Petrol-heads know about Millbrook, the 720-acre Bedfordshire proving ground bought by Vauxhall in the 1960s for testing cars and now, still owned by General Motors, shared with other manufacturers and the military.
This is the fifth in C. J. Sansom’s engrossing series of Tudor crime novels.
If money is a universal act of faith — working when we believe in it, collapsing when we don’t — what about value for money? Is that just part of the beneficial illusion or is it something more tangible?
I don’t know about China, but here it’s the Year of the Jaguar — 75 years since baptism, sales up 42.5 per cent, the launch of the new XJ — and for one of their birthday parties, Jaguar took some hacks to try out the current model range on Germany’s notorious Nürburgring.
Alan Judd's Motoring
Alan Judd's Motoring
Motoring with Alan Judd
People have written books about America long before the United States declared itself, and we may be forgiven for asking if we really need another.
Further unpleasant surprises for motorists this month as the government seizes yet more money from us under threat of criminal sanction (what Gordon Brown calls ‘asking’) to help replace money wasted from earlier seizures.
You want a four what? A four what what? A four-seat, four-door Aston Martin? Think again, Mr Bond.
A weekly airdrop of Exchange & Mart was the luxury I used to think I’d choose when the producers of Desert Island Discs realised who they’d been missing all these years.
Awoken the other night by cold and concern for global warming, I searched my conscience for ways to reduce my carbon footprint.
Seven hundred miles now in the borrowed Bristol 410 and I’ve loved every yard of it.
Two visitors this month.
The origin of this unique publication is the 1990s Waldegrave open government initiative, encouraging departments to reveal more.
If Milton had owned a Land Rover he’d never have vanquished Satan and his fallen angels to nether regions of rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens and shades of death.
The Golf GTI was unveiled in Frankfurt 34 years ago this month.
Our monsoon season brings not only cricket delays but also a flowering of local classic-car shows. Testimony to nostalgic enthusiasm, they prompt the reflection that man is never more innocently engaged than when he values something for what it is, rather than for what he can get out of it.
Driving means manipulating a dangerous piece of machinery at speeds beyond anything for which evolution has prepared you, reacting to a multitude of visual signals and warnings, calibrating and recalibrating velocity, distance, direction and stability, all the time guessing the intentions and anticipating the possible actions of unnumbered others performing the same tasks in the same places at the same times.
The elderly lady in the little Skoda reversed cautiously in the supermarket car park, then sharply accelerated into the car behind.
Inside British Intelligence: 100 Years of MI5 and MI6, by Gordon Thomas
I’m no sharpshooter but molehills aren’t mountains, and at 100 yards over open sights, when you’re standing unsupported, a slither of white plastic stuck into one looks vanishingly small along the barrel of a Winchester 30-30.
I tested the old Freelander when it first came out, taking it up the M6 into the Shropshire hills and returning with backache.
There’s a dog-leg road junction a mile up the lane off which I live that’s made dangerous by the pub that partially obscures traffic from the right.
With Ford posting losses of over $10 billion, Honda shutting its Swindon factory until June and fields full of unsold cars, we might be excused for thinking that doom and gloom is here to stay.