In 1986, pop rockers Huey Lewis and the News grabbed America by its blue collar and unironically proclaimed that it was "Hip to Be Square"– a rather peculiar assertion given that rock and roll music has historically stoked the fires of nonconformity. Almost in spite of itself, this ode to the joys of orthodoxy became a smash hit. And though it's taken the better part of twenty years to come to the fore, automotive design now finds itself deeply enthralled with Mr. Lewis' orthogonal ideology.

From the Subaru Forester to Hummer's entire catalog (sides H1 – H3), car designers are breaking out their t-squares with messianic zeal. General Motors has (re)built their entire Cadillac luxury division around a surface language of aggressive angles. At the shallow end of the automotive gene pool, Scion's refrigerator-shaped xBox, Honda's Element and Nissan's [pending] Cube all show that today's cutting edge designers are thinking inside the box. At the deep end, Rolls Royce's startling Phantom shows the plebs how it's done.

Volvo stylists must be falling on their collective styling knives. Just as Gothenburg's gurus finally figured out how to take their cars out of the boxes they came in, the market has gone behind their backs and snuck them back in. What's more, the retreat back to Square One has not been confined to entire vehicle designs. Witness BMW's effort to incorporate higher and squarer trunk lids into its Seven and Five Series sedans. Ford's once-cheeky Focus has ditched its pubescent New Edge surfacing inside-and-out for the anonymous angularity of the po-faced Five Hundred. The dashboard of Ford's budget banger, once an intriguing jumble of arcs and intersecting lines, now presents a lamentable cliff of plastic.

In fact, industry scuttlebutt has Ford's still-warm Five Hundred undergoing an emergency rectilinear facelift, incorporating a three-bar grille (doubtlessly inspired by design chief J Mays' Norelco). First seen in 2003's blocky 427 Concept, the revision can be seen as a response to the success of DCX's gritty-yet-glam, bluff-faced 300. The big Chrysler's design has been celebrated, while the Ford's detractors have cried out for less J Mays and more Jay-Z.

This unmistakable cubist trend constitutes a wholesale rejection of The Cult of the Wind Tunnel (a.k.a. the science of aerodynamics). In the mid-80's, aerodynamically-enthralled designers created an entire Melted-Bar-of-Soap School of Coachwork. Consider the Ford Taurus, Chevrolet Corsica, Honda Accord and Toyota Camry. Now try to identify the major differences between their major surfaces. There aren't any. In fact, the automakers' lockstep allegiance to the God of Aerodynamics created forecourt after forecourt of look-alike vehicles. Hence the square hipness backlash.

The return to rectilinear styling is also a predictable outgrowth of the seemingly unstoppable popularity of SUV's and pickup trucks. The hidden message incorporated in virtually every SUV and pickup's design is "square = safe." Their emotional appeal is equally compelling; such square-jawed behemoths weld the adjectives "boxy" and "masculine" together in the consumer's consciousness. These equations have made quadrangular styling inherently desirable, leading to its surprise second life in the marketplace. Trucks that dallied even slightly with the previously fashionable suppository look have quickly ditched their curves for manly right angles. Nissan's entire lineup has been given the ninety-degree once over, from Frontier to Armada. Ford's latest F-150 has pushed out the corners of its softer forbearer.

Sadly, beyond increased interior volumes, the popularity of Pablo Picasso/Georges Braque-style forms has little recommend it. Not only do aerodynamics suffer (taking MPG and NVH along for the ride), but the often tall shapes that result conspire to produce a higher center of gravity, bane of enthusiasts everywhere. What's more, unless one has a gourd like a bobblehead doll or a bizarre penchant for transporting plasma screen televisions, most of the excess headroom amounts to little more than wasted space.

There's a stylistic pitfall here, too: the danger of confusing butch with beautiful, gravitas with grace. Both the aforementioned 7-Series Bimmer and Rolls Royce Phantom have fallen into this trap, the latter more egregiously. While the High Roller undoubtedly has presence, it's aura born as a function of scale, not stylistic verve. Interestingly, Jaguar learned this lesson ages ago. Remember the late-80's XJ? Exactly.

It's hard to predict how long this square design movement will flourish. While the buying public's detachment from standardized design is both well-placed and understandable, don't expect a lot of volume offerings to go boxing. An xB here or there still manages to make something of a statement, but too much of a good thing is too much, period. The success of organically-shaped whips like Infiniti's voluptuous G35 Coupe and FX softroaders indicate that boxy isn't necessarily the new black.

In any case, today's niche-laden automotive landscape won't tolerate homogeneity in any form for too long. In other words, Huey Lewis was wrong. Thank God.

By all accounts, the Ford GT is a fantastic car. This website has joined the chorus of car magazines and enthusiasts singing the praises of the 500hp, mid-engined monster. Despite the Ford badge, reviews place the 'working man's supercar' in the same league as the Lamborghini Gallardo, Ferrari F430 and Porsche Turbo. It's a complete success.

Well, not quite. As a business and marketing proposition, The Ford GT has more in common with the ill-fated Studebaker Avanti than latter day Italian and German exotica. Although the GT and the Avanti bear few mechanical or visual similarities, their marketing mission– to draw people into showrooms and entice them into buying the more plebian products of the parent corporation– is identical. And that's not the half of it. The resemblance between the two supercars runs far deeper…

In 1961, Studebaker's product line had grown old and tired. Larks, Cruisers and Hawks were clogging dealerships. The company's century-old reputation for build quality, mechanical excellence and attractive design was quickly fading into the mists of time. Sales were declining rapidly, as buyers switched their allegiance to Ford Falcons, Plymouth Valiants and Chevrolet Corvairs. To spruce up Studebaker's increasingly geriatric image, the company decided to build a radical range-topper to cast a warm glow over the rest of their automotive products.

Studebaker's designers completed the Avanti in just eight months. To give their halo car a sporting image, Studebaker adapted many performance parts from their existing model line: supercharger, disc brakes, a roll bar and more. To keep development and tooling costs low, the automaker built the Avanti with a fiberglass body. Unfortunately, the company had no experience with the material. Unforeseen production problems created major cost overruns and seemingly endless delays.

In 1963, the Avanti arrived late, but loved. The buff books raved. As the hype gradually faded, well-heeled owners became less enamored. The $4500 Avanti's fiberglass body and mechanicals were not nearly as reliable or robust as the company's more prosaic products. The company was forced to issue a steady stream of dealer fixes, most notably changes to the body's construction to keep the large rear window from popping out of the car at speed. The Avanti's dealer visits did Studebaker's reputation no favors amongst an extremely influential market segment.

More importantly, as a marketing tool for less affluent buyers, the Avanti was a bust. People lined up at Studebaker dealers to see the car, but the company's sales and market share continued their precipitous decline. In the final analysis, sales fell more sharply in 1962 and 63, after the introduction of the Avanti, then they had in the previous few years.

Now, compare this sad history with Ford's new halo car, the GT. The parallels are frightening.

In 2002, Ford's product line had grown old and tired. The Taurus, Focus and Crown Victoria were clogging dealerships. The company's century-old reputation for build quality, mechanical excellence and attractive design was quickly fading into the mists of time. Sales were declining rapidly as buyers switched their allegiance to Honda Accords, Toyota Corollas and Nissan Altimas. To spruce up Ford's increasingly geriatric image, the company decided to build a radical new range-topper to cast a warm glow over the rest of their automotive products.

Ford's designers completed the GT in a remarkable 18 months. To give their halo car a sporting image, Ford raided the corporate parts bin for its high performance parts. Most notably, the GT's 5.4-liter DOHC powerplant is a supercharged version of an existing Ford V8. To keep development and tooling costs low, Ford built the GT with aluminum and carbon fiber. Unfortunately, the company had no experience with these materials. Unforeseen production problems created major cost overruns, and seemingly endless delays.

In 2004, the Ford GT arrived late, but loved. The buff books raved. As the hype gradually fades, owners may soon be less enamored. The $139,990 GT's aluminum body and mechanicals are not nearly as reliable or robust as the company's more prosaic products. For example, on December 22nd, the company recalled the GT to fix faulty suspension components on the 205mph supercar. Could this signal the start of a steady stream of recalls and dealers fixes? If so, the GT's dealer visits will do Ford's reputation no favors amongst an extremely influential market segment.

More importantly, as a marketing tool for less affluent buyers, the GT could well be a bust. People have lined-up at auto shows and dealerships to ogle the car, but there's no sign that Ford is reversing the 45% loss of passenger car market share that they've experienced during the last five years.

In fact, if the GT fails to ignite sales, it will have to be counted a failure, just as the Avanti was a failure for Studebaker 40 years ago.

The 2005 Dodge Grand Caravan SXT is a bland, blend-into-traffic ovoid. Despite ten years of mechanical innovation and evolution, the Dodge (and its sibling the Chrysler Town & Country) is still a dead ringer for the very first minivan. It still has about as much road presence as a Budget rental car.

Even so, the Grand Caravan has a message for all those NASCAR dads and soccer moms who left ten-foot-pole marks on the genre, opting for the go-anywhere machismo of towering, gas-guzzling sport-utes: come back, all is forgiven. If you can get over your image issues, the SXT is by the better beast for real-world parenting. Let's start with soccer…

Yes, it's another one of those lumbering leviathans whose sole purpose in life is to Hoover-up the world's precious oil reserves and belch-out planet killing hydrocarbons– until and unless it mows down a bunch of blameless economy car drivers. Actually, Nissan designed the full-size Pathfinder Armada SUV to transport seven/eight people in comfort, safety and style. So let's cut the automaker a bit of slack, delete the letter combo "PC" from the PC and get on with it, shall we?

It's not as easy as it sounds. C'mon, an "Armada"? Didn't anyone have the cojones to remind Nissan Supremo Carl Ghosn that the word "armada" has been a synonym for naval military disaster since 1588? Granted, the average American's knowledge of European maritime history is only slightly better than their grasp of nuclear particle physics. But it's still an inauspicious name– especially for families mounting an amphibious assault on their local pool.

The Toyota Prius is a technological tour-de-force. At low speeds, its 28hp nickel metal hydride battery provides propulsion. Put the hammer down, and a 1.5 litre, 76hp internal combustion engine takes over. The transition between the two systems is relatively seamless. You don't even need an extension cord; the gas engine and energy from the braking system recharge the battery. What's more, the new look gas-electric Prius hybrid exceeds California's Super Ultra Low Vehicle (SULEV) exhaust standards. Driven sensibly it gets around 45mpg (US Gallons).

Terrific! If you're a money-conscious motorist who believes SUVs and their ilk pollute the planet and pervert the course of American foreign policy, the $20K Prius is a godsend. But if you're a petrolhead who regularly sacrifices social responsibility on the altar of adrenal release, Toyota's clean, green mileage machine is a far less attractive proposition. For one thing, the design is spectacularly dull. Quite how Toyota managed to blend so many ill-conceived details (slab-sides, gruesome headlights, hideous rear hatch, etc.) into such a narcoleptic shape is a mystery almost as impenetrable Chris Bangle's justification for his "flame-surfaced" BMWs. In fact, the Prius is so unintentionally stealthy it gives drivers automotive Alzheimer's; I "lost" the car in a supermarket parking lot whilst standing directly in front of it.

Earlier this year, Ford was preparing to launch its revised F-150 pickup truck. The Boys from the Blue Oval knew all-too-well that their empires fortunes rested on their new truck's brawny shoulders. They also knew that Nissan's new Titan– the first Japanese product to crash America's full-size pick-up party– was set for release around the same time. So, pre-launch, Ford gave out phony towing numbers.

That's right; Ford deliberately leaked an incorrect maximum towing capacity of 9500lbs. The idea: trick Nissan's product engineers into competing against the fake number. Then, surprise! Reveal that the new F-150 can actually tow 9900lbs.! It worked. The F-150 out-pulls the Titan by 400lbs. Ford sandbagged Nissan.

When news of the tactic broke, Ford brand President Steve Lyons was about as far from contrite as an executive can get without actually saying "So what?" He justified Ford's disinformation campaign as "high stakes poker". "We thought we would put a conservative number out there and see what the competition would do… We make a lot of money on F-150, and it's a huge piece of our dealer profitability."

Oh, so that's alright then. Strangely, Nissan thinks it is. Listening to Chief Truck Engineer Larry Dominique, you'd think duplicity is the highest form of flattery. "When a well-established player in the segment has to use my truck as comparison, that's a lot of instant credibility," Dominique says. "If they have to react to us, we're obviously doing something right."

Indeed, Nissan is doing a lot right these days, what with the new 350Z screaming up the sales charts and their upmarket Infiniti brand catching fire. But what of Ford? Am I the only one who's shocked, saddened and appalled that one of America's most revered corporations feels it's OK to lie? Spin, sure, everybody spins. But this wasn't a normal game of factual footsie. It was a calculated attempt to subvert the process of fair competition. One that misled the public.

I'm no truck guy, but according to Dominique, many consumers put towing capacity near the top of their wish list. "Towing capacity is way up there. In some cases, it's more important than horsepower. Even people who don't own anything to tow tell us that someday they might. So towing is always in the purchase consideration."

Right, so, if a buyer heard tell of Ford's artificially low towing figures for the F-150, placed an order for a Nissan Titan, then discovered Ford had been bluffing and switched over to the F-150, could he or she sue Ford to recover his or her lost deposit? What about fraud? (We are talking about America.)

To my mind, the towing lie– small in itself– represents an enormous loss of face for Ford. Whatever else you can say about Henry Ford's beliefs, which included virulent anti-Semitism and staunch anti-unionism, Ford's founding father was a straight shooter in the great American tradition. He respected his country's faith in honesty, hard work and fair play. Somehow, I don't think the anti-Nissan "poker game" fits that remit.

Lest we forget, this tall towing tale follows hard on the heels of Mazda's horsepower debacle. Ford's Japanese partner was forced to admit that they'd inflated the horsepower figures for the Miata (MX5), and then again for the new RX8. In that case, the company responded well, offering generous financial restitution to owners– whether or not they bought their car based on Mazda's hp claims. Still, the stench of perfidy must surely have taken its toll on Mazda/Ford's most important asset: their reputation.

As a freelance automotive journalist, I'm extremely sensitive to issues of fact and reputation. I fact-check every article I write and try to represent myself properly to both sources and publications. Even so, I've made mistakes, paid the price, and learned my lesson. So I'm not criticizing Ford for their ethically bankrupt scheme, committed in the face of enormous financial pressures. It's their complete lack of contrition that I find so galling. Clearly, Ford feels free to repeat the tactic in similar circumstances.

If you want to be trusted, you must be trustworthy. Every day, tens of thousands of Ford employees bust a gut to do just that. I'm sure most of the workers who build the F-150 would have preferred it if Ford's PR flacks had said "Our truck's towing capacity will be 9900lbs. Beat that Nissan!" Instead, FoMoCo ends-up looking sneaky and underhanded. If you think about it, the dodgy maneuver almost makes it seem as if Nissan's got Ford running scared.

Maybe so. The Titan's standard V8 engine is more powerful than the F-150's optional V8. The Titan has a five-speed transmission to the F-150's four-speed box. Again, I'm not a truck guy. But facts is facts. A company's ability to face them determines its character. And, ultimately, its survival.

First, the good news: the Porsche Cayenne is a hit. Since its release up to this July, American dealers have flogged 6350 Cayennes. The SUV's sales have lifted turnover in Porsche's key market by 15%. With the introduction of a cheaper, six-cylinder Cayenne (sans S) in '04, Stuttgart's SUV business should continue to grow apace.

Now the bad news: the Porsche Cayenne is a hit. The increase masks a 21% sales drop for 911s and Boxsters. Bottom line: the Porsche Cayenne has transformed the world's pre-eminent sports car manufacturer into a truck maker with an ailing sports car business attached.

Porschefiles will clock the figures and predict doom and gloom (while things go boom) in Weidiking's lab. Of course, these are the same tragedians who threatened to gouge out their eyes when the 911's engine switched from air to water cooling. So the fact that the price of privately held Porsche preferred stock sank 17% this year is perhaps a better indication that there's something rotten in the state of Baden-Württemberg. After all, this is the same car maker that recently boasted the world's highest per vehicle profit margin.

If Porsche can still lay claim to that title, it won't be able to do so for long. There's a 60-day inventory of unsold Cayenne's waiting for winter on dealer lots. Two thousand dollar discounts are common. Common sense suggests the discounts will get deeper before the first flake falls. What's more, US dealers are offering money off the MSRP of all Porsches. Provided you're prepared to buy your new Porker as is, you can walk into an authorized dealer and buy a brand new 911 C4S for $5k under sticker. Ditto the Boxster S. A new Boxster will take a $4k hit, easy. And that's just for starters.

Clever readers will note the proviso: "as is". Porsche customers are particular people. They don't want a C4S. They want a Midnight Blue C4S with Savannah Beige leather, Turbo Look wheels, sports exhaust, carbon fiber door sills and a light wood/aluminum gear shift knob. Porsche dealers have always specced-up cars without buyers, but the majority of their sales have traditionally come from loyal customers who want their 911 or Boxster just so— and are happy to pay full whack for the privilege. This helps explain the excess Cayenne inventory…

Early press reviews slated the $56k base Cayenne's steel spring suspension as unrelentingly harsh. There were two ways around the problem: spend an additional $33k for an air sprung Turbo (retail $89,000) or pony up another $3200 for an S with air suspension. Unsurprisingly, the majority of Porsche's product-savvy customers signed up for an air-sprung S. As a result, the supplier ran out; you can't order an S with air suspension until further notice. Dealers are stuck with a burgeoning inventory of steel-sprung Cayennes.

Hello? Why didn't Porsche build all Cayennes with the [clearly superior] air suspension in the first place? And once they detected the problem, why didn't they stop making steel sprung models? More fundamentally, why didn't Porsche avoid all that air suspension, variable ride height, locking diff, three shock absorber setting, off-road crap from the start? Why didn't they just build a sexy truck that could blast down a public road like a 911?

There's cause for concern. The Cayenne is fighting for sales in America's most competitive market. Its rivals have a lot more money to invest in R&D, and they're about to unleash a flotilla of refreshed products. As the faster Infiniti FX45 proves, the Cayenne is in real danger of losing the main advantages separating it from the herd (and built Porsche's reputation): superior on-road dynamics. Although Porsche's brand cachet is still hard to beat, it's not impossible. Ask Mercedes or BMW. Their AMG and M-Power models have been chipping away at Porsche's "everyday supercar" title for years.

In fact, the days when Porsche's products were in a league of its own are long gone. The Honda S2000, Audi TT, Nissan 350Z and re-invigorated Mercedes SLK are all serious Boxster bashers. Mercedes SLR and Bentley's GT pose a direct challenge Porsche's forthcoming halo-mobile, the Carrera GT. Reviewers rate the Audeified Lamborghini Gallardo a better daily driver than the 911. It's a demented proposition, but the truth remains: Porsche has never faced so many worthy competitors on so many fronts at the same time.

When Porsche decided to build a truck, they claimed the digression was designed to generate cash to protect their core (read: sports car) business. The true believers know the company can regain its sports car dominance. May we suggest using Cayenne cash to build a faster, sexier Boxster; a V8-powered Carrera, a four-door Carrera or a new, entry level sports car? Please? For now, despite anticipated earnings of $35.20 per share, despite nine consecutive years of profits, shareholders and Porsche fans are asking the same question about the Cayenne: is it too little too late? Or too much?

Imagine you're approaching your favourite corner. There's no traffic, the weather's fine and all the cops are down at the donut shop. Now, imagine you're in an SUV. I know: let's not and say we did. Still, if you had to thrash an SUV, which one would you choose? If you're thinking Porsche Cayenne, you're not wrong. But think again. Because no matter how you look at it, the Infiniti FX45 is the sportiest sports utility vehicle money can buy.

Saying that, a lot of people don't like looking at the FX45. From the front, it's a Chrysler Pacifica morphed with a robotic fish. From the back, it's a Renault hatchback with J-Lo's butt. From the side, it's got the same tiny rear overhang that makes Mercedes' SLK the Cyrano de Bergerac of sports cars. Yup, the FX45 is yet another Japanese attempt to create a new design language from American and European styling heritage. The result denies your eyeballs a moment's rest, but it is, um, "interesting".

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.

"Makes and Models" features Japanese cars that have been tuned into a caricature of their former selves, and glossy pictures of young women who've suffered the same fate. The Bentley GT position as M&M's cover girl (along with a non-functional Nissan Skyline R-32 and a shot of four "models" obscuring a race-ready Marcos) is proof positive that Bentley no longer depends on port-swilling gentlemen racers for its survival. These days, nouveau riche "Bentley Boyz" are the "discerning enthusiasts" on whom the company's future depends.

Seriously. Just before the Germans invaded Crewe, American black street culture rescued Bentley from oblivion. When rap virtuosos like Puff Daddy (later P. Diddy) recorded odes to their Bentleys, and displayed them in music videos, the British manufacturer's overweight, over-powered, over-priced luxo-barges acquired unimpeachable street cred. At a stroke, Bentley drivers were transformed from white capitalist swine into ethnic exponents of cutting edge cool. Safe!

But not from the Germans, who seem genetically predisposed to turning small manufacturers' unreliable yet fashionable cars into sleek chic jet aircraft. Even a glance at the GT's spec sheet reveals a hugely over-engineered machine: 500+bhp twin-turbo W8 engine, four-wheel-drive, under floor petrol tank, multi-link rear axle, air suspension, Electronic Stability Programme, Emergency Brake Force Distribution, etc. The resulting performance will certainly appeal to well-heeled pistonheads, but what of Mr. Diddy's fans, friends, followers?

M&M's interest certainly augers well. Any car that can compete with Elizabeth Ewald's Spandex hot pants has got to have some serious street cred. Equally important, M&M hails from southern Florida, a region devoid of corners and infested with speed cops. Car buyers feel free to purchase an automobile based on nothing more than its pose value. If the hi-tech GT appeals to drivers who have about as much use for four-wheel-drive as a motorcyclist, it's bound to earn the affections of America's technologically blind style victims.

That said, M&M is a bit… white. So the question remains: will the more culturally influential Brothers take to the GT?

The answer may come from The Source, a monthly bible for hip-hoppers. In its pages, Funkmaster Flex writes a column for on whips (cars) called "Drive Buys" (I swear). According to Mr. Flex, Bentleys are as deeply unfashionable as the rapper Ice-T. "Bentleys were big," Mr. Flex asserts. "P. Diddy kind of pushed that trend. But now they're definitely played out. The hip-hop world and young kids in general are coming back to American cars."

Need proof? Listen in as Mr. Flex asks Baby, "CEO" of rap group Big Tymers, about Bentleys…

"I'm just done with that luxury sports car European thing. I did that. A few years ago, I was a nigga comin' out the projects, Flex. A nigga who never had nothing, so a nigga got to try on a Bentley. I had five different Bentleys at the same time. And don't get me wrong, I'll do it again if I feel like that's what a nigga wants to get into. That ain't no thing…

"Fuck them ol' Bentleys and Lamborghinis, all that ol' foreign shit. You can pull into the neighborhood and nobody knows what the fuck it is. Meanwhile, I can pull up right next to that nigga in a stocked-out, candy-kitted Cadillac and the whole hood will light up."

It may not sound like typical focus group feedback, but Bentley ignores Baby's comments at its peril. Which means they're in peril. According to the PR piece, Bentley aims to reach its new customers "through strategic alliances with other luxury non-automotive companies, organising joint activities and promotions, highly-targeted direct marketing and Internet activity."

Somehow, I don't think mail merging with hip-hop record labels is what Bentley has in mind. I don't expect a GT to form part of Flex' "Celebrity Car Show". Nor do I anticipate the company adding a Bentley link to www.funkmasterflex.com.

Which is a shame. By aiming their marketing efforts at the usual multi-automobiled, performance-crazed Euro-snobs, Bentley is turning its back on the very people who could give–have given– the marque the post-modern gravitas it needs to compete in the increasingly crowded £100k+ supercar field.

Funny thing is, it might happen anyway; the street may still claim the GT as its own. After all, P. Diddy, Baby and friends found Bentley, not the other way 'round. Mr. Flex might unleash his Team Baurtwell car conversion crew on a new GT in spite of Bentley, not because of them.

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."

Despite the gradual infiltration of women into the auto industry, despite a growing respect for female customers, motor shows remain resolutely unreconstructed. If anything, the totty factor is getting worse. Only the smallest makers, such as Noble Moy Automotive and Lotus, offered breast free zones for their car-mad customers. Some, like Peugeot, have toned down and themed their car babes' outfits. Others, like Volkswagen, try to disguise the inherent sexism by dressing their women in executive mufti and placing them behind bunker-like reception desks.

Sorry. No matter how posh the fabric, no matter how subtle the non-product placement, motor show hotties remain sexist window dressing.

The big players have recently raised the game, showcasing celebrity squeeze. From a marketing point of view, the logic is as daft as it is inescapable. Rover's Atomic Kitten photo op was supposed to create a subconscious link between their cars and the nuclear felines' poptasticness. The epileptic explosion of flash photography greeting the girls actually proved little more than one good whore deserves another. It was almost as bizarre as Ford using Kylie Minogue– a singer appealing to 12-year-olds, gays and ass-oriented middle-aged lechers– to glamorise its thoroughly dated and ungainly city car.

You could almost forgive Rover and Ford for their crass exploitation of the female form. The former sells downmarket motors redesigned for boy racers, and the latter currently carries more debt than Paraguay. But Audi? You wouldn't expect carmakers that sell interiors so dour they make funeral homes look cheerful to send show-goers an automotive mammogram.

And yet, there it was: British singer Jay Kay sitting on an A8 next to "top society model" Lisa Butcher. While Mr. Kay's well-known love of Ferraris and Lamborghinis may lend Audi's latest luxo-barge a bit of much-needed performance cred, Ms. Butcher's low-cut and kinky leather ensemble naturally lead the imagination towards the rear seats. Let's face it: once you're going down that road, you might as well rent a proper limo. Unless you like to mix plastic with aluminium, buying an A8 would be a needless extravagance.

The car stand slut thing indicates just how stale motor shows have become. Once upon a time, before television, car magazine proliferation and the Internet; car shows delivered real suspense. These days, enthusiasts have seen all the new models from every conceivable angle, and in motion, long before they fork over their inflated entry fee. The only thrill left is seeing a cherished model "in the flesh"– a buzz only true diehards can savour.

Ferrari's contribution to the British Motor Show exemplified this new reality, albeit inadvertently. Their cost-saving stand showcased a spinning black Enzo. The car was perfectly lit, raised and tilted for maximum visual access. And that's it. No brochures. No girls. Niente. Short of surrendering the keys, it was all a car nut could ask for. Even so, given the size of the NEC and the scale of the motor show experience, less is not enough.

It's depressing that the industry has failed to rise to the challenge of reinventing the car show genre. The Dolly Birds are a symbol of the rot. By continuing to rely on tits and ass to attract customers to their stands, manufacturers show a staggering lack of imagination. The skimpy, skin-tight girls are a cheap and mock cheerful way to avoid having to do anything innovative with the actual product or its presentation.

There are a few encouraging signs of life. MINI staged an impressive display of automotive stuntery that kept the focus firmly on their product's agility. But it remains to be seen whether manufacturers and show organisers will re-invent the entire genre to avoid its extinction. Forums? VR? HDTV? One thing is for sure. Unless teenage boys are the car show's future, it's time to send the car geishas packing.

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.

C'mon, admit it. Your Subaru Impreza Turbo may corner better than Angelo Dundee at a Mohammed Ali fight, but you know it's not enough. It's a real buzz to scan the road surface for camber and cornering angle; chose the right gear, get the revs just so, and then balance throttle and grip to sashay around the corner with perfect, sublime control. But you need more. What you really want, what you really need for a proper hit of adrenalin, is to pass someone whilst doing it. It's not enough to win. Someone else must lose.

The desire to drive faster than someone else is simple human nature. It's part of our instinctive need to establish dominance and compete for scarce resources. Just because we're encased in two tons of metal hurtling through space that can kill, maim and inflate our insurance premiums doesn't mean those urges are going to go away. In other words, do we really expect people willing to tear each other apart to buy a hot Christmas toy to allow a yob in a clapped-out blandmobile to cut them up without some sort or retaliation? Put the cutee in a fast car, and by God, they'll use it.

OK, some wouldn't. Some people actually buy beige clothing out of choice, and their cars for their fuel economy. In terms of road safety, this is no bad thing. I honestly believe that the average Britons' generally quiescent nature accounts for the UK's position as the world's second safest country for motoring (after Sweden). I am constantly amazed at British drivers' civility whilst queuing at intersections. After you! No, after you! But I swear I've seen a blue rinse OAP in a Nissan Micra dice with a flat-capped elderly gentleman in a Rover 25 on the Slough bypass.

Road racing is illegal, immoral and dangerous, but it's something virtually all drivers do at some point in their lifetime– whether they're willing to admit it or not.

Not. Despite its universality, road racing is about as socially acceptable as upbraiding the Queen for serving dried-out cucumber sandwiches. Your neighbours may race each other to secure a parking space directly outside the school gates, but they still consider a TVR burbling by their window a greater threat to their children's safety than viral meningitis. To declare even a mild predilection for competing against fellow motorists on public roads is way, way out there. If speeders are baby killers, racers are baby eaters.

Armed with a hypocritical social mandate, the government and police are doing everything in their power to hunt speeders down and shoot them like dogs. They reckon if you're convinced that their efforts have saved even ONE life (preferably a small child's), you'll accept anything up to and including tagging your vehicle like a common criminal. Which is fair enough. Well, even if it isn't fair, there it is.

So why do so many enthusiasts equipped with/addicted to sports cars claim that they only drive fast on windswept Welsh twisties? Equally, why do so many speed freaks want us to believe that they regularly transform from track day devils to road going angels? I've even heard sports car owners say their mean machine's braking and handling makes it safer than the "average" car.

C'mon, it's not true, and no one's listening. Road racers who hide their behaviour behind protestations of social responsibility are not only fooling themselves, they're making all sports car owners look like liars— as well as baby eaters.

I say that it's time to stand up and be counted. It's time to declare the simple fact that you find driving fast fun. And if you're feeling especially daring, tell the opposition that your car is faster than theirs. Why not? If they hate you anyway, why conceal your true nature?

When BMW unveiled its 750hL earlier this year, the media response was muted. This despite the fact that the 750hL is the world's first production-ready hydrogen powered passenger car. Well, hydrogen and petrol, and, um, it's actually super-cooled hydrogen, but hey, we are talking about a luxury car that can steam from zero to sixty in 9.6 seconds and drive 300 kilometres between fill-ups, without a single harmful emission.

Sure, a few "challenges" remain before the 750hL will replace the semi-electric Toyota Prius as the tree hugger's favourite. At the moment, only two specialist filling stations offer super-cooled hydrogen (LA and Munich). There are "safety issues" surrounding the use of a fuel that can freeze your fingers right off. Even so, BMW's self-confessed "transitional vehicle" marks the global automotive industry's path towards a hydrogen-powered future.

GM, Ford, Daimler-Chrysler Volkswagen, Nissan and Toyota are all committed to selling zero emissions, hydrogen-powered cars by 2010. Which raises an interesting question. Why? Considering the gigantic cost and Herculean hassle of creating an entirely new means of propulsion, you'd think car manufacturers would prefer to clean up the existing petrol engine and call it good. And so they would. If they could. But they can't. Blame– or thank– California.

In the 1970's, California forced car manufacturers to lower emissions. Regulators established a precedent (foreshadowed by Ralph Nader): politics dictating automotive development. In other words, the free market was cut out of the action. Now that the world has decided that Global Warming exists and SOMETHING MUST BE DONE, something will.

Hydrogen is the left leaning environmentalist's fuel of choice. The power to convert water into hydrogen and oxygen gas can come from anywhere: solar, wind, thermal, tidal, nuclear, even rotting garbage. Replacing the western world's 100 million plus petrol-driven cars with hydrogen-powered vehicles could trigger the long-awaited, politically correct development of renewable energy sources.

More important to those on the other side of the political spectrum, such a diverse hydrogen infrastructure would free the western world from the financial, military and political cost of drilling, refining and distributing Middle Eastern petrochemicals.

September 11th gave both sides in the pro-hydrogen camp new impetus. America and its allies finally woke up to the possibility– the necessity– of reducing its dependence on foreign oil. Hydrogen power suddenly became a national priority.

If only. While recent events have liberated new funds for hydrogen research, war is still the more practical option. Manufacturers have several hurdles before they can even think about filling the new world's hydrogen order. First, they need to perfect the hydrogen fuel cell.

Size matters. The most efficient fuel cells are two to three times larger than a conventional petrol engine. That's fine for a bus, but not a car. Case in point: Ford's Focus FCV (Fuel Cell Vehicle). Engineers had to raise the floor and eliminate the boot to fit a 22-gallon hydrogen tank. The resulting FCV weighs 1200lbs. more than it gasoline-powered equivalent, travels just 100 miles between fill-ups, and it's not even on the same performance planet as the Focus RS.

Car manufacturers and lawmakers alike are throwing billions of pounds at universities and R&D departments in the search for a smaller, more powerful hydrogen fuel cell. So far, so bad.

Meanwhile, GM estimates that a suitable fuel cell would be two to three times as expensive as a gasoline engine. Industry cheerleaders claim that costs will decrease as the market expands, like they did for mobile phones and PC's. Manufacturing techniques would have to evolve quickly, and the Marketing Men would have to convince millions of people their hydrogen car will not Hindenburg.

There's only one way to accelerate the process: raise the price of gasoline to levels that would give "Red" Ken Livingstone wet dreams. Political suicide. Anyway, even if a practical, cost-effective hydrogen technology existed, who's going to pay for all those new filling stations?

The smart money is on the oil companies. BP, Shell, Texaco and Exxon. All the big oil companies are looking to build hydrogen production plants next to their oil refineries. The power to transform water into hydrogen gas would come from… oil. To remove pollution from the process, carbon wastes would be removed at the well or refinery, and then buried underground. While Greenpeace and chums aren't buying "carbon sequestration", it's not a debate destined to mobilise the masses.

The idea of using Middle Eastern oil to make hydrogen to fuel zero emissions passenger cars is bizarre, to say the least. But like the BMW 750hL itself, it's the unavoidable short-term bridge between the current set-up, and the one to come. Given the political climate, resistance to the concept is unlikely. In fact, providing BMW removes the iDrive and brings down the zero to sixty times, even petrolheads may be ready to face a hydrogen-powered future.

Even though Bracknell's perfectly prepared X5 4.6is dosed me with the usual 'new car narcotic', it didn't take me long to notice the difference between my regular set of wheels and BMW's top-of-the-range off-roader. Compared to an M5, the X5 4.6is' ride is like surfing down an endless mountain of irregular sized rocks on a tea tray. The X5's rock-hard suspension and 20' wheels transformed the smallest road imperfections-slight dips, tiny ruts, minor repairs and fractional changes in the paving surfaces-into 'events'. My partner called the resulting sensation 'road turbulence'. As her barely legible notes reveal, the incessant bone shaking was a major distraction.

Don't get me wrong. I know the value of a rock-hard suspension. I've driven a Nissan Skyline GTR V-Spec at speed. But c'mon, we're talking about an X5. A 'normal' (i.e. non-Sport) X5 is one of the world's most comfortable cruising machines. Perched imperiously above traffic and/or vegetation, nestled into its spacious, serene, superbly appointed cabin, owners waft along without a care in the world. There's enough metal and mod cons to cosset all who nestle within. Sure, the beast wallows a bit in the corners. And yes, even the 4.4 litre petrol-powered model could use a tad more power, but don't be churlish. If you're in no great hurry, an X5 is a perfect place to wile away the hours spent going from here to there.

Strange people start cults. A science fiction writer who "discovered" that tomatoes feel pain created The Church of Scientology. A Dutch man convicted of mail fraud convinced millions that their ancestors had sex with astronauts. A talking salamander founded the Mormons. And a racetrack owner who decided to let complete amateurs onto his concrete playground created the Trakult.

Ask a Scientologist why they follow a doctrine created by man who ended his years on his own cruise ship staffed entirely by teenage girls in matching halter-tops and hot pants. You'll get a perfectly plausible explanation involving negative engrams (shouldn't it be "enmails" by now?), followed by a damn fine lawsuit. Ask a Member of the Trakult why a professional race circuit is a better place to drive fast than a public road, and you'll get an equally belligerent and self-righteous reply: safety. Trakultists argue that racetracks are the best—nay the ONLY place— for their speed-afflicted brethren to indulge their love of lateral G's.

It seems to make sense. Racetracks have no Zebra crossings, side streets, school zones, bouncing balls, ice cream trucks, or postal vans. Thanks to the Track's purity of purpose, the only people facing serious injury or death from "inappropriate speed" are the Trakultists themselves (which bolsters their James Dean Dan Dare Stirling Moss Heavy Metal self-image). And if a driver's going to crash, where better than a closed roadway with barriers, gravel traps, tow-trucks, paramedics and adoring admirers?

The Trakult's argument is little more than a bizarre attempt to make the socially unacceptable acceptable. You see? We're not bonnet-bouncing baby killers! Here, on this concrete ribbon, we prove that safe driving and balls-out, edge-of-the-envelope, adrenalin-crazed, why-the-Hell-doesn't-that-dickhead-move-over speed are completely compatible. As if. In fact, the Trakult has a secret agenda that's about as compatabile with personal safety as land mines. It's called "The Line".

As I'm sure you know (apostles are everywhere), the "racing line" is the ideal route around a race circuit for drivers seeking to complete a lap in the shortest possible time. Trakultists worship "The Line". They study it on special maps in spiral bound notebooks. They discuss it with fellow devotees, in minute detail, at trackside cafes, Internet chat rooms and country pubs. They pay professional instructors to help them perfect it. They venerate all who master it. Then they do it. Endlessly. Around and around they go, faster and faster, wearing a groove into both the racetrack and their subconscious. This creates two dangerous ideas:

1. I'm an excellent driver who knows his car's limits. A few laps with a professional driver might dispel this dangerous arrogance— if the Trakultists weren't too busy endorphin surfing. Even when a Trakultist surrenders his pride and joy to someone happy to sacrifice structural integrity on the altar of ten one-hundredths of a second, the Trakultist rationalises the discrepancy between Him and Me. He's a High Priest. But I'm still one of the Chosen. I can still drive like a real man. Safely.

2. The racing line is A Good Thing. Trakultists believe their ability to find The Line makes them inherently superior drivers to the joy-riding rabble.

Dangerous nonsense. First of all, every open track day I've ever attended ended with crumpled and/or burnt metal. I've seen two Ferraris catch on fire, three Porsches stuff it into guardrails, and an assortment of Beemers greatly enrich their local body shop. Put the survivors back on public roads, suffering from the delusion that they can drive their high performance cars at 9/10ths, and something insurance related is bound to happen. To wit: I watched a tracked-out Nissan Skyline become one with an oak tree not two miles from Brands Hatch. It wasn't pretty. Nor unpredictable.

Equally important, the racing line is an inherently dangerous idea. The Line is designed for speed, not visibility. The apex of a turn is hardly the best place to position a car when trying to avoid that pesky little thing called on-coming traffic. What happens if you blow it? Understeer or oversteer, it don't make much never-mind. You stand an excellent chance of sliding into something hard that wasn't designed to de-accelerate high-speed objects.

Sure, Trakultists know they shouldn't follow The Line on Her Majesty's Publicke Roads, but they've been brainwashed. Following The Line becomes instinctive. When they want to show off, or the red mist descends, that's where they go.

Like all religious movements, the Trakult is fine in principle, demented in practice. Their ideal of "safe hooliganism" masks the real effect of extended track driving on amateur behaviour. Yes, a small amount of supervised track time is a unique opportunity for a "normal" driver to see what happens when they drive too fast. But too much of a good thing is a bad thing. Trakultists would do well to remember an old adage: the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

David Icke believes that blood-drinking lizards from the fourth dimension secretly rule the world. Owners of the Subaru Impreza Turbo believe their car is attractive. Uh sorry, but no on both counts. Still, there's no arguing with some people. Once they get an idea about their car's physical appeal stuck in their head, even a steroid-crazed Marine drill sergeant couldn't brainwash it out. Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but some beholders are as mad as the government's nominal transport policy.

Why else would anyone buy a Fiat Multipla? Search the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, and you'll find a picture of a Multipla owner under the heading "automotive dysmorphia". As in someone who can't see that the Multipla is so ugly that if it was a dog, you should shave its ass and make it walk backwards. Except that the only thing uglier than the front end of a Fiat Multipla is the rear. So, if the Multipla was a dog, I reckon you should just go ahead and shoot it.

The Multipla is only the latest in an ignoble tradition of ugly cars. Henry Ford's Model T was no catwalk babe. Anyone heard of the 1935 Tempo? For the sake of your breakfast, I hope not. What about all those post-war, three-wheeled "bubble cars"? They look like nothing more than insects in need of a good smack with a rolled-up newspaper. And anyone who is nostalgic for the 70's should consider the hideous Nissan 300 ZX and the monumentally bizarre Aston Martin Bulldog. Both cars are so angular that their toy versions make ideal (and strangely satisfying) doorstops.

Evolving technology is responsible for a lot of today's automotive eye pollution. Headlights used to be big and round, to throw huge light beams down the road. Gas discharge lamps now do an infinitely better job with an aperture no bigger than an Escort exhaust pipe. But just because you can do something doesn't mean you should. Check out the front end of the new Volkswagen Microbus. Two sets of tiny bi-xenon headlights have transformed the friendliest face in motoring history into an empty robotic grimace. Alfa Romeo's designers also exploited the modern lighting technology when they drilled four small holes in their Spider's bonnet and called it good. I call it the "ecstasy look": the world's first car with drug-dilated eyes.

New technology— in the form of advanced aerodynamics— has created a whole new genre of ugly: blandmobiles. Pop any car into a wind tunnel and shave off the bits that stop the wind from slipping past the metal. No matter what you shape start with, you'll eventually end up with the same thing. Download the Porsche screensaver (www.porsche.co.uk), and you'll see the classic 911 shape slowly evolve into a suppository. It's no surprise that today's Carrera shares a virtually identical front end with the Honda NSX and Ferrari 360. Ask the same question—how do we get this damn thing to go faster? — and you get the same answer: make it look like a bullet. Bullets are fast, but they're better at piercing hearts than capturing them.

This aero-blandification has all but destroyed the venerable design tradition known as the English "flying brick". The best examples of this style, the agricultural Land Rover and the aristocratic Rolls Royce, have both surrendered their distinctive battering ram front ends for something altogether more slippery— and about as exciting as dry white toast. Only the Welsh or the culturally ignorant would deny that this ongoing process of "modernisation" has robbed the cars of valuable "British-ness". Unfortunately, the trend is just as pervasive in the mainstream. The MondeoC5LagunaS60KiaA4 look is a direct result of engineers messing about with giant hair-dryers. While the finished product is undeniably fuel efficient, it's the automotive equivalent of elevator music.

Luckily, manufacturers occasionally manage to answer the demands of engineering whilst delighting aesthetic sensibilities. I'm sure that the TVR Griffith will someday be displayed in London's Design Museum. OK, so a Griffith's answer to the "demands of engineering" is "huh?" But the fact that TVR or Aston Martin or Lotus sells any cars at all shows that good design is ultimately more important than silly little things like reliability and economy. Perhaps other carmakers will learn this lesson, and refuse to sacrifice visual thrills on the altar of new technology. Meanwhile, we have to put up with some very odd, terrifically ugly cars. I mean, has anyone else noticed that "new" cars like the Mondeo and Previa look increasingly reptilian? Maybe David Icke wasn't so wrong after all… But I still ain't buying an Impreza.