Mike Rutherford's column

I’ve driven my fair share of Rolls-Royces and Bentleys. And I’ve put my own money into high-end luxury cars, including an almost regal Mercedes S-Class which somehow used to glide itself, rather than allow me to drive it, down the street. But last week, I did the best part of a thousand miles in one of the most comfortable cars I’ve ever piloted.

And that’s saying something, considering that the vehicle in question is built by a comparatively unglamorous manufacturer. Citroen is the unlikely company, its new C5 the model that’s guilty of being as comfy as a Roller…for a fraction (£16k and up) of the price. You must understand that comfort is not the same as refinement, prestige, kudos, cachet and all those other qualities the C5 is partially or totally bereft of.

However, when you’ve got to drive through the night, through the rain and through the pain from south to north England and back again, you could do worse than have a C5 beneath you. Especially when you kill all but the essential lights and dials in its overly complicated instrument panels `while at the same time setting the electronic back massage device to hit exactly the right spot – the one my chiropractor can never find – for hour after mile-eating, spine soothing hour.

But even the right car can have the wrong engine and, sadly, that’s what was in my C5 test model. The 2.7 HDi officially does around 33mpg in everyday conditions whereas the 1.6 HDi, with the same good looks will, comparing like with like, return 50mpg. Both have 16 gallon tanks that cost more than £90 to fill. But the difference is that the 2.7 will cover just over 500 miles on a tankful while the 1.6 will do nearer 800. Go for neither, though.

The mid-priced C.5 2.0 HDi is your best bet and, officially, is good for 47mpg. That equates to a respectable 750 miles between refuels. Citroen should now split its brand so that bargain models such as the C1,2,3 and 4 sit on one side of its retail outlets, while C5 and C6 grace the other – minus the
Citroen badges. What name should they wear instead? When I discover what’s French for Lexus, I’ll let you know.

By the way, I claim that 16 gallons of derv now cost nearly £100, because the 131.9p litre has arrived and takes fuel to another painful price level. At least one M1 BP (Bloody Profiteering?) garage was responsible for this, the £6 gallon, on 27 May. Well done, BP. You’ve lost a once loyal customer.

Apart from the pleasure of the C5’s seat and the pain of BP’s six quid gallon, though, my trip to the upper half of England reminded me of several irrefutable facts. Road trips to even the most unlikely of places can still be fun if you can afford the fuel. Nottingham (home to Britain’s first Parking Tax) also doubles as Crime Capital UK. Preston has the largest bus garage I’ve ever seen, and mile for mile, Leeds must have more ‘night’ clubs – many open during the day – than anywhere else on earth. My arrival back home in the deep south was marred by a sign outside my nearest Tory council-owned car park claiming that it’s being sold to a housing developer.

Also, my return coincided with the sort of landmark birthday that warrants a good night out. Looking forward to the big, celebratory occasion, Mrs Rutherford said she fancied going “somewhere outrageously expensive”. So I took her to a BP filling station!