly aware that no cockometer was fitted because if it
was it’d be constantly hovering around Defcon 1. It’d be constantly
reminding you that you’d been a sheep.
The Saab has no cockometer because it doesn’t need one. You’ve deliberately
gone your own way, deliberately bought something that isn’t a BMW or a Merc
or an Audi. And in the process you’ve ended up with something that’s not
only a little bit different, but also rather good.
VITAL STATISTICS
Model Saab 9-3 2.8T SportWagon Aero
Engine 2792cc, V6
Power 250bhp @ 5500rpm
Torque 258 lb ft @ 4500rpm Transmission Six-speed manual
Fuel 27.7mpg (combined)
CO2 250g/km
Acceleration 0-60mph: 6.6sec Top speed 152mph
Price £28,295
Rating 4/5
Verdict Cocks a discreet snook at rivals
