Rolls Royce Phantom - Hello, Alan Sugar

A black Rolls Royce Phantom sits on my drive. Good Lord, it’s big! Over 19′ long, and a good 6′6″ wide (with the mirrors, to be fair) taking up as much room as the skip lorry that left half an hour ago (my house resembles a cross between a building site and Steptoe’s yard - the joys of renovating a run-down Victorian house). But it is impressive; menacing even, in black.

Where do you start to test a car like this? Shouldn’t I be looking for a major occasion to arrive at? Perhaps get a driver, and waft imperiously to the gates of Buckingham Palace (although I think our Royal Family - with the exception of Prince Charles - is more interested in ancient Land Rovers than the Phantom). But then - inspiration! I’ll be Alan Sugar for the day!

In a previous life I used to drive every day from my home in Essex to London. I know, I should have taken the train, but if I can do it in a car, I do. Whatever ‘it’ is. So every morning, at 6.30am, I’d set off for town. But traffic jams on main routes hold no appeal, so the country roads for me for as far as possible. More miles, but much, much more interesting. And one person I almost always saw on my daily rush in to London was Alan Sugar, that scourge of apprentices (or wannabe celebs - depending on your point of view) wafting in his ‘Roller’ in the opposite direction on his way to Amstrad in Brentwood (whatever you may believe from The Apprentice, I can assure you that the Amstrad HQ is not a glitzy Docklands block, but a rather more prosaic, boring brick slab by the railway station in Brentwood!). And I could set my watch by the site of AMS 1. I knew whether I was running late or bang on time. Sir Alan’s chauffeur was obviously a meticulous time-keeper.

The Rolls Royce Phantom was designed to attract ‘Old Money’. And it’s succeeded brilliantly. I know, Alan Sugar’s not exactly old money. You don’t achieve that status when you start out flogging aerials on Romford Market (oh the joys of our supposedly non-existent class system). But it was important for Rolls Royce not to alienate their existing clientèle, and it’s obviously worked as Sir Alan has stuck with the marque (unlike his US counterpart, Donald Trump, who has opted for the Maybach - so new money dahlink!).

So I settle myself in to the beautifully appointed cabin, and get ready to re-create my commuting route of ten years ago. The doors close with a reassuring ‘clud’. A good noise. And the cabin has everything you expect. Gorgeous chrome ‘organ-stops’. Nothing so brash as a rev counter, but a ‘Power Reserve’ meter. The ubiquitous clock (because the only thing you can hear in a Rolls Royce is the clock!). But the clock’s gone all Buck Rogers, as it rotates to reveal the i-drive when you need it. But I think I’ll keep that closed. It would spoil the ambience. After all, even the seat controls are hidden under a leather swathed cover, so it would be sacrilege to have the ‘toys’ on view.

A push on the white start button, and the massive V12 jumps in to life. A prod on the accelerator and we’re away. Quietly. Without fuss. It really is damn quiet in here. Even quieter than the Lexus we had at the weekend. But this is a different class. A different class to anything. The first 15 miles are country roads. Not the Phantom’s natural turf. But it handles it very well. Get enthusiastic and she does roll a little, but only a little. And you can drive quickly. Just set-up the corners properly and the Phantom glides round. No fuss. No drama. An open stretch of road and a prod on the accelerator and we’re doing 80. No effort, we’re just there. A few startled faces from oncoming drivers as they see the ‘Queen Mary’ fly round a corner towards them, but otherwise completely uneventful. That’s some praise for such a huge car on back roads in the Home Counties. And then in to traffic. You do sit high in the Phantom - it’s like a 4×4 up here! But no envious stares from fellow drivers and pedestrians. Just smiles. Astonishingly the Phantom doesn’t seem to invoke envy, just admiration. Perhaps people realise just how special this car is. Makes you proud to be British (even though we just bolt it together from bits BMW ship in - but what the hell, I still think of it as British!). It’s big to drive in town, but it really isn’t a problem. It’s much too nice a place to be to worry about it’s size. Yes, the Ark Royal bonnet (lots of boat analogies in here!) needs a modicum of caution, and the huge C pillars at the back mean you need to use the mirrors a lot, but you soon get used to it. Goodness, I’ve enjoyed this car. If the lottery fairies smile on me I know which car I’ll be driven in. And I won’t mind driving it on the chauffeurs day off either!

What a fine job BMW have made of this car. It oozes Rolls Royce from every beautifully finished panel. They’ve been so clever. It would have been very easy to go the route of Mercedes Benz with the Maybach. All high-tech and glitzy. But they didn’t, and thank God they didn’t. This car owns its market sector - there is no competition. It has presence. It’s finally motoring royalty again.