All Entries Tagged With: "London"
London Calling: You’ve Left Your White-on-Chrome Bugatti Out Front
SPIED by a reader, this Mayfair Veyron was perfectly positioned in front of Claridges. Naturally.
Thanks, John!
Window Shopping: Lamborghini-London
By Gunnar Heinrich | IMG Lamborghini-London.com
LAMBORGHINI-LONDON is one of the UK capital’s many great candy stores.
When yours interned for the Shadow Leader of the House eight summers ago, not a workday went by when, on my way to Westminster via South Kensington station, I wouldn’t pass by the glass display full of raging bulls.
The Lambo dealer is situated quite literally across Old Brompton Road from the tube entry. An RBS, of all institutions, stands right next door for financial convenience.
In the evenings, the showroom is typically lit with automated lights that are synchronized to highlight different cars at different times. Unlike so many other exclusive dealerships, Lamborghini-London (true to form) invites you to gawk in gape-mouthed wonder.
And so I did. Day in and night out. Wouldn’t you?
Which is why I share this little West End warm spot with our London readers squarely in mind. According to Google Analytics, London ranks number one metropolis worldwide in traffic to this website; narrowly eclipsing New York.
LA, you’re a distant third, BTW.
So thank you, London!
Oh, and FYI: nearby there’s a Kulu Kulu at 39 Thurloe Place. It’s a great stop for fresh sushi that’s served in true metro-Japanese style – via conveyor belt and color coded dishes.
ex. 1) Jaguar XK60 By London Eye
By Gunnar Heinrich | IMG by Jaguar Cars via CAR
NEW and old. Old and new.
The British are particularly adept, nay, downright Sisyphean at bringing history and environment into symbolic context.
How appropriate then, that London provided the stage for the launch of Jaguar’s XK60 last month; commemorating 60 years of sporting heritage under the XK nameplate.
In every sense Albion’s capital is where Yorkshire Pudding meets Chicken Tikka. It’s a curried, bloody and wonderful mess of the grandly historic forced alongside the ephemeral.
Mostly, Jag’s catfish XK sticks to tradition – XKE tradition.
Parked next to a rally ready XK120; a hallmark of late 40s/ early 50s GB motoring, the XK60 stands as sharply apart as the towering wheel that’s the London Eye (the base of which we see in the background) does next to the elegantly Edwardian London County Hall (also pictured).
How apt.
Part I > The W203 C-Class Revisited
Cheap ‘n cheerful.Considering most economy cars, the Mercedes-Benz C180 Kompressor ain’t bad. To behold, it’s actually attractive.
The W203’s amoeba headlamped body post refit is especially cheerful . The seven spoked, 16” wheels suggest a sporting nature to an otherwise average performer.
The lower front airdam stretches aft as if a designer took two index fingers on either side of the car’s mouth and pulled backward to create a wallet-opening smile.
And wallets did open for Stuttgart’s last generation C-Class.
Unfortunately, like those few Stateside who actually “bought” the C230 Kompressor hatchback, I fear that the badge conscious were taken for a ride; myself included.
ECONOMY CAR
Using “economy” is deliberate wordage that’s more a reference to apparent quality and less a price point statement. The relatively costly C-Class ranks as a standard European economy sedan – even when CLASSIC-ally packaged with traditional leather interior.
AMG’s C32 stood as the sole standout; the merits of its Wagnerian V8 ringing loud and clear.
Against the roomier and comfier Ford Mondeo, Saab 9-3, or VW Passat, the benefits of buying Mercedes aside from the cachet of sitting behind the star (mostly hidden from driver’s view) were dubious. Considering the W203 as a horizontally priced alternative to an E46 BMW 3-Series made less sense than navigating an Escher lithograph.
There’s just no comparison. The Bimmer was by far the superior auto by every conceivable merit. What’s more the 3 delivered on quality and value for money.
DELIVER US
From London, I’d rather walk to Oxford than drive a Peugeot or Renault.
Few cars outside the European market give you a stronger audible sensation that you’re dragging a large piece of undercarriage beneath you. At any moment what you’re positive is loose trim will surely give way causing following cars to dart and swerve.
Of course nothing’s loose. In fact, what you suffer and dread is simply a lack of road insulation (and bother).
Regrettably this trait is shared by other European makes that populate most rental parking lots.
So when borrowing a set of wheels, as yours truly did this week past, the clear choice that winked at me from a lot of generics was the late model C180 Kompressor.
Surely, if memory served, this little Benz would provide comfy if somewhat cramped transport and be well insulated from the bruit that drivers suffer at the hands of the French.
NON AND NEIN.
Sit in the C180 and you’re greeted with decidedly repressed surroundings.
There’s forced emotion in the tucked curves of the dash and the fluidly rolling waterfall that’s the center console. All that undulation is constrained by boxy door frames. To temper things further is a prodigious use of the color graphite. Coal would provide more character.
The auburn color of the glossy burl trim that adorns doors and console does little to help matters as I’m convinced it’s carved from the plastic tree.
Looking out the windshield over a very slanted hood, I reckon the electric neon blue finish on the outside is meant to make up for the subdued interior.
TWIST AND…
Take the plastic pseudo laser key, insert into ignition, quick twist and leggo.
The 2.0 liter straight, supercharged four banger jiggers crudely to life. I might pause to ask why the model’s called “180” if the engine sports .2 more liters than its name suggests, but there’s more to pick at.
Confusingly, the front seats are both manually and electrically adjustable. There’s no moonroof to offer us vertical reprieve from drab graphite. And because we’re in Britain during the dark days of winter, I guess there’s little point in having one.
Shift the leather wrapped gear selector back and it finds its way to Drive in a buttery motion that’s foreign to anyone at home with the old slotted Benz shift gates of yore. To its credit, the setup’s comfy in a generic, Chrysler sort of way.
Driving briskly through traffic, I skirt the fringes of Communist surveillance and taxation otherwise known as London’s Congestion Zone to find my way onto the A40 due West Northwest.
And as the road finally opens, a new sedan emerges.
— Part II tomorrow @ 12:00 EST *amended
