The Thinking Man’s Luxobarge

The high street banks that you and I paid for continue to charge improper amounts of dosh to borrowers, proffering the small businessman not one teeny glimmer of hope, whilst savers and investors see returns so miniscule as to make them unworthy of a monthly statement. These bloody people, who made so much of my past life a misery, continue their smarmy dishonest offensive, seemingly unabashed and unabated.

I’ve always loathed these hypocritical high street robbers and matters don’t improve as I romp into the springtime of my dotage.

They landed us all in the poop by doing exactly what they told a twenty year-old me not to do. It’s largely because of them that the vice-like grip of the global recession continues.

Once or twice a year my “personal bank manager” (PMB), whose salary I pay, invites me for a chat in his windowless cell. We talk briefly about his BMW 3-series (well, it would be) and I’ll stare dumbfounded at his ghastly shoes, before finding the courage to look at his spotty and youthful face, only to be distracted by the sheer enormity of the Windsor knot he has created for his unspeakable corporate tie.

By the time I’ve finished my paper cup of coffee he announces – every visit – that he’d like to introduce me to a colleague who promptly enters stage left and tries to sell me a gazillion banky services I don’t need and didn’t know existed. Enough is enough, my PMB and I no longer bother to speak, even though I still pay him.

In the unlikely event that this man climbs to the very top of the slippery and mendacious banking pole, he’ll need of course – again, at our expense – a big car as automotive representation of his new-found fat cat status and on-going ruthlessness. He’ll have between £65-85K to spend on his company smoker.

Our boy would indubitably opt for a BMW 7-series or a Benz-class. Good cars, both – yet screamingly obvious. He’ll also eschew the new Jaguar XJ because, to him, Jags are/were for aspirants of his grandfather’s generation.

The car this egregious young man will doubtlessly forgo is probably the best one – the one that I’ve been driving all week – the new restyled Audi A8 4.2 Tdi Quattro. This Ingolstadt-built barge represents everything our boy will overlook; understated style and camouflaged aggression, blended with proper safe power. Oh, and the very best rear seats.

It’s fine though. The A8 isn’t built for him.