|
I HAD NEVER DRIVEN a Mini before.
When I was at university, I was a bit higher up on the string of
British Leyland products—a Triumph no less—and Minis were left to
those who had only managed “B” bursaries or those who could tolerate
the bluff front end of the original Clubman.
It was nostalgia that kept it alive, so when I was
invited to try out the new Mini Cooper S Clubman, I had to live
it. Out with my Italian Job CD.
Practise saying, ‘You’re only supposed to blow the bloody doors
off,’ in perfect Alfie Cockney in the voice of Michael
Caine. Relearn the lyrics to ‘Self-Preservation Society’.
Whenever I go to Auckland these days, I seem to wind
up driving an English car. Thirty years ago that would have sounded
like a curse. Now that those cars are Astons and Minis, I am not
complaining. Never mind that bmw controls the Mini company, they
are still built at Cowley (BMW Oxford,
they call it), which, last time I looked, is still part of the Empah.
The problem is that Britain itself wants to be seen
more as the home of John Galliano than Prince Edward, and Mini reflects
that. The updated styling of the R56 Clubman is Euro-friendly, with
Bauhaus simplicity rather than the ornamentation of a feathered
Philip Treacy hat at Ascot. The really good news is it’s not the
bluff-nosed car from my uni days. My car, as tested, featured rally
fog lights that impressed everyone who glanced at it. On the left-hand
side it doesn’t look like a lengthened Mini, which is technically
what it is, but a lowered one—that’s what the extra 240 mm does
to it.
Yes, the left-hand side. On the right-hand side
there is what BMW insists on calling
a “club door”, which has received a lot of flak in the British media.
You see, despite this insistence from cool Britannia Blairites that
Galliano and Keira Knightley came from the UK,
there’s still that nationalistic element that surfaces each time
Jeremy Clarkson makes a joke about Germans. Then it’s all suddenly
pomp, circumstance and Penelope Keith.
The extra door, it is said, is on the wrong side, for
the Empah. And any part of the former Empah that drives on the correct
(left) side of the road. Egress for young children is made more
dangerous because of the “club door” being on the right-hand side.
But what makes the British truly indignant is that this device is
one of those Continental things, you see, with no place in the Empah,
like salami, or Sauerkraut, or some garlic-ridden muck.
In practice, as I discovered, no one seemed to care
about the door. For starters, as my transport at Miss New Zealand,
driving runner-up Hannah Matthews, her Mum and her aunt home, they
simply assumed, as anyone of a certain age, that the Mini is a two-door
car, and the first reaction was to put the passenger seat forward.
Even after being made aware of the “club door”, they still got out
on the pedestrian side.
The spare door was really for me. Accustomed to two-door
cars anyway, I welcomed the chance to dump my stuff on the back
seat when needed without having to fold the front seat forward.
In practice, the wee door works.
The other criticism from the British press was the
restriction on the view to the rear. Anyone who can remember the
Austin Mini Countryman and the Morris Mini Traveller will remember
that the back doors open up like barn doors, so there is a pillar
in the centre.
Again, in the age of massive headrests in most cars,
I never really noticed these being a hindrance. Not even Kate Moss
is anorexic enough to be obscured by the pillar. The only thing
British that could be hidden by the pillar is Pete Doherty’s self-respect,
and you usually require a psychic medium to detect that.
The interior is oh-so-retro-fashionable Mini with the
big speedometer in the centre, which from a design perspective seems
superfluous because bmw has put in a digital readout in the middle
of the rev counter in front of the driver that has the speed. But
it’s a detail for the Ministi, along with dashboard-mounted
switches for the electric windows.
I normally dislike retro in cars but I seem to tolerate
this, and the absence of steering wheel-mounted radio controls,
because it’s a Mini. The dna of stealing $4 million through a traffic
jam using three Minis in The Italian Job was still there.
I began singing along with Matt Monro, ‘On Days Like These’.
If there was a disappointment, it was really how darned
sensible this car was. You do feel the extra length subconsciously,
and that meant you held back on really joining Charlie Croker et
al and pretend that the exit to Gillies Avenue is really to
the sewers of Torino.
For all its front-end bravada, the Mini Cooper S Clubman
is easy to drive and can, unless you stick it into sport mode, make
so much sense as a round-town compact car.
I don’t predict it will steal sales from other cutesy
motors like the Fiat 500 or the phony Volkswagen New Beetle, but
from the Toyota RAV 4s and Suzuki
Vitaras.
These little SUVs do
not sell because they are high up or are easy to park. They sell
because they are a fashion statement about one’s intent to be a
Sloane Ranger and have practicality for shopping or the kids.
With Clubman around, the Sloane Ranger image is even
better suited because of how Mini has been marketed: the customized,
personalized fashion statement that is classless and classy at once.
And in the back, you can shift not just $1·3 million in gold, but
$2·6 million. There’s literally double the cargo space. One hundred
litres more.
But Mini still remains an incredibly classless car.
Fashionable firms will have theirs signwritten: I almost think it
works as a Luciremobile. Whenever I mentioned it to young
women, I got more of a positive reaction than when I had the Aston
Martin DB9 (see Lucire no.
25), so for blokes the car can pull. And for those Sloane Rangers
who sit up high in a vehicle resembling a portaloo with an engine
up front—yes, I mean those little SUVs—then
the Mini Cooper S Clubman might just be the perfect new thing. •
Jack Yan is publisher of Lucire.
|
 |
The extra door, it is said, is on the wrong side, for
the Empah. And any part of the former Empah that drives on the correct
(left) side of the road. Egress for young children is made more
dangerous because of the “club door” being on the right-hand side.
But what makes the British truly indignant is that this device is
one of those Continental things, you see, with no place in the Empah
|
RSS feed 
Departments
Selected RSS feeds Lucire News | Jack Yan | Summer
Rayne Oakes | Stanley
Moss | Jennifer Lawson | Anna Deans
Left Looking like a chop-top Mini, the Clubman is more worthy than
some British journalists have made it out to be.
Add to Delicious
Digg
it
Add to Facebook