So here comes an entirely new (to Britain, at any rate) premium car brand, dealing exclusively in big-performing, wallet-stripping, petrol-powered buzz-wagons, and launched right in the face of the gravest recession to hit mankind since pretty much the invention of the stock market. In the immortal words of Sgt Wilson from Dad’s Army: “Do you think that’s wise, sir?”

But look — sometimes circumstances can’t be helped. It’s not as though Infiniti started planning this launch only a couple of days ago. These things are in the diary for years. And, anyway, everyone knows that recessions don’t really impact on the rich — except, possibly this one. Which is over, in any case, isn’t it? Possibly.

The point is, the upmarket department of Nissan, of Japan, having successfully colonised most of the rest of the world, including America, is now giving it a shot in Reading (and in seven other places in the UK between now and 2011). The look they’re ambitiously going for at the new showroom is high-end Japanese hotel, rather than bog-standard A33 dealership. There’s a reception area behind sliding doors, specially commissioned Swiss artwork, and a lowered ceiling, reducing the usual “big glass garage” effect. You also know that you’re being offered the chic hotel experience because there’s marble up the walls and the lights go on automatically in the lavatory.

You don’t often see a car dealership with frosted-glass windows. Normally the cars are up and begging at the windows, like sad-eyed puppies. Here, along with the customers, they’re a tantalising blur from the outside. The thinking, apparently, is that if you’re going to drop £50,000 on a giant-wheeled SUV in the middle of a recession, you probably don’t want half of Reading to watch you doing so.

Now, anecdotal evidence insists, surely, that a certain kind of customer exists who would drop £50,000 on a giant-wheeled SUV only on the condition that half of Reading was watching, but I guess those aren’t the kind of people to whom Infiniti is reaching out in the first instance.

Anyway, the aim overall seems to be to provide the levels of bespoke service more commonly associated with your Bentleys, your Rollers. The traditional “bloke called Gary”, who handed you the keys and gestured distractedly towards the parking lot while placing your cheque in a lockable drawer, is replaced at Infiniti by a “personal account manager”. Your account manager will be on the end of a phone when you need him, apparently, such as when the car requires a service and ... er ... on all those other occasions when you need to talk to the person who sold you your car. It’s a five-model range at present: a coupé, a convertible, a saloon and two meaty SUV variants. All have unashamedly fat engines and Japanese design cues. The shaping of the front seats in the EX is modelled on the neckline of a kimono. The designer got the idea for the sweeps of wood in the doors of the FX 50 S from the back of a cello. The rear light clusters on the GT 37 coupé were inspired by a particularly fine lunch of vegetable tempura, eaten in view of the Hayato Great Falls in the Tanzawa Mountains. OK, I made that last bit up. Not the other stuff, though.

Whisper it, but there’s some rather dull, Nissan-esque dashboard plastic in among the bits of cello and the kimono patterns. But there is no questioning the well-mannered rides and the hearty equipment levels. And in the school-run-friendly EX, there’s a handy device that electronically flattens and raises the rear seats, sparing you, and indeed your personal account manager, the effort.

The question you’re probably asking is, “If there are only eight UK dealerships, where am I going to take my Infiniti when its exhaust pipe drops off?” The good news here is that Infiniti has pledged to collect, free of charge, any of its cars living within a 150-mile radius of a dealership. Oh, and will bring it back, too, which is good, because you’ll probably want that.