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A Sports Autobiography I’m Actually Interested In

Thursday, March 22nd, 2012

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I’ve been driving the new Range Rover Sport Autobiography. It’s without question the first sports autobiography I’ve ever been remotely interested in, although I once picked up Herschelle Gibbs’ tome only to be distracted by the Vanity Fair underneath.

Like most sports autobiographies, you might think Range Rover have written theirs a bit too young; a bit too early in the game. The Sport as a model is, after all, barely a generation old. But I’m happy to report that they’ve got this one right, if you happen to be Wayne Rooney.

Please head over to GQ right now to read the rest of the review. I manage to compare the car to a war and a private box at the cricket.

Ciro De Siena

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We’ve Been Driving the Range Rover Sports Autobiography

Tuesday, March 20th, 2012

 

So the nice folks over at Range Rover offered us a week in their Autobiography test unit. It’s a lovely thing this. But hideously expensive to run. I honestly think it would be cheaper to run a war. Gav’s got an iPhone with Hipstermantagram or whatever it’s called, and he’s grabbed some great shots of the Ranger in and around town.

My review on the royal brute will be up on GQ in the next few hours, and I’ll link to it here.

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Why You Don’t Want a Convertible – Latest On My GQ Column

Friday, February 24th, 2012

You want one, don’t you. A Cabriolet. A Droptop. A Convertible. You think it will improve your social life, help you get more out of summer and achieve more sex. You picture yourself whisking your better half away for a dirty weekend, pottering down tree-lined country lanes with the wind in your hair – not a care in the world.

Well, you’re mostly wrong. You do not want a convertible.

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Back from extinction, with distinction

Thursday, January 20th, 2011

By Gavin Williams

For a while there it looked like Jag were in a competition with Porsche for the design department least willing to change.  It was like working at Home Affairs or an Embassy in the Caribbean, except cushier.  Jaguar, like Porsche, were in a tight spot.  It’s difficult to attract new customers by staying current without alienating your anorak-clad acolytes.  But something had to be done.  The last S-Type had a face like a dropped pie. It seemed Jag were trying to make cars for foreigners who still viewed England as a place where men wear trilbys to the pub, have wood paneled parlours and footballers were called Mick McCullum and Archie Fletcher. i.e: Not Modern Britain.

Pub hats off then to Jaguar, who even with limited financial resources, have made a truly astounding car; an unashamedly modern Jaguar that retains everything that a Jag should be. It’s smooth, quiet, fancies a bit of a trot and is so comfortable it could be made from afternoon snoozes while the cricket’s on.  I drove the Audi A5 Sportback a while ago and that diesel was simply superb, it’s the only one in the range I’d have (and that includes the bare-knuckled hardman, the S5).  Jaguar had a task on their hands taking on Audi and the stupendously good BMW 530d.

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Joy is a mad little Renault. Who knew?

Tuesday, January 18th, 2011

By: Ciro De Siena

Joy. It’s an odd concept. Sometimes just the word itself conjures outdated images, like a Swiss lady twirling around on a green hillside, singing. I think joy comes in smaller doses these days. Like emptying the pockets of your jeans before throwing them in the wash, only to find a scrunched-up R50 note.

I am, weirdly, one of those people that derives joy from driving a car. I know, what a delightfully strange concept, but I swear its possible if you have the right machinery, the right space and the right time. Luckily I was to spend a week with the right machinery, which came in the surprising form of the Renault Twingo Gordini RS.

Let’s quickly break that down for those of you who couldn’t care less about cars. (more…)

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Car launch: BMW 335i Coupe and Convertible, mid-life tweak edition

Wednesday, July 21st, 2010

Waking up at 4am after barely two hours of sleep for a 06:30 Monday morning flight is, um, challenging. I arrived at the newly completed King Shaka airport in Durbs feeling rather bleary and contorted, to say the least, having sat between two former rugby props for what felt like 17 years. I was then immediately bundled into a Kombi, driven 15 metres to a parking lot where my one open eye was greeted by six brand new convertible and coupe BMWs. That sort of sight has the ability to improve your mood by some margin.

After what was probably the briefest press briefing in history, we were asked to pick a car for the first leg of the drive. The first vehicle of the day would be a maroon 335i convertible with flappy paddles. It takes about 5 seconds in this car to realise it is a brilliant machine. It’s athletic, comfortable, well stuck together and damn sexy. It’s by far and away the sportiest 4-seat convertible in it’s segment, barring the special performance models from various marques. But it is also R750 000, which is a lot. Even so, I prefer the coupe.

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Driven: Honda Jazz. Cue unneccessary smiling

Wednesday, July 14th, 2010

Gavin, my co-editor, is quite an observationalist. He spots things that most wouldn’t, and then relays the information in an often hilarious manner. Once he’s made me notice something, I can very rarely ignore it. Like the way Vic Maharaj, a panellist on SuperSport’s Formula 1 show, begins every sentence with ‘basically’. I’ve probably ruined that for you now.

Another astute observation that has stayed with me concerns Jazz musicians. They’re the only musicians on earth who seem to make a habit of having more fun than the audience. Watch the next jazz band you see carefully; they’ll constantly smile at each other, simultaneously nodding in approval of each other’s astonishing musical ability. It’s nauseating. We bought the tickets, we’ve paid for your awful checkered pants and we’re over here, you wallies.

Luckily, the Honda Jazz is exactly the opposite of the genre. Like most Hondas, it gets on with the job of being a great little car with absolutely no fuss or pointless posturing, allowing you, the driver, who paid for thing, to enjoy it. A saxophonist’s vehicle this isn’t.

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Driven: The Chevrolet Cruze. Welcome to America.

Sunday, May 23rd, 2010
The World Touring Car Championship (WTCC) is ace.  They race on dangerous street circuits and wing mirrors are used in the same way elbows are in Uruguayan football matches.  A BMW even ploughed into the safety car at high speed last year.  It’s the motorsport equivalent of wearing a red shirt and a petrol bomb in the centre of Bangkok the last couple of weeks.

And the Chevy Cruze is one of the cars that contests the championship and it’s absolutely got nothing in common with the one we drove besides the number of steering wheels.

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Driven: Suzuki Jimny. Jack Parow says ‘maybe’

Thursday, May 13th, 2010

It’s difficult to explain how much I love the Suzuki Jimny. And it’s not my fault, I am after all, an impartial motoring journalist. But quite accidentally, or maybe on purpose, Suzuki have built a car that is incredibly endearing. Not liking the Jimny would be like not liking a Jack Russel puppy. Or a four year old girl with blonde curls. Or a that little girl’s little hamster, Smartie.

It is, for all intents and purposes, a niche car. There is no boot to speak of, but you can remove the backseats which helps. It is very narrow, and quite cramped if you’re over 6 foot tall. But I’m not, so it’s perfect.

Full gallery of our little test after the jump > (more…)

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Combing Beaches and Other 80s Slang.

Tuesday, May 11th, 2010

The Suzuki SJ410 was one of the most cultish cars ever.  It was a Beechies ad wrapped in a day-glo Gotcha jacket with Sambuca stains on the lapel at your parent’s holiday house in Umdloti where you had your first sexual experience on some rocks with a shark tooth necklace and a head full of ideas nicked from glimpses of Michelle Pfeiffer’s funbags. It was in the purest sense, fun and I’m pretty convinced Suzuki had no idea what they were doing.

Like windsurfing, but manageable and vaguely cool.

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