He doesn't like it very much and he prefers the Skoda Scout.
Audi A4 allroad 3.0 TDI quattro
Jeremy Clarkson
As we now know, there are one or two flaws in the concept of global capitalism. For example, if you have a suit and a side parting, you can use money that doesn’t exist to create money that does, in your own bank account. And you can keep on doing this until the whole world goes completely bankrupt.
At the other end of the scale there are problems too. For instance, if you are very fat and lazy and you cannot be bothered to get a job, the system will only really care about your plight when you die and you have to be hosed out of your front room because the neighbours are complaining about the smell. “And who’s going to pay for that hosing?” the men with side partings will say.
Still, I believe that the upsides for those of us who are not very lazy but do not have side partings far outweigh the downsides. Let me give you an example. It is now almost impossible to buy a washing machine that is anything less than brilliant.
Or a burger. Because McDonald’s and Burger King offer tasty snacks in every town in the world, anyone selling inferior burgers made from stale bread and dead horses will go out of business extremely quickly. So, even at three in the morning, on the outskirts of Leicester or Wakefield, you know for sure that the meal you’ve just bought will be delicious and nutritious.
Of course, small retailers whine and complain when Tesco moves into the area because Tesco will nick all their business. Yes, it will, if what you are selling is expensive and rubbish.
That’s the core of capitalism. “Better” will always win the day. And it doesn’t matter what form “better” takes. Better can mean cheaper, more convenient, nicer, prettier, more tasty, more healthy. In some way, you have to be better than the other guy, or your kids will soon be presented with a bill for hosing you out of your sitting room.
Because the bosses of the giant corporations know this, they strive constantly to make what they sell better, and that’s brilliant for you and me. It’s why we don’t get punctures any more — because the tyre makers are constantly striving to be the best. It’s why your car never overheats any more — because the people who make radiator hoses are no longer stuck in the Seventies, believing they have a God-given right to keep on making radiator hoses, irrespective of how quickly they dissolve.
When was the last time you had a faulty cigarette? When was the last time your plane crashed? When did you last take a strawberry back to the supermarket because it was all covered in slime? It’s not governments or best-before dates or health and safety that is doing this; it’s capitalism.
And nowhere is the improvement seen more vividly than in the world of motoring.
In the olden days, car makers thought local, and that was a disaster. They really did think at British Leyland that the sun was still shining brightly on the empire and that people in Britain would always buy Rovers and Austins because they were British. We saw the same thing going on in Italy with Fiat. So what if the workforce had left its sandwiches in one of the doors and wired up the horn to the starter motor by mistake? The customer would be back. And the government would hand over a fat cheque if he wasn’t. But then capitalism went global and, all of a sudden, Terry and June could buy a car from Japan that didn’t explode every time there was a “y” in the day. So they did.
Then it got better. BMW worked out that if it made the X5 in America, the car could be sold more cheaply. Volkswagen thought the same about Mexico, and as Britain slithered further into the mire, we started to benefit from this as well. Toyota, Honda and Nissan didn’t come here because their executives liked our weather or the golf courses. They came because they were drawn here by capitalism, the need to be cheaper.
We’ve reached a point where there are only 13 or so car firms left in the entire world. Nissan is part of Renault. Lamborghinis are Audis. Jags are Indian and a Lotus is a Proton. The competition is savage. Failure is not an option. One bad car can upset the apple cart. Everyone knows this.
So how come the Audi A4 allroad has slipped though the net?
Audi has been offering a high-riding A6 for many years and it is popular with people who have double-barrelled surnames to match their double-barrelled Purdeys. I can see why. It’s as well made as a normal A6 and as luxurious, but you can raise it up on its air springs to reach your shooting peg and cross that tricky little ford at Fuddlecombe End.
Think of it as a Range Rover for people who really don’t want a Range Rover.
I was expecting more of the same from the A4. Yes, it sits on springs made from steel rather than air, so the ride height cannot be adjusted. But that’s okay, really, and in any case, it’s got lots of plastic padding on the underside and around the wheelarches to protect the paintwork if things get tricky.
There is nothing agricultural about the interior, though. It’s all standard Audi and bombproof and there’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with the performance either. The car I drove had a 3-litre turbodiesel engine that could get it from rest to 62mph in 6.4sec. That’s properly fast for any car, leave alone one on stilts.
But the A4 allroad does have a couple of problems. First, it doesn’t ride well. I recently tried the excellent Skoda Octavia Scout, which also has a raised ride height, and that was smoother and better than its low-riding cousin.
To make matters worse, the steering is diabolical. It feels digital rather than analogue or, to put it another way, sticky. Like the steering column is shaped like a 50p piece.
It was so bad I lent the car to a fellow motoring hack so that he could have a go, and he confirmed it was dreadful. As he left, I noticed a Biro had burst in his back pocket, leaving an inky stain all over the light grey Valcona leather — a £1,605 option. There are other options too, none of which you’d expect on a car that costs, as standard, a biggish £34,565. I mean, £540 for pearl paint and £735 for electric seats. Do me a favour.
If you have your heart set on a four wheel-drive Audi and you can’t run to a Q7 or an A6 allroad, do not be tempted by the A4. The small Q5 is much better. But better still is the Skoda Scout. It’s hard to think of a single thing the Audi can do that the Scout cannot. And don’t worry about the Skoda badge, because this is a capitalistic world and Skoda belongs to Volkswagen these days. Just like Audi.
Clarkson's verdict
Not as good as a Skoda
Audi A4 allroad 3.0 TDI quattro
Engine 2967cc
Power 237bhp @ 4000rpm
Torque 369 lb ft @ 1500rpm
Transmission7-speed S tronic auto
Fuel/CO2 39.8mpg / 189g/km
Acceleration 0-62 mph: 6.4sec
Top Speed 148mph
Price £34,565
Road tax band J (£215 a year)
Source: Jeremy Clarkson Audi A4 allroad 3.0 TDI quattro review | Driving - Times Online
Audi A4 allroad 3.0 TDI quattro
Jeremy Clarkson
As we now know, there are one or two flaws in the concept of global capitalism. For example, if you have a suit and a side parting, you can use money that doesn’t exist to create money that does, in your own bank account. And you can keep on doing this until the whole world goes completely bankrupt.
At the other end of the scale there are problems too. For instance, if you are very fat and lazy and you cannot be bothered to get a job, the system will only really care about your plight when you die and you have to be hosed out of your front room because the neighbours are complaining about the smell. “And who’s going to pay for that hosing?” the men with side partings will say.
Still, I believe that the upsides for those of us who are not very lazy but do not have side partings far outweigh the downsides. Let me give you an example. It is now almost impossible to buy a washing machine that is anything less than brilliant.
Or a burger. Because McDonald’s and Burger King offer tasty snacks in every town in the world, anyone selling inferior burgers made from stale bread and dead horses will go out of business extremely quickly. So, even at three in the morning, on the outskirts of Leicester or Wakefield, you know for sure that the meal you’ve just bought will be delicious and nutritious.
Of course, small retailers whine and complain when Tesco moves into the area because Tesco will nick all their business. Yes, it will, if what you are selling is expensive and rubbish.
That’s the core of capitalism. “Better” will always win the day. And it doesn’t matter what form “better” takes. Better can mean cheaper, more convenient, nicer, prettier, more tasty, more healthy. In some way, you have to be better than the other guy, or your kids will soon be presented with a bill for hosing you out of your sitting room.
Because the bosses of the giant corporations know this, they strive constantly to make what they sell better, and that’s brilliant for you and me. It’s why we don’t get punctures any more — because the tyre makers are constantly striving to be the best. It’s why your car never overheats any more — because the people who make radiator hoses are no longer stuck in the Seventies, believing they have a God-given right to keep on making radiator hoses, irrespective of how quickly they dissolve.
When was the last time you had a faulty cigarette? When was the last time your plane crashed? When did you last take a strawberry back to the supermarket because it was all covered in slime? It’s not governments or best-before dates or health and safety that is doing this; it’s capitalism.
And nowhere is the improvement seen more vividly than in the world of motoring.
In the olden days, car makers thought local, and that was a disaster. They really did think at British Leyland that the sun was still shining brightly on the empire and that people in Britain would always buy Rovers and Austins because they were British. We saw the same thing going on in Italy with Fiat. So what if the workforce had left its sandwiches in one of the doors and wired up the horn to the starter motor by mistake? The customer would be back. And the government would hand over a fat cheque if he wasn’t. But then capitalism went global and, all of a sudden, Terry and June could buy a car from Japan that didn’t explode every time there was a “y” in the day. So they did.
Then it got better. BMW worked out that if it made the X5 in America, the car could be sold more cheaply. Volkswagen thought the same about Mexico, and as Britain slithered further into the mire, we started to benefit from this as well. Toyota, Honda and Nissan didn’t come here because their executives liked our weather or the golf courses. They came because they were drawn here by capitalism, the need to be cheaper.
We’ve reached a point where there are only 13 or so car firms left in the entire world. Nissan is part of Renault. Lamborghinis are Audis. Jags are Indian and a Lotus is a Proton. The competition is savage. Failure is not an option. One bad car can upset the apple cart. Everyone knows this.
So how come the Audi A4 allroad has slipped though the net?
Audi has been offering a high-riding A6 for many years and it is popular with people who have double-barrelled surnames to match their double-barrelled Purdeys. I can see why. It’s as well made as a normal A6 and as luxurious, but you can raise it up on its air springs to reach your shooting peg and cross that tricky little ford at Fuddlecombe End.
Think of it as a Range Rover for people who really don’t want a Range Rover.
I was expecting more of the same from the A4. Yes, it sits on springs made from steel rather than air, so the ride height cannot be adjusted. But that’s okay, really, and in any case, it’s got lots of plastic padding on the underside and around the wheelarches to protect the paintwork if things get tricky.
There is nothing agricultural about the interior, though. It’s all standard Audi and bombproof and there’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with the performance either. The car I drove had a 3-litre turbodiesel engine that could get it from rest to 62mph in 6.4sec. That’s properly fast for any car, leave alone one on stilts.
But the A4 allroad does have a couple of problems. First, it doesn’t ride well. I recently tried the excellent Skoda Octavia Scout, which also has a raised ride height, and that was smoother and better than its low-riding cousin.
To make matters worse, the steering is diabolical. It feels digital rather than analogue or, to put it another way, sticky. Like the steering column is shaped like a 50p piece.
It was so bad I lent the car to a fellow motoring hack so that he could have a go, and he confirmed it was dreadful. As he left, I noticed a Biro had burst in his back pocket, leaving an inky stain all over the light grey Valcona leather — a £1,605 option. There are other options too, none of which you’d expect on a car that costs, as standard, a biggish £34,565. I mean, £540 for pearl paint and £735 for electric seats. Do me a favour.
If you have your heart set on a four wheel-drive Audi and you can’t run to a Q7 or an A6 allroad, do not be tempted by the A4. The small Q5 is much better. But better still is the Skoda Scout. It’s hard to think of a single thing the Audi can do that the Scout cannot. And don’t worry about the Skoda badge, because this is a capitalistic world and Skoda belongs to Volkswagen these days. Just like Audi.
Clarkson's verdict
Not as good as a Skoda
Audi A4 allroad 3.0 TDI quattro
Engine 2967cc
Power 237bhp @ 4000rpm
Torque 369 lb ft @ 1500rpm
Transmission7-speed S tronic auto
Fuel/CO2 39.8mpg / 189g/km
Acceleration 0-62 mph: 6.4sec
Top Speed 148mph
Price £34,565
Road tax band J (£215 a year)
Source: Jeremy Clarkson Audi A4 allroad 3.0 TDI quattro review | Driving - Times Online
