The cat’s whiskers

Jaguar XKR coupe - this car could make life so easy

Amber Shaw finds the world treats a girl better when she drives an XKR

With the XK on the way, Jaguar said this was my last chance to try out the XKR coupé so I jumped at it. I was due to meet a new client in London and needed to impress so I arranged to pick it up just before the appointed lunch at Chez Bruce.

As client and I pulled up simultaneously I was suddenly liberated from my usual fawning patter. This car could make life so easy.

You have to forget the notion that Jags are driven by ageing uncle types and that includes my adorable and generous Uncle Jackson. The XKR has a completely – and deliberately – different feel about it altogether.

The external lines are a joy to behold – part retro, roaring twenties, motoring revolutionary era; part sleek, chic, contemporary, mean machine. The ‘Jaguar Super­charged’ growler bonnet badge is certainly more appropriate than the leaping cat.

It’s got feminine curves which are long and graceful. The front goes on, and on, arcing down to stylish Xenon headlamps and a mesh grill via a vented bonnet which all add eminent glamour.

The rear is more assertive with its quad exhausts. The 18-inch tyres encircle beautifully designed spoked alloys through which you can see the bright red Brembo brakes like cutesy hearts pounding behind a ribcage.

Much like my ticker as I got inside. The ivory leather interior was so velvety soft it was like melting into warm cream. Getting into the XKR is a far more modest manoeuvre than many a coupé. You don’t feel as close the ground as you might expect and your legs aren’t subjected to ham-string exercises. The Recaro seats embrace you, adding to the wholly secure feeling you get inside. I was delighted with the almost unlimited seating positions (which can be memorised – blissful if you have to share) that meant I could comfortably reach the gleaming steel pedals.

Country comforts
But there was no time for drooling as I had to head back to the Cotswolds. I wish I had initiated the sat nav as exiting south London with its invis-ible signs and various roadworks delayed us somewhat and dusk fast approached. The headlights came on. It began to rain. The wipers spun into action. How endearing is that? The Fiancé was now with me, savouring the heated seats, but sans spectacles and we were sans road atlas anyway so we just had to go with the queues and rush hour volume. The XKR was nonetheless harmonious and serene, even if its occupants were less so.

On to the M4, eventually, and the XKR came into its own. The tech specs are formidable. All I will say is that it is powerful. Jaguar has developed the AJ-V8 engine and six-speed ZF transmission to optimum levels and this car gathers speed in an instant. Be warned: traffic cops won’t buy the eyelashes no matter how much you feign ignorance.

Fellow motorists, on the other hand, will be full of respect. You don’t have to be driving at an awesome speed and, like the parting of the waves, drivers often make way. I felt quite noble in the XKR.

And also very cocooned. The safety features are abundant and make a girl feel very protected. I particularly liked the ability to switch on the headlights as I approached it in the darkening winter afternoons.

Traffic cops won’t buy the eyelashes no matter how much you feign ignorance.

The next day I had arranged brunch with an associate of mine, Jemmy, a Jaguar enthusiast who I cunningly knew would turn green at first sight. He played like a child with all the gadgetry. He opened the rear-lifting bonnet and stared at the sparkling 4.2 litre supercharged engine and merely sighed. He talked about under-stated cool and attention-grabbing without flashiness. I thought he was talking about me. But he wasn’t.

I went off to pick up my gym buddy, Viv, and we headed for Calcot Spa the long way round to sample the XKR’s take on country roads. Viv was over-awed and kept pointing out the gazes from open-mouthed gentlemen, mostly it seems, of the Uncle Jackson ilk. We loitered in the car park, actually letting out a BMW M5 in order to nab the spot where we knew we could gaze at the XKR from the cross-trainers. After our session we jumped into the outdoor, fireside hot-tub with a couple of smoothies – of the fruit drink variety. In the tub were a couple of guys who weren’t so smooth in our opinion but who were discussing a certain Jaguar parked outside. Viv and I made sure the pair were looking when we later hurtled away, sports button ignited!

Who's gorgeous?
Later in the week I had to dash up to Nottingham for this issue’s cover shoot. The ride was luxurious with cruise control, the sat nav worked like a dream and it felt like I got there in no time at all. I didn’t have that ‘drained’ feeling of a long drive – I was so fresh-faced I was disgruntled that they didn’t want me for the cover as I’d assumed. They just wanted my shoes. Some art directors can be so obstinate.

Next morning I headed to London for a family lunch, after which my sister was so impressed (and comfortable) she wouldn’t relinquish the front passenger seat. So my father, who’s been banned for six months – I can’t talk about it – had to go in the back for a lift to his club. It helps to be supple but there was ample room.

However, that evening it was time to let go. Knowing the XK is on the horizon I wasn’t too down-hearted. Nevertheless, I was compelled to write a letter. “Dear Uncle Jackson – You’re absolutely right, a Jag might well suit me…”

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