Jeremy Clarkson - What Could Possibly Go Wrong...

It’s amazing. I remember driving a G-wagen in the early Eighties and I thought back then that it was extremely refined and that it rode very well. By today’s standards, though, it is absolutely woeful.

And the steering is worse. You need a block and tackle to turn the wheel, and even if, by some miracle, you do manage it, the car will stubbornly refuse to actually go round the corner.

In an attempt to make the interior feel modern, the car is sold as standard with things such as cupholders and climate control and a rear-view mirror that dims automatically when it’s being blinded by the car behind. But all of these things have been shoehorned into a cockpit that was designed before electricity was invented.

This is particularly noticeable when you try to operate the command and satnav centre. It is very difficult, because the only place it could be fitted was right down at the bottom of the dash, next to your left ankle.

And even if you could read what the buttons do, there is absolutely no chance of pressing the one you want because as you extend your left arm into the footwell, you will run over another piece of grit and the whole car will leap about as if it’s been hit by an RPG.

Then there’s the driving position. Because people in the army like to be extremely uncomfortable at all times – this is why all British military equipment comes with as many sharp edges as possible – Mercedes decided that the seat should be mounted only 2 inches away from the steering wheel. You drive this car like you sit at a kitchen table.

And yet you pray the journey will never be over because you know that when it is, you will have to get out and close the door. This is not actually possible unless you have just won a competition to find Britain’s strongest man. And even if you have, you will still need the silver and bronze medallists to give you a hand. The tailgate is even worse. To open this, you need a JCB. And there’s no point because the boot is nowhere near as big as you might have been expecting.

Yes, the engine is modern, and as a result it produces very little by way of oxides of nitrogen – wow! However, it also produces very little power, and certainly not enough for a car that weighs more than Scotland. The result is a top speed of 108 mph, which is what most automotive experts call ‘strolling’.

It’s hard, really, to think of any good points at all. I liked the fact that it is a proper off-roader with proper off-roading features. I also liked the television sets in the back, but they were a £1,940 option. I liked the reversing camera, too, but that was an extra £460. In fact, my test car was fitted with so many options, the actual price was £94,200.

I will admit that even though this car is made by hand, it appears to be very well screwed together and, yes, the looks are appealing. But do not imagine for a moment that just because it has many modern features and is still being made today that it is a modern car. Really. It’s an Austin Seven in a fat suit.

I would, therefore, still choose a Range Rover instead. Yes, it is more likely to drain its battery of juice when you’ve left it for two minutes outside the newsagent’s. And, yes, the new front end appeals only to jackdaws. But at least it can run over a pothole without breaking your back, you can open and close the doors without using heavy lifting gear, there’s space for a human being behind the wheel and it’s capable of getting from 0 to 60 before you do.

I spent a day last week recording the voice for a new satellite navigation system. This meant sitting in a darkened room saying, ‘In 200 metres, turn right. In 200 yards, turn right. In 300 metres, turn right. In 300 yards, turn right. In 400 metres, turn right. In 400 yards, turn right…’ It wasn’t as interesting as it sounds.

It also felt slightly ludicrous, like I was the kettle on the bridge of a nuclear-powered Nimitz-class aircraft carrier: an old-fashioned ingredient in a world that’s not old-fashioned at all.

Have you ever stopped and wondered how the satnav system in your car works? It’s astonishing. There are twenty-four American military Navstar satellites in space, around 12,500 miles from Earth. At any point on the planet’s surface, there is a direct line of sight to at least four of them.

But they’re not standing still. They’re moving. Which means they are not fixed points as such. So, the little receiver in your poxy Volkswagen has to find them, and they’re only the size of wheelie bins, then work out precisely how far away they might be at any given moment. We’re talking major algebra here.

And bear in mind that the device must work out how long it takes for the signal to reach an object in space that is moving at several thousand miles an hour. That means a clock that can keep up with the speed of light. Get it wrong by a thousandth of a millionth of a second and your VW will think it’s just outside Kiev.

And then, when it has worked out where you are on the surface of Earth, it must compare the information with an onboard road map. And it still isn’t finished because you’ve just asked it to get you from where you are now to a postcode just outside Pontefract. This means it must analyse the 246,000 miles of tarmac in Britain and work out the fastest route. And if it takes more than five seconds, it knows you will be sitting there saying, ‘Oh, for God’s sake. Come on. You useless piece of junk.’

In the early days of satellite guidance, mistakes were common. The first time I ever used such a system, it tried to direct me through Leicester Square, which had been pedestrianized by the Iceni. And only recently, the systems fitted in BMWs absolutely refused to acknowledge the existence of the M40.

I spent a lot of time thinking, Crikey. This whole thing was designed so the Americans could post a cruise missile through a letter box 7,000 miles away and it can’t even find a sensible route from Beaconsfield to London. Now, though, I have to say, mistakes are extremely rare.

Which is why I’m always surprised when an old lady driver tells hospital staff the reason she drove her car off a cliff, or through a river, or into a cave full of wolves, is because the satnav system in her car told her to.

You hear these stories all the time. People who turn left at a level crossing, straight into the path of the four fifty from Paddington, or left at a crossroads that isn’t there, and into the saloon bar of the White Horse in Tiverton. I’ve always assumed that people like this must be stupid. However…

Earlier in the summer, while filming in the south of France, I set off in a large convoy of camera cars and crew vans to a pre-determined location. We were being led by a man whom we shall call Rod. Which is a bit annoying for him because I’ve just remembered that is his actual name.

Anyway, Rod had programmed his portable satnav to where we were going and off he set. Alarm bells began to ring in my car when we turned onto a very small country lane. And they became very loud indeed when the lane became a track. And then it stopped.

Rod was absolutely perplexed. His satnav system was saying we were just 500 metres from our destination, which may well have been true, but the only way we could have got there on the route it had in mind was if we’d turned ourselves into goats. Many people blamed Rod for this. Me? I blamed the French.

Satnav was fitted to the all-new Audi A6 I was driving last week. But it could do something other than find wheelie bins 12,500 miles away and get you to Pontefract. It could also operate your headlights, altering the shape of the main beam, depending on whether you were on a country or urban road or a motorway, and even switch everything on at junctions so other road users could see… that you’ve apparently gone mad.