For the last week I have been driving a BMW 120d.
That’s one of these:
In the not too distant past BMW used the phrase ‘The Ultimate Driving Machine’ to describe their cars.
That’s certainly not a description I’d be happy using, if I worked for BMW, else the Trade Description enforcers would be all over me.
The driver’s ergonomics are awful (if the driver is over 5′ 10″). Apart from this point, the cabin is comfortable, fore and aft.
The engine is quiet which, frankly, it should be, given that it has the output of an arthritic hamster.
The gearbox is so vague that key components seem to have been manufactured from jelly.
The media centre developed a mind of its own, and had to be shut down.
And the hatch-boot space could barely accommodate a medium-sized ham sandwich.
But on the positive side, fuel consumption was good.
And the mirrors worked.
Another positive thing about driving the BMW 120d was that it really made me miss my car.
How I yearned for the beautifully-engineered, precision-manufactured (German designed and German built) gearbox.
And the (German) gearing ratio that just worked, and didn’t have to be fought against.
And the cavernous hatch-boot, which could take one very large suitcase, one medium suitcase, one small suitcase, two rucksacks, a handbag, AND a medium-sized ham sandwich.
Seriously, BMW, I don’t know who the target market is for your 120d, but as sure as hell isn’t anyone who you could call ‘a driver’.