Jeremy Clarkson - What Could Possibly Go Wrong...

I haven’t finished with the air-conditioning system either, because you are also able to go into the on-board computer and alter the level of ionization in the air being delivered. And what is ionization? Good question. Glad you asked. Because it’s the process by which an atom or a molecule acquires a positive or a negative charge. So, in my book, that means Mercedes has developed a car that can fire lightning out of the air vents. It says that this makes the interior more relaxing. If I were ever to use an exclamation mark after a sentence, I’d have used one then.

Anyway, sticking with the air-conditioning system, I can tell you that its innards are filled with dried coconut shells that absorb not just some of the world’s more unpleasant gases but, with the help of the ionization, many of the world’s viruses. This, then, is a car in which you cannot catch smallpox, cholera or even ebola. Which, as a safety feature, beats the crap out of a collapsible steering column, if you ask me.

Before we move away from the air-conditioning system, I should explain that different levels can be set for each part of the car. So if you have a passenger whose company you do not enjoy, you can make him hot, fire lightning into his face and give him the bubonic plague.

I’m aware I have now spent a long time covering the air-conditioning, so let’s take a deep breath and move on to the seats. As you would expect, they can all deliver a ‘hot stone’ massage, the armrests are heated and in the long-wheelbase model those in the back can recline until they are pretty much flat. Pillows are provided, naturally, and they are not just heated but also air-conditioned. This… (That’s enough air-conditioning stuff. Ed.)

There’s more, of course, but we must move on at this point to the optional thermal-imaging camera. When engaged at night, it projects a greyscale image of the road ahead to a screen on the dash, and – get this – when it detects a pedestrian, the person in question is highlighted in red.

This is fantastic. Because when you drive down Baker Street you feel as if you are commanding an Apache gunship and that all the people are targets.

They are as well. Because if one of them does something that appears to be threatening, such as, say, stepping into the road, the Mercedes fires a laser into his eyes to warn him you’re coming. I know you think I’m making this all up. But I promise I’m not.

Mercedes says the equipment is so sophisticated, it can tell the difference between a person and an animal. But this isn’t so. Because when I reached my London flat late last Sunday night, the camera detected what it thought was a human hiding in the bushes, and a little red square highlighted his exact position. I could see nothing with the naked eye, so I drove over to find it was a paparazzo. Not a human at all.

Sadly I was not able to run him over because the Mercedes has a system that applies the brakes even if you don’t. The same system allows you to engage the cruise control in stop-start traffic and sit back while the car quite literally drives itself, maintaining a safe distance between itself and the car in front.

But that is nothing compared with the cameras that guide what’s called the Magic Body Control. I kid you not. When they see a speed hump or a pothole approaching, they don’t just soften the suspension to minimize the jolt, they actually lift the wheel clear. So there’s absolutely no jolt at all.

Oh, heavens. I’ve forgotten the interior lighting. You can choose from a vast array of colours and then choose how bright you’d like it all to be. And then, with a swivel of the knob, you can turn on the wi-fi. You then input the seventeen-digit code into your phone – don’t worry about drifting onto the other side of the road while you do this because the Mercedes knows when you’re about to cross the white line – and, if you haven’t indicated, it will steer you back again.

Did I mention the fridge? Or the larder? Or the availability of TV screens that fold out of the centre armrest? Nope? Well, what about the button that allows you to choose just how high you’d like the electric boot lid to rise?

Some are saying that all of this stuff is ridiculous and the S-class is no longer sitting at the prow of motoring innovation. Others say – and I have some sympathy with this argument – that true luxury is achieved with a clever use of space, light and silence, and that a billion gadgets is no match for the sheer opulence you find in a Rolls-Royce.

And yet. My inner man loved foraging about in the Merc, finding solutions to problems that no one knew existed. It also comes with an engine.

When I first moved to London, during the war – with Argentina, that is – Knightsbridge was a quite genteel place full of old ladies and sausage dogs. It was an oasis of calm in the centre of that magnificent 1980s whirlwind. It isn’t any more. Now it’s one of the noisiest places on earth.

This is because it has been bought, pretty much completely, by gentlemen from the Middle East, all of whom drive extremely loud supercars. You can hear them start up from three streets away, and you can hear them leaving the lights from back in Qatar. A Ferrari drove past me last night fitted with exhausts like 120-mm guns being played through the Grateful Dead’s sound system. And then there was a Lamborghini with a bark so loud it could frighten an old lady’s sausage dog to death.

There are rules on how much noise a car can make, but because they are rules they can be broken. Many supercar makers have worked out how. They have noted that the EU noise inspectors, who test a car before it is allowed to go on sale, take their reading when the engine is turning at 3000 rpm. So the manufacturer fits a valve in the exhaust system that opens at 3001 rpm. This means all is lovely and quiet for the men with clipboards. But then, just after they’ve smiled and put ticks in the right boxes, all hell breaks loose.

Today most fast cars make a racket. Jaguar even fits a discreet little button that enables you to turn the silencer into a trumpet. So when an F-type goes down your street, it feels as if the Royal Artillery has just opened up with everything it’s got. I shall be honest. I like a car to make a noise. I loved the muscle-car rumble you got from AMG Mercedeses before the turbochargers came along. I love the melancholy howl of a Ferrari F12. And the shriek from the Lexus LFA was up there with Roger Daltrey’s scream towards the end of ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again’.

So I was surprised and, yes, a little bit disappointed when I put my foot down for the first time in BMW’s new 435i coupé. This is the sporty two-door version of the 3-series. In the past it would have been called the 3-series coupé but BMW has decided to give it a name of its own, which has allowed the stylists to have a freer hand. A much freer hand, as it turns out, because the only panel this car shares with its four-door stablemate is the bonnet.

The rest is all different and all new and nowhere near as dramatic as I’d been expecting. Yes, it’s lower and wider than the saloon – the rear wheels are about 3 inches further apart – but it lacks visual presence. And on the face of it, that doesn’t sound such a good idea.

When someone buys the two-door version of a four-door car, they are spending more money and getting less practicality. And the only reason they would want to do this is: they want more style. And with the 4-series I’m not sure they’re getting it.

Which brings me back to the noise. Floor the throttle and all you get is a gentle hum, the sound of an engine that is doing a spot of gardening or maybe popping down the road for a pint of milk. It doesn’t really sound as though it’s making much of an effort at all.