Steve Cropley
Giorgetto Giugiaro’s greatest work
TUESDAY
It has taken a while – and a fascinating meeting with hard-driving Vauxhall MD Stephen Norman (see page 58) – to decide how I feel about Luton’s decision to stress ‘British since 1903’ roots in the latest advertising. A buy-british strategy has been embraced in the past by struggling national majors (British Rail, British Airways and Austin Rover come to mind). But this is different. I like the front-foot stridency of it: as Norman explains, Vauxhall emphatically isn’t in trouble (a glance at the division’s latest record-breaking bottom line is a strong clue) and it’s well aware your modern Brit will buy on price, quality and capability. Norman and Co simply hope said locals will see Britishness as an appealing differentiator.
I have written before about my optimism for Vauxhall under Carlos Tavares and PSA, and seeing the unique mix of science, aggression and old-fashioned relish Norman is bringing to this job, I reckon I’m right. For ages, Vauxhall’s cars have been better than critics allow. When 63-year-old Norman arrived, there were hints he’d only stay a year or get everyone used to the PSA way. Now he’s labelling this his best gig ever, and threatening to stay six or seven years. Good news.
WEDNESDAY
Nothing escapes Twitter, least of all the 80th birthday of the great car designer Giorgetto Giugiaro, whose anniversary on 7 August was marked online by admiring messages from every point of the compass. Of course, this set off online discussions about his greatest designs and within minutes people were foaming at the mouth over Meraks and Ghiblis, Mangustas and Grifos.
You probably know what I’m going to say. If the greatest Giugiaro car isn’t the original, plainfronted Fiat Panda (forget the later nose-job model with the five-bar grille), it was the original Volkswagen Golf – a car so ubiquitous in its time, and so long-lasting after its time, that we forgot to acknowledge the all-over genius of its shape. For insurance, you can chuck in the earliest flatscreen Lotus Esprit, the one without the bodykit.
THURSDAY
Back in Matt Prior’s BMW M5 for a night or two. Matt had set it up the way he likes (also the way I like) with engine and gearchange in sharpest mode, but steering and suspension set to comfort. For various magazine housekeeping reasons, we swapped cars in an M40 service area (he took the Mercedes X-class pick-up) and for the miles home I sat there with my bum practically on the road and my thumbs hooked over the wheel spokes, doing next to nothing while the car proceeded at an almighty lick. All seemed perfect, barring overservoed brakes at low speed. Every five miles, I spared a thought for Matt, for whom the change of pace must have been enormous. The X-class is great at what it does, but it’s very, very different.
FRIDAY
Twice, recently, I’ve rung insurance companies to report minor accidents that weren’t mine – as a favour to older friends, as it were. It has been fundamentally horrible and there have always been complications. Four times, soon after I put the phone down, I’ve been rung by ambulance chasers (who knew my name) keen to help me invent a whiplash claim and carry it through. I’ve resisted getting into shouting matches, but I now expect to come away from any contact with insurers feeling I’m dealing with reptiles. Right now, I feel like reinsuring everything I have – it runs to nine vehicles – with someone new. Catch? Don’t know anyone nice. Anyone out there ever had a consistently good experience?
I expect any contact to feel like I’m dealing with reptiles