The Land Rover Discovery is a suprisingly likeable removals van

MUCH like making a mountain goat do an elephant’s work, I felt a tad cruel entrusting the job of moving house to an ancient off-roader.

The unenviable task of hauling beds, armchairs and about 300 old copies of Autocar really ought to be given to something specially designed for the task, not unlike the Ford Transit Luton van I used the last time I moved any furniture about. Yet last week, with every van hire firm within a 40-mile radius fully booked, the gargantuan load-lugging challenge fell instead to a Land Rover Discovery.

A family off-roader which celebrates its 25^thanniversary later this year.

Fittingly, the one I’d been lent for the morning by a mate was one of the early cars – the original three-door version, with a 2.5 litre diesel lump to drag its considerable weight along school runs up and down the land in the early Nineties. It also came in exactly the sort of condition you expect any early Disco to arrive in these days – caked, inside and out, with a thin sheet of muck from an off-road excursion several weeks earlier.

While borrowing a 160,000 mile Land Rover to help you with moving house might seem a bit like entering Sir Chris Bonington into World’s Strongest Man, it performed more than admirably, heaving shelves and chairs of all kinds of clutter about without so much a whimper of complaint. It even happily sat at precisely 69.9mph on a dual carriageway – even though it took an eternity to get there!

Admittedly, the poor Landie lurched its way through roundabouts, chomped up £30’s worth of diesel in no time and had the acceleration and stopping capabilities of the Mersey Ferry, but I couldn’t help but warm to it. It’s got a rugged charm to it, it feels far more car-like to drive than the Defenders I’ve tried and it’s enormously practical, and that’s before I get to the best bit.

A lot like the Audi TTs I mentioned in these pages a few weeks ago, the Land Rover Discovery is astonishing value for money these days.

Yes, I know they’ve got a crummy reputation for build quality and a penchant for Shell’s finest but think about it – where else can you can get seven seats and unstoppable ability on the rough stuff for the same sort of money? The only thing I can think of is its great Oriental arch-nemesis, the Mitsubishi Shogun, but it doesn’t come with the wax-jacketed, Countryfile image the Disco does.

The Land Rover Discovery, especially in mud-caked, worn-out spec, is far from perfect. Yet you can’t help liking it.

Most car interiors are still in the dark ages

THAT demented artist of Fast Show Fame, Johnny Nice Painter, would have had a field day with the latest hatchback I’ve driven.

My abiding memory of the Audi A1 a colleague and I had the pleasure of piloting wasn’t that we had the delicious irony of driving an A1 car along the A1 road, or that it suffered from having a particularly dim-witted automatic which forever wanted to change up. No, it was that once you’d clambered inside absolutely everything – dashboard, floors, seats, even the headling along the roof – was black. Black! Black! Black like the dark that envelopes us all!

Comically challenged painters aside, the A1’s unrelenting sea of blackness does raise a question which has longed irked me about today’s cars. Why are almost all of them various shades of black and grey?

Ingolstadt’s smallest offering is by no means the worst offender – I’ve driven countless cars, usually German hatchbacks, which offer the owner an interior which is virtually indestructible but with all the flair and colour of a prison cell in Dresden. It’s as though the VW Group’s chief designers invited Joy Division, Morrissey and LS Lowry to create a car interior which would perfectly encapsulate the steely industrial feel of Manchester on a grey Monday morning, and have – save for a few chrome flourishes in recent years – stuck with it.

Is there some unwritten rule that car interiors have to be crushingly dull, so that drivers are forced to look at the (equally grey) road instead? It’s got to stop. There are a few rare flickers of light in the car cabin world – step forward, Fiat 500 – but it seems ludicrous that you can specify pretty much any interior colour you like at B&Q and fifty shades of grey at BMW.

Surely, in today’s era of Grand Designs and trendy hotel rooms, we deserve to be able to go into a car showroom and pick out whichever pastel shades please us most? For what it’s worth, I reckon it would make us happier drivers, and a happy driver is a safe one.

I know lots of people – including one chap who enjoyed a four hour commute every day - who spend very nearly as much time in the car as they do in the house. Would you decorate your living room to look like the inside of the new Volkswagen Golf?

Nope, neither would I.

Why buy the new Audi TT when the original is so cheap?

CONTRARY to what most pub experts might tell you over a pint, the world, as a general rule of thumb, is getting better rather than worse.

It’s heartening to note, for instance, that smallpox has been eliminated, we can all now communicate instantaneously using internet-enabled smartphones, and that platform shoes, Party Seven and outdoor toilets are all but a distant memory. In fact, just about the only things I can think of that have gone backwards in the past 15 years are the speed jet airliners can cross the Atlantic (a call to bring back Concorde) and the battery life of mobile phones (a call to bring back, ahem, the Nokia 3310).

Oh, and the Audi TT. Largely because I reckon the new one has lost touch with what made the original such a hit.

The third generation of Audi’s swoopy coupé has just been unveiled at the Geneva Motor Show, and I’ve no doubt that it’s faster, more refined and safer than the two which preceded it on suburban driveways up and down the land. It’s also likely to register more prominently on my petrolhead radar if it’s any more involving to drive, but – to my mind at least – it misses the point completely because it looks so similar to the one it replaces. The new TT will, I’ve no doubt, be parked on every street by the end of the year, but you’ll no longer be granting it a cheeky second glance when you walk past.

Yet all the attention being given to the new TT means you might have missed one of the motoring world’s worst-kept secrets. The TT that’s most likely to be a classic car in a decade’s time, the wonderfully Bauhaus original version, is an undisputable bargain right now.

Peruse the classifieds and there are stacks of first generation TTs there for the taking, with the one you want – the 225bhp quattro coupe in metallic silver – starting at around two grand. 

Admittedly, you can also pick up early Mercedes SLKs, long-legged BMW Z3s and – if you try really hard – Porsche Boxsters for the same sort of money and they’ll be a lot more fun to drive, but there is something about the original TT’s shape and attention to detail which will still be turning heads in years to come.

So you can spend the thick end of £30,000 on an Audi TT which no one will bat an eyelid at, or you can have the head-turning original for a tenth of the price. Which would you go for?

New classic car show for Liverpool

PETROLHEADS are being urged to back a new charity car show taking place in Liverpool later this Spring.

The Woodlands Hospice Liverpool Motor Show, which takes place on 25 May, will feature more than 60 of the latest models, and displays of classic cars.

The show be held at Croxteth Hall Park (Croxteth Hall Lane, Liverpool L12 0HB) on 25^th May 2014 from 12noon to approximately 5pm. Any proceeds from the event, which is free to enter, will go towards helping the Woodlands Hospice Charitable Trust.

For more information about the show call Neil on 0151 529 2640.

The MINI Countryman isn't as bad as everyone makes out

I GET the feeling this particular article is going to be an expensive one.

The trouble is, I’ve ended up spending three days in a car which everyone loves to hate. In order to dissuade me from being too nice about it, my friends have used Facebook to set up a £10-per-compliment fines system, payable next time I see them in the pub.

A tricky call when the car in question is the MINI Countryman.

It’s one of a trio of jacked-up, off-roader-esque diesel hatchbacks (or ‘crossovers’ in automotive marketing speak) I’ve had the privilege to try out lately, with my weekend in the most massive MINI of them all coming after stints in Honda’s latest CR-V and Volkswagen’s Tiguan. It’s probably worth tackling the rather bloated, retro elephant in the room first; the MINI is, to my mind at least, the ugliest of the three.

I didn’t like the styling when I roadtested it forThe Champion three years ago and it still doesn’t look great now – it’s not that it’s a ridiculously oversized retro pastiche of the original Mini, but that, compared to the Honda and VW it just seems a bit blobby and ill defined. Perhaps as a conscious result of how it looks, the boot is also noticeably smaller than most of its rivals too.

Sadly, I don’t get a tenner back for every time I’m critical of the Countryman, so a few callous comments about its styling aren’t going to help me. Annoyingly, there are quite a few things the Countryman has in its favour.

The interior, for instance, is far more imaginative than anything else in its class, and if you’ve spent a lifetime on the M6 being bored by the relentless sea of grey trim and unassuming buttons in most modern motors then you’ll love the MINI’s rocker switches, lashings of chrome and the silly, pizza dish-sized speedo.

It’s also quiet at speed, rides superbly, is more than roomy enough for you and four of your average-sized chums, and it comes with the same feeling of sturdiness you’d expect from a car masterminded by BMW.

What you might not be expecting – and I definitely wasn’t until I ventured off the motorway and onto the quiet country lanes criss-crossing Cheshire – is that the MINI Cooper D Countryman handles and steers so much better than any of its chief rivals. There is, I begrudgingly admit, a faint whiff of Nineties hot hatch about the way it chews up corners, and a confidence-inspiring finesse to the steering I genuinely wasn’t expecting.

Given twenty grand it’s not the crossover I’d go for – that’d still be the Skoda Yeti – but the Countryman is far better than my mates give it credit for.

Mates who, by my reckoning, I now owe roughly £80. Oops.

Audi confirms new TT

THE first new Audi TT in almost a decade will be unveiled at next month’s Geneva Motor Show, it has been confirmed.

While Audi is remaining tight-lipped until the show about the prices and specification of the new car, a teaser sketch released by the German firm reveals elements of the car hark back to the original TT of 1998.

The new car will replace the current version of the TT, originally introduced back in 2005.

DVLA red tape leaves Life On Cars at the mercy of the French police

IS IT possible to break the law in order to avoid not breaking it?

That’s the rather perplexing scenario I’ve spent the past week pondering, after it transpired that in order to not flout this country’s laws I run the risk of simultaneously falling foul of another’s.

All this thanks to the DVLA, some red tape, a J-registered Saab and the Belgians. 

It all started a week or so ago when the state agency responsible for driving licences sent me a polite letter to remind me that the photo on mine was looking a little out of date, having been taken in a branch of Woolworths at a time when Britain’s two main talking points were the Iraq War and The Cheeky Girls. 

For the sake of £20, a new and equally embarrassing photo and filling out a form, I’d avoid getting a £1,000 fine. There was only one snag; it was a legal requirement to send off both parts of my driving licence with it. 

After a few minutes of moaning to anyone who’d care to listen, I duly obliged.

It’s an inconvenience, but the not the end of the world. Or at least it wasn’t until two days after posting the form off, when I got asked, for a business trip, to go to Belgium.

A business trip which is not only in the very near future but will involve co-driving a friend’s Saab 9000 across France on the long trip to Antwerp. Places which, should I get stopped by les Gendarmes, I’ll almost certainly get asked to produce the driving licence I no longer possess.

It’s an absurd state of affairs. In order to avoid breaking the laws of this country, I’ve been forced into a position where I’ll have to break the laws of at least one other country should I dare to do what I’m legally entitled to on the other side of the Channel.

A quick call to the DVLA didn’t help. Partly because it wasn’t an especially quick call and led me to believe that humankind has actually abandoned Swansea and left the agency’s phone-manning robots to fend for themselves, but because once I actually got past the computerized phone switchboard it turned out the poor girl at the other end of the line didn’t actually know how to help me.

Having explained that “Have you asked the authorities in France and Belgium?” wasn’t the answer I was looking for, she was happy to sell me a Certificate of Entitlement, which for a fiver will prove to the police you really are entitled to drive. Unfortunately, it also comes with a whopping great disclaimer which states it isn’t valid in other EU states.

It is ridiculous that, in the event of the DVLA requiring your licence back at renewal time, it has absolutely no procedure in place should you need to pop over to the continent.

I look forward to writing my next column from my cell in La Bastille.