This is a tale of two Carreras. The first one is Muhammad Ali. This Porsche floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee; it can motor at extra-legal velocities with no apparent effort, then carve-up a twisting road and leave it for dead. Muhammad is flash, a smug symbol that its driver is a Heavyweight. But it's no bum. Oh no. Press the loud pedal and the 3.6 litre engine proclaims, 'I am the greatest!' As the roar increases and the scenery begins to blur, the car gains control rather than loses it. The footwork is dazzling. Class. Pure class.

The second Carrera is Clint Eastwood. This Porsche upholds The Law of The Jungle, with scant regard for legal niceties like speed limits and other road users. In fact, there's nothing nice about it. Clint sticks your nose into the tarmac and makes you feel every bump, ridge and rut. As far as speed is concerned, the bullet chamber is always loaded, the hammer cocked. Pull the trigger and Clint explodes into forward motion. Cornering is equally brutal, and effective. Calling this Carrera 'soft' or 'not as good as the old one' only reveals your ignorance.

Just what's so prestigious about prestige blue? That's the question actor Ed Harris asks his fictional legal team in a recent ad for Vauxhall's new Vectra. Did I say new? Hmmm. That's the whole point of the campaign: to establish that the Vectra is a brand new car, rather than a mild revamp of an established model. Ed's character is charged with proving the point to a jury.

Why, I have no idea. Vauxhall don't sell the Vectra in the lawsuit-crazed US of A. The car's UK customers—a curious amalgam of fleet buyers, Griffin worshippers and die-hard Pringle wearers— are not the litigious type. Should their new Vectra fail to exceed the low standards set by the previous model, they're more likely to have a quiet word with their dealer or, worst case, write a strongly worded letter to the Area Manager. Mustn't grumble you know.

The ultimate pie-eater's car? You're walking down the street, minding your own business. For once, you're not thinking about cars. Suddenly, you hear it: a low frequency, menacing rumble. The sound bounces off nearby buildings and hits your synapses like a football drilled into the back of the net. It's the burble. For a red-blooded pistonhead, the thrill created by a proper barrel-chested burble is irresistible. Involuntarily, your head swivels to identify the machine producing this mechanical siren song. It's a… BMW?

C'mon. TVRs burble. Old-fashioned muscle cars with engines that burst from their bonnets like biceps through The Incredible Hulk's shirt, burble. Well, so does the BMW M5. From the moment you turn the key, the 400 horsepower M-power plant burbles with as much conviction as a Shelby Cobra. The M5 may look like a mildly tweaked version of BMW's bread and butter barge, but it isn't. Anyone with ears knows this car is a serious piece of kit.

Here's a message for Great Britain's new Transport Minister: the car has won. Deal with it.

For decades, the UK government and "Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition" have accepted, promoted and adhered to the view that cars create unacceptable levels of pollution. Cars are, therefore, a bad thing. Driving should be actively discouraged like, say, child molesting. The vast majority of the electorate demonstrate their unequivocal disagreement by, wait for it, buying a car.

Britain entered WWII an economic powerhouse, a major player on the world stage, the master of a vast colonial empire. She emerged bloodied, battered and broke. The Empire was going, going, gone. Industry struggled with the transition from a war to a peacetime economy. Rationing continued. In 1948, into this fug of austerity, Jaguar launched the XK120. The impossibly glamorous two-seater combined world-beating performance with everyday practicality and sublime comfort. The XK120 marked the end of one era, and the beginning of another. It made Jaguar rich, and millions of people proud to be British.

In the early sixties, Britain was on its uppers. The Winter of Discontent was no more than a chill breeze. The turgid class system was alive and well, but cracks were beginning to appear. Teenage culture was in first flower. One year into this new decade, Jaguar launched another car that tapped into and distilled the national gestalt: the E-Type Series I. The E-Type was a sensationally sexy, supremely capable automobile that a great many "average" enthusiasts could afford. As the Austin Powers movies demonstrate (ad nauseum), the E-Type embodied all that was fun and funky about the era. The car re-invigorated Jaguar, and made millions of people proud to be British.