For years people with bonkers hair and an interest in the human mind have struggled to understand why Brits buy more convertible cars than people in sunnier places such as Australia, Italy or California.
But really, it’s simple. If the skies are permanently blue there’s no novelty in sitting in the sunshine; it’s actually a relief to get in the shade and turn on the aircon. But here in England, where the drizzle is only ever interrupted by heavier spells of rain, it’s different. When the sun does make an appearance, we don’t want to waste the moment by sitting in a steel box.
Lately, though, things have been changing. We bought nearly 50,000 convertibles in 2017, but last year sales were down to a third of that – a huge drop in just six years. The reason, I think, is that a car is no longer seen as an expression of freedom; it’s an expensive nuisance, a pollutant, and a pawn in the political battle between left and right. And in a world like that, there’s no room for a wind-in-the-hair, bees-in-your-teeth convertible. I think Mini can sell you an electric drop-top but really, what’s the point? An electric car is not a symbol of freedom, it’s an appliance. So, making a convertible version is like making a convertible microwave.
Earlier this year I went to Mauritania in west Africa to film a Grand Tour special, and the crew were very surprised when I turned up in a convertible Jaguar F-Type. Though when I say “surprised”, what I mean is “rendered helpless with mirth”. They all said that in the Sahara the Jag would simply disassemble itself and that I’d become a vulture’s breakfast.
They were wrong. I shan’t spoil the story, but even though the Jag had 110,000km on the clock, not one thing went wrong, fell off or broke. It spent most of its time crash-landing after a huge jump or racing up boulder-strewn hills. I’ve never used such a bulletproof car on a TV special before. I made some inquiries, and it turns out that Jaguar Land Rover has one test that all its cars must pass. It’s a test where the car is driven into kerbs at high speed and then made to wobble over rough tracks and, even though it was invented for the Range Rover, the little Jag sports car has to pass it too.
I’d always been a closet fan of the F-Type. I think it’s one of the prettiest cars ever made. And I came back from Africa knowing I could contain myself no longer. I had to have one. And so the car you see in the picture is mine. I offered a dealer £25,000 ($49,000) for it and took it home that day.
It’s not the V8 version (I see no point in that – it’s just extra thirst for not much gain). It’s a poverty spec model with manually adjusted seats and blanked-out buttons, but think about it: I now have a 250kW, supercharged V6 sports car with just 30,000km on the clock for less than a Toyota Prius.
And it’s not an annoying classic car either. It doesn’t creak and leak and rattle. It has satnav and aircon and airbags and blue teeth. It’s only ten years old, so it feels contemporary and fresh. And everything works, because – as I learnt in Africa – it was built properly.
Sure, there are some problems. The boot is tiny, there’s no spare wheel and the ride is harsh. But $49,000 for a car that, new, would cost upwards of $170,000 amazes me. I’ve racked my brains and can think of absolutely nothing that is better value for money. And that makes the Yorkshireman in me very happy.
I’ve argued in the past that a man should drive with the roof down only if he’d be happy to do so naked. It’s not something that any self-respecting chap should do if people are looking because it sends out a strong message about availability. But I’m 63 now. So when I rumble through a village, no one’s going to think, “Look at that fat man on the pull.”
There’s more. After a recent day-long medical, the doctor said I was in rude health apart from a deficiency in vitamin D. The Jag, therefore, is more than a car. It’s aspa, potentially – a wellness centre, full of wholesome sunlit goodness.
It would, then, be a perfect summertime companion. Except for one small thing. On the day it arrived, summer stopped. The whole of July was blustery and cold, and August wasn’t that much better. Of course I still drive with the roof down all the time, speeding up if there’s a shower so the raindrops fly over the windscreen.
So what’s it like? Well, it’s the same as every other convertible. Once you’re going faster than 50km/h there is no difference between a Mazda MX-5 and a Mercedes SL; the whole experience is so dominated by the elements and the wind that you don’t really notice any handling deficiencies or holes in the torque curve. It’s like being tickled; you don’t sit there wondering if the sprouts are boiling over.
I love my new car. I love the way it looks. I love the bellow its exhaust makes. I love the speed and the strength and the way you can lower and raise the roof as you drive along. But most of all I love it because it looks like new and feels like new, but it cost only $49,000.
