Jeremy Clarkson - What Could Possibly Go Wrong...

Then there’s the name: Ypsilon. The company may argue that this is a Greek letter but it sounds like another Greek letter, epsilon, and as anyone who has read Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World will know, an epsilon is synonymous with idiot. It means lavatory attendant. It means loser. The manufacturer may as well have fitted a swastika badge, arguing that it’s an ancient Buddhist symbol. It is, but…

I’m afraid things get much, much worse. This is a horrible car to drive. The 1.3-litre diesel engine feels as if it’s running on gravel. The driving position is suitable only for an animal that doesn’t exist. The dials are so far away from where you sit you can’t read them, the handbrake sounds like it’s been made from bits of a 1971 roof rack and, as a result of the materials used to line the interior, it feels like you are sitting in a wheelie bin. Still, at least it’s slow and devoid of any excitement whatsoever. And fitted with a gear lever that has been shaped specifically to make it extremely unpleasant to hold.

There are two settings for the steering. Nasty. And Very Nasty. The latter makes the system so light that you daren’t open the window for fear the resultant breeze would cause you to do a U-turn. And Nasty means you drive along, suffering from a nagging doubt that the wheel has nothing at all to do with your direction of travel.

Ride? That’s dreadful. Noise? Awful as well. And then we get to the brakes. You get what looks like a pedal but actually it’s a switch. So you are either not braking, or braking so violently that you are going through the windscreen.

Other stuff? Well, it’s got back seats that fold down, a boot and a big button on the A pillar that, so far as I can tell, does nothing except distract you from the rest of the terribleness. It also has cruise control, for no reason that I can fathom. Still, you might be thinking, at least you can go to parties and tell everyone that you have a Lancia. Well, yes, I agree, that would be good. Except you can’t because this car is actually sold here as a Chrysler.

This is because Fiat recently bought Chrysler and reckons that in Britain that badge is better than the Lancia one used on the other side of the Channel. That’s the sort of thinking that resulted in a car this bad being made in the first place.

Still, at least there’s a solution. You simply buy a Fiat 500 or a Fiat Panda or a Ford Ka instead. They’re all exactly the same as the Ypsilon. But much better.

When we buy a really fast car, the last thing we want is a really fast car. We may think we do. But we don’t. The top speed of a car matters when you’re a child. My dad’s car is faster than yours. And it matters when you are a teenager.

I bought a Volkswagen Scirocco when I was twenty because What Car? magazine said it accelerated from 0 to 60 mph a little bit faster than my mate’s Vauxhall Chevette. But when you are an adult you realize that you will never accelerate from 0 to 60 mph as fast as possible because a) people will think you are an imbecile and b) you will need a new clutch afterwards.

Nor can you ever indulge in the 1970s pastime of proving to other motorists that you have a faster car than they do, because these days all cars can do 120 mph. This means you have to do 140 mph to make your point, and when you’re at that speed, someone’s going to put you in a prison.

Let’s get to the point. If all you want from a car is speed, you should buy a Nissan GT-R. If you use its launch control, it will leave the line as though a comet has crashed into the back of it. And it will keep on accelerating until stark, naked fear causes you to remove your foot from the pedal. And we haven’t got to its party piece yet: its all-wheel-drive ability to get round any corner at any speed of your choosing. With the exception of a few silly track-day specials, the Nissan GT-R is the fastest car money can buy.

But you didn’t buy one, did you? Because it’s a bit ugly. And it’s a Nissan. And you thought your friends and neighbours might laugh at you.

My colleague James May recently bought a really fast car. It’s a Ferrari 458 Italia and with a fair wind it will zoom along at 200 mph. But he will never drive it at anything like that speed. Ever. And even if he did take it to ten-tenths on a track – unlikely, I know – he’d still get overtaken by a GT-R.

You buy a Ferrari because you think it makes you look interesting, rich and attractive. You buy one because you like the feel of the thing, or the styling, or the cut of the salesman’s jib. You buy one so, at night, when it’s dark and you’re feeling worthless, you can say to yourself, ‘But I have a Ferrari.’ And you will feel better. I know. I’ve been there.

Another friend recently bought a Mercedes C 63 AMG Black Series. And within days he was sending me texts saying it was a bit scary on full throttle. Wouldn’t know, mate. I’ve never used full throttle on my Black, the CLK, because there’s a big difference between admiring a slumbering crocodile and running up and poking it with a stick.

I have a Black for all sorts of reasons. I like the pillarless doors. I like the flared wheelarches. I like the body-hugging seats. And I like the noise it makes. Unfortunately, in order to make its tremendous sound, the engine has to be very powerful, which, as a by-product, makes the car very fast. But it’s not fast not in the way that a GT-R is fast. You can use the speed in the Nissan. If you try to use the speed in a Mercedes Black it will put you in a tree.

Every human being on the planet, with the possible exception of Ed Miliband, likes the feeling of being a little bit out of control. Push a child high on a swing and it will squeal with delight. But when the big kids start pushing the roundabout too fast, the sound it makes tends to change somewhat.

Which brings me to the new BMW 1-series. The top-of-the-range M135i has been winning rave reviews because, unlike the hot hatches made by every other company, it has rear-wheel drive. This means you can ‘hang the tail out in a corner’.

Indeed you can, but there is a price to pay for this. Because the car has rear-wheel drive, the big six-cylinder engine is mounted longitudinally. Also there is a prop shaft running under the cabin, and at the back, beneath the boot, are many components that aren’t necessary in a front-wheel-drive car. Net result: you have less space inside than you do in, say, a Ford Focus or a Vauxhall Astra. So you pay more and get less space, simply so that you have the ability to power-slide through roundabouts. Something you will never, ever, do.

However, here’s the thing. I have a watch that will still work 3,000 feet underwater. I have plumbing that can deliver water so hot it can remove skin. And I often eat in restaurants that serve food so complex that it’s way beyond the limited range of my smoke-addled palate. Also, as we know, I have a car that can go 80 mph faster than I will ever drive.

And that’s what gives the BMW M135i such massive appeal. You will never go round a corner trailing smoke from its out-of-shape rear… but it’s nice to know you could.

There is a lot more to commend this car as well. It has a supremely comfortable driver’s seat, an excellent steering wheel, impossibly Germanic controls and a perfect driving position. Get in and, no matter what age has done to your frame, you will immediately feel at one with the machine.

Then there’s the engine. To appease those of a tree-hugging disposition, it is fitted with a compound turbocharger, which means that, after a hint of lag, there is a never-ending stream of bassy, gutsy power. In the real world, where there are other motorists and lampposts and policemen, this car is as fast as you would ever want.