Porsche Spice!
Chris had never liked the Panamera – ‘a stretch 911 that looks like a bionic tortoise’. But then he drove this all-new diesel with its thrilling extra pinch of...
This week I have continued to be driven bonkers by my current obsession: Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari, an extraordinary tome that charts the plight of the planet’s most destructive species since the dawn of time: us.
Every paragraph gives you pause for thought, as it catalogues how nuts human beings really are. Like how we think the agricultural revolution domesticated crops and livestock, when in fact what it did most of all was domesticate us. How the intensely undomesticated hunter-gatherers of 9,000 years ago could afford to take afternoons off, unlike the vast majority of people today. How we have cemented ideas like nations, government and religion by collectively agreeing to imagine they exist while happily destroying things that really do exist, such as forests, oceans, billions of animals and hundreds of millions of each other.
Or how Osama bin Laden hated much of what America stands for but was strangely fond of the American dollar. How even though the sum total of money in the world is $60 trillion, the sum total of banknotes and coins is less than $6 trillion, with the remaining $54-odd trillion represented as digits on computer servers. See what I mean? It may be the best book I’ve ever read; it’s certainly the most fascinating.
I finished the last chapter while, ironically, pootling up the Thames on a little river boat we hired for a few days. I say ironically because much of what the author explains is how, as a race, we continually distance ourselves from the very planet we came from and all within it that’s real, beautiful and dangerous. Which is why we now have to go to work to earn money so we can afford time off to do the kind of things we were able to do thousands of years ago for free, whenever we liked. We are officially insane. Now because we were messing about on the water, this meant delivery of this week’s test car would have to be more of a rendezvous en route as opposed to the usual dropoff at my gaff. And as we moored up by The Two Brewers, in Marlow, Buckinghamshire, there was a new Porsche Panamera 4S waiting for me. ‘I take it you’ll be back in time for dinner?’ said Mrs Evans as I disembarked with numberone son in tow. ‘Of course I will, it’s a Panamera, my least-favourite Porsche of all time. I might even be back in five minutes.’
I have always thought this stretch 911 tribute looks more like a bionic tortoise than a luxury family limo. In fact, I have never met anyone who thinks this car is remotely good-looking. Admittedly, it does appear to have become slightly less grotesque than when it first came out in 2010. Whether this is because Porsche has sneakily slimmed down the design or because we are now more used to its general bulk, I’m not quite sure. Then again, I don’t have particularly Porsche-friendly eyes, at least not post the midSeventies classics.
Inside, it’s a whole different story. I don’t know who Porsche hired to give the interior a makeover but they should triple their salary and handcuff them to the radiators. It is quite revolutionary, more new-world Tesla than old-school Porsche. Smooth, silky, sleek, with shiny black surfaces everywhere you look. And there are super-modern infotainment screens too. The big one in the back is especially impressive. Only four seats, but what seats they are – albeit with the help of €6k of extras. They should sell them individually for Porsche fans to sit in at home. The massage programme is orgasmic; it feels like there is a proper masseuse hiding back there. I could bang on about loads of other good stuff, like the tenspeaker sound system and clever fuel-saving cruise control, but I am running out of space, and I need to tell you what this fat lump is like to drive. In a word, spectacular, almost unbelievably so. I’m tempted to leave it there but will expound a wee bit more. Driving is when the Panamera suddenly begins to make sense. It’s simply a family car for blokes (usually) who love Porsches and can’t bear the thought of driving any other make in case it causes their heart to stop beating and their chest to cave in.
It is so quick, especially for a diesel – not that you would know it’s a diesel unless someone told you, or you filled it with petrol by mistake. With double the torque of its horsepower – which verges on black magic – it just growls and growls and keeps on growling, giving, a pushin’ and a shovin’. But the best bit is how well it corners for such a big unit, like its tyres have been dipped in superglue. It was a sensation I found quite difficult to get my head around, until I stopped trying and just enjoyed the thrill
And then guess what happened? As I climbed out and looked back at Giant Haystacks, all of a sudden he didn’t look so bad, no longer the ugly oaf. Because I finally under-
stood what the Panamera is about, I saw it in a new light.
The only elephant in the room is the whole anti-diesel brigade issue. Sure, this is an impressively economical vehicle considering its size and blistering performance (9.4 litres per 100km plus is easily achievable on a regular basis) but with towns and cities in the UK planning to charge a daily ‘toxin tax’ on diesels, and pressure on our government to increase tax on the much-maligned fuel, it’s definitely something to mull on.
To finish, let’s turn to the covering letter Porsches send to potential customers: ‘When buying a Porsche, you are buying into the Porsche DNA...’
And this is how it starts, my friends. When it comes to cars, brand loyalty can escalate into religious devotion, and there are few more committed disciples than those who worship at the altar of Ferdinand Porsche.
‘Religion asks us to believe in something, whereas money asks us to believe that other people believe in something,’ is another genius quote from my bonkers book. Which is true – except when buying a bonkers car from your favourite Svengali manufacturer. When you have to believe in anything it takes to justify forking out a huge wad of cash for a colossal set of wheels.
In which case, let us pray.