I’ve always liked cars, which is probably a dangerous thing to admit to in these politically correct days in which, in certain quarters, the likes of Jeremy Clarkson are suspected of covertly bearing the mark of the Beast.
Notwithstanding, I do like cars and in Ruthin today, I saw a car that was – to my subjective eye – utterly beautiful. It was a 2003 Peugeot 406 coupé, a model that had previously, inexplicably, escaped my notice.
I spent several minutes walking around it, admiring the purity and elegant simplicity of its lines. It was, according to a discreet badge low on its flank, a product of Farina, the Italian design house responsible for some of the most exciting models of such exotic marques as Ferrari, Maserati and Alfa Romeo, as well the more interesting offerings of such home-grown names as Morris and Austin in pre-British Leyland days.
I was lucky enough to meet its owner shortly afterwards and got into conversation with him. He told me that the car gave him enormous pleasure and that he felt sure it was a future classic.
I feel pretty sure he’s right. It’s an absolute stunner.
What ingredient is it, I wonder, in the Italian DNA that makes them such brilliant designers? It’s not only cars; it’s ships, it’s clothes, it’s even coffee machines, for heaven’s sake. Italy, above all nations, produces designers con bravura.
The seven year-old Peugeot, though French-manufactured, screamed “Italian”. And, as such, it was an object that engendered instant, indefinable desire.
