Confounded by a Cadillac

Like many writers, I’m prone to being rather pretentious. I’ll eschew anything with the faintest whiff of vulgarity, in favour of an affectation of exquisite taste in all areas. But who am I trying to kid? Give me a massive, flash, aggressive car and I’m all over it like an excited schoolboy.

My first observation on driving the Cadillac CTS off the Bauer Millett forecourt was that despite its extremely modest price tag (trust me, £30,000 for a car of this spec is cheap!), everybody stared at it as though it were a Lamborghini.

That’s a good thing – everyone likes to show off. If we didn’t, we’d all drive ten-year-old Nissan Micras. As it was, I was driving a car straight out of a rap video for less than the price of an average, anonymous European saloon.

The spec is amazing: 3.6-litre V6, with over 300bhp, six-speed gearbox with auto or semi-auto settings, and more gadgets than I could fathom in three days practically living in the thing: DVD navigation, TV, hard drive and iPod hi-fi, mood lighting, and several banks of switches on and around the steering wheel that I haven’t got round to yet. Too many American cars have been denounced by the press over the years for the same tired old reasons: wasteful, inefficient, underperforming engines and wallowing, agricultural suspension. Here, the Cadillac confounds prejudices. First, the engine is wonderful – either cruising silently or effortlessly accelerating at startling speed with a racy V6 snarl.

Secondly, its ride is taut and firm, yet not jarring or clattery – a fluent transition from the wide, straight freeways of the States to the speed bumps and mini-roundabouts of Cheshire suburbs.

Finally, with the sheer boldness and drama this car radiates, you might need a little dose of good old British irony to carry off the image. Discreet it is not. But even the snootiest of aesthetes would admit there is much to love.