Here's a good way to lose money. Take a mass-market saloon and spec it to the max: sat nav, heat insulated tinted glass, parking radar, Bi-Xenon headlights, 17" rubber, alloy wheels, sports suspension, Tiptronic gearbox and the biggest damn engine money can buy. Come trade-in time, you'll get just about the same money for your superfast gin palace as Mr. Repmobile gets for his plain vanilla version. And yet…

Your hi-spec mass-market machine will cost less than a bare bones prestige model. Case in point: the Volkswagen Passat W8 4Motion Sport. For £34,070, you get all the goodies above (including an eight-cylinder engine) for two hundred quid more than a no-spec six-cylinder BMW 530i Sport. The VW gives you more German automobile for less of your beloved English pounds, ja?

Most pistonheads view estates, MPVs and SUV's with contempt. Why would anyone love driving a barge? Yes, it takes skill to throw a two-ton-plus behemoth around a bend, but it'll never beat the thrill of driving something designed for the job. If you really must carry more than two people, why not buy a performance […]

Rolls Royce has finally unveiled their ode to excess: the new Phantom. After pleading with their PR department, I reckon I could learn German between now and the time they'll lend me their land yacht. But everything I've read indicates that Rolls' new owners have finally done what their former stewards failed to do: build a proper "gentleman's" luxury motorcar.

No surprise there. Even a brief examination of a 7-Series' fit and finish indicates that an Anglo-German alliance was the only way to restore Rolls Royce to its rightful place at the summit of sumptuousness. The Japanese would have made the Phantom as reliable as an atomic clock. The French would have given it Gallic flair. The Americans would have given it, um, a Ford engine. But the Phantom's success was never going to be measured by its ability to avoid mechanical mishap, or delight the aesthetic sensibilities of rappers or architects. To reclaim its rep, the new Roller had to combine German tactile precision with English opulence.

Porsche has received a lot of criticism for building a truck. The New York Times, America's 'newspaper of record', recently weighed in. They ran an article pegged to a Porsche owner so disillusioned by the Cayenne's appearance you half expected him to run his 911 into a wall. If that wasn't enough to depress Porsche's stock price (it was), USA Today revealed the company's claims that they'd sold the Cayenne's first year's production run were a tad misleading; the assertion was based on 'expressions of interest' rather than deposits.

Of course, the pundits and purists are right: Porsche has no more business building an SUV than McDonald's has serving burgers by candlelight. So what? Once the novelty wears off, Cayenne sales will wither, profits will dip, and the company will return to basics. They'll build something small and sporty that enthusiasts will lust after with hormonal fury. They did it in the 80's with the Boxster. They can do it again. At worst, the Cayenne will turn out to be an expensive distraction, a bizarre footnote in the company's illustrious history. Other German manufacturers will not be so lucky.

I recently read the official "preview" of the Continental GT. It was catatonically comprehensive, written in the stuffy style one associates with one's Bentley. From the outset, the anonymous PR flack claimed the new GT would bring Bentley ownership to "a wider audience of discerning enthusiasts than ever before." Considering the magazine that printed the puff piece, it's hard to argue the point.

I have never driven a Porsche so slowly in my life. Of course, it was broken. Please note: it wasn't the company's fault. When the nice man from Porsche handed me the key to the Cayenne S, the box fresh SUV looked more than ready to show the world that the Sultans of Stuttgart can build a damn fast, fine-handling truck.

At first, the aesthetically challenged Cayenne S motored down the Spanish pavement with reasonable aplomb. That said, the coil spring suspension reminded me of a tightly sprung trampoline. But hey, not even the Germans can tie down an SUV to the point where it can blast around corners, without falling over or ploughing straight ahead, while providing Jaguar ride quality. The best thing that can be said about the Cayenne S' on-road comfort is that the BMW X5 4.6 Sport is a lot worse.

My last review of a Porsche was more of a love letter than a critique. For that, I make no apologies. The warp speed 911 Turbo is the best thing to come out of Germany since apple strudel. However, in the interests of perceived objectivity, I will resist the urge to shower the 'new' Boxster S with praise. Suffice it to say, the Boxster S is one of the finest driver's cars in the world, at any price.

I've got nothing against hairdressers. Anyone who can ask "Are you going anywhere nice for your holidays?" twenty times a day and pretend to care is endowed with more social skills than I'll ever possess. I use the word "endowed" advisedly; some people assume that male hairdressers are homosexual. Ridiculous. You can no more claim that the majority of male hairdressers are gay than you can say there is such a thing as a "hairdresser's car." Actually, you can, and there is. On the car side, the Rover MGF, BMW Z3, Mazda MX-5, Mercedes SLK, Suzuki Cappuccino, Toyota MR2, Ford StreetKa and the Peugeot 206CC are all perfect examples.

Why do car manufacturers still feel compelled to drape female flesh over their show cars? If I wanted to ogle underfed women with thousand yard stares, I'd go to Harvey Nichols, not the British Motor Show. Not only does the practice fly in the face of one hundred years of women's liberation, it detracts from the cars. Like most male enthusiasts, I find a close encounter with a well-formed motorcar exciting enough. It's difficult to focus on the true object of my affections when confronted by a scantily clad girl trying to look friendly without encouraging actual intercourse.

I'm sure the sexual intimidation is intentional. Everyone is well aware that Motor Show babes know less about cars than a Congolese banana grower. An army of midriffs, breasts and legs protects the PR Flacks from punters' probing questions about new gear ratios and the wisdom of clear indicator lenses. The girls also provide notoriously competitive (and male dominated) car manufacturers with yet another arena for establishing bragging rights. To wit: "Did you see the Nissan stand? Lousy cars, great tits."

Kirk Stingle, my favourite Porsche salesman, describes the 911 as the 'Swiss Army knife of sports cars'. It can cruise, thrash, potter, pose, park and ferry in all weathers, with equal aplomb. Get jiggy with the options list, and you'll enjoy all the latest luxury car toys and creature comforts. At the end of the financial year, a fully specced, top-of-the-range 911 is still cheaper than an 'entry level' Ferrari. Other than a winning lottery ticket, what more could you want?

Power. And so, on the seventh day, the zealots of Zuffenhausen created the 911 Turbo. And on the eighth day, they created the Power Pack. These factory enhancements increase the engine's peak output from a not inconsiderable 420bhp, to a monumental 450bhp. The zero to sixty time sinks to 3.79 seconds. Porsche calls the extra oomph an 'option', but c'mon, you know it isn't. Put it this way…

Road racing is like masturbation. We all do it, but no one wants to admit it. Why? It's obvious enough. People take one look at your bulging wheel arches and think yeah, he does it. Well of course you do. Do you seriously expect anyone to believe you bought a car specifically engineered for high-speed performance so you could slavishly obey The Highway Code? That's like buying a pump-action shotgun to knock down cobwebs. It's logical, but implausible.

Talk all you like about your sports car's brand heritage and timeless design. The average man in the street doesn't see it that way. They clock your race-ready wheels and know you're just itching to humiliate some velocity-challenged Vauxhall. And they're not wrong, are they? Any Porsche driver who claims he bought his car to drive 70 miles per hour on the motorway, only using the outside lane to pass slower moving vehicles when it is safe to do so, is either in deep denial, lying or has severely injured his testicles.

When you fire-up the Audi RS6, its twin-turbo V8 engine produces the perfectly modulated burble of a modern day muscle car. Then something odd happens. A low whine fills the cabin, quickly and steadily ascending in pitch. It's the same noise you hear in a jet before the engines start, as the Auxiliary Power Unit spools up.

In reality, the RS6' air conditioning pump creates the whine. Or does it? If you so much as breathe on the go pedal, the RS6 accelerates with all the seamless, relentless resolve of a jet fighter. Give the accelerator a hard shove, and the afterburners kick in. The RS6 shifts down a cog, growls in the time-honoured V8 tradition, and blasts forwards like a Tomcat off an aircraft carrier.

The Advertising Standards Authority (ASA) recently ruled on an ad showing a Mazda 323 Sport against a blurred background. The caption read, "Why Keep Up with the Jones's When You Can Overtake?" The ASA ruled that the ad "glamorised speed" and "condoned fast driving". They directed Mazda to withdraw the ad, and told them not to do it again.

The text of the Authority's adjudication clearly states that Mazda consulted their Committee of Advertising Practice Copy Advice Team before running the ad. The ASA also accepted that the ad's main message was not about speed. They agreed that the photograph did not suggest that the car was breaking the speed limit, or being driven recklessly.

Jaguar has finally unveiled its revamped flagship. After spending the gross national product of Paraguay to develop a suitable Benz-basher, the new Jaguar XJ looks exactly like… the old Jaguar XJ. Wow! Who would have expected stately Jaguar to push the boundaries of the "retro" design trend to its logical limits? I mean, you can't get more "retro" than total stasis.

Pity the German companies who make their living 'tuning' mainstream motors. All the big German manufacturers (save Porsche) now have their own in-house performance divisions. Audi has its S, BMW has its M, Volkswagen has its R, and Mercedes has its AMG. Your local dealer will sell you an extra hot version of any basic model, complete with warranty and a choice of body mods. It's hard to see what an independent tuner can bring to the party.

Case in point: the Mercedes Benz AMG SL55. Why would anyone would want more muscle in a car that pumps out a colossal 500bhp @ 6100rpms? The SL55's V8 Kompressor also generates an epic 516lb.ft. of torque at 2650 – 4500rpms. In other words, Mercedes' uber-SL is fully capable of hurling its occupants from any speed, to any speed, without hesitation, deviation or repetition. In fact, the svelte-looking SL55 is one of those rare machines that can turn forward thrust into physical pain.