What Could Possibly Go Wrong...

It’s hardly British but learn to haggle ^{Mitsubishi Outlander 2.2 DI-D GX4, 7 seats}

Alarming news from among the potted plants at your local plate-glass car dealership. It seems that six out of ten people who buy a new set of wheels these days don’t bother to haggle over the price.

I should explain that I’m one of them. Mostly, if I’m honest, it’s because I have to pay the full sticker price or the Daily Mail will run a story saying that I’m on the take and cannot be trusted. But you do not have the Mail breathing down your neck every time you eat food or go to the lavatory, and so you really should try to beat down the man with the cheap suit and the boy-band hair.

If you pay cash, even a Ferrari salesman will give you free door mats. Whereas with something like Citroën, he’ll probably give you a 100 per cent discount, £1,000 cashback, 0 per cent finance for 300 years and an evening with his girlfriend and one of her better-looking friends.

I realize, of course, that you are not an Egyptian market trader and that you find haggling completely revolting. You don’t try for a discount when you are buying a stamp or a box of cornflakes, so why would you try for one when you are buying a car? It would be ghastly. If you are English, you would rather vomit on a salesman than negotiate with him face to face over money. But come on. The whole process of buying a car is so unpleasant, a bit of toing and froing over price is nothing.

You’ve already dealt with the balloons. This is just one example of what the car dealer thinks of you. He reckons that you are so moronic that if he hangs a few colourful balloons outside his showroom, you will think there is some kind of ‘do’ on, so you’ll be unable to drive by.

Then there’s the decor. A car showroom, even the fancy ones on Park Lane in London, has all the visual appeal of a railway station’s lavatories. You want to get out as soon as possible. But you can’t because the man with boy-band hair is on his way over with the handshake of a dead haddock and a silly earring. And he’s got lots of impertinent questions about where you live and what you do and your credit rating. As a general rule, it should also be noted he knows less about the cars he’s selling than you do about the moons of Jupiter.

Then there’s the worst bit. When he grabs a form and steps outside to tell you what the car you wish to part exchange is worth. In short, it’s worth about an eighth of what you thought. This is because the man from Take That has found a scratch, and it’s grey and grey’s not very popular at the moment. Except for the fact that 75 per cent of all cars sold in Britain are one shade of grey or another.

Then, of course, it’s time to sit down and choose some options for the car you’re buying. And this is a terrifying place to be because when you are spending £25,000 on the car, £200 sounds like nothing. So yes, you decide you’ll spend £200 on a DVD player and another £200 on metallic paint and another £200 on a sunroof, and pretty soon you notice Jason Orange has grown a third leg. By the time you’ve finished, the money you’re spending would be enough to clear up a medium-sized oil spill.

All of this, however, assumes you’ve been able to choose what sort of car you’d like to buy in the first place. Obviously, some people are swayed by balloons, or dealers would stop using them as a marketing tool. And many simply buy an updated version of what they have now. But some people insist on buying the car that best suits their needs. This is like being thrown, naked, into an acacia tree. You’re going to end up thrashing around for a while. And then you are going to become dead.

Let’s say, for instance, that you have a family. Many people do. So you’d think it might be a good idea to buy something practical. Obviously, you cannot have a Citroën Picasso or a Renault Scénic because nothing says you’ve given up on life quite so succinctly as a mini MPV.

Then you decide that the mini MPV would be all right if it had some Tonka toy styling, a raised ride height and perhaps four-wheel drive. Four-wheel drive implies that you go hunting for bears at the weekend, and besides, it will be useful should the snow come back.

So, you want lots of space, four-wheel drive and chunky styling. That’s narrowed your choice down to pretty well every single car maker in the world. And to make matters even more complicated, many of the cars that appear to be different… aren’t. Take the Citroën Cross-Dresser, for example, or the Peugeot 4007. Underneath, they are Mitsubishi Outlanders. They’re even built by Mitsubishi. So which do you pick?

Well, if you are suffering from rabies, forget the French offerings and go for the recently updated Japanese original. There are many symptoms of this debilitating ailment – agony and frothing at the mouth are two – but so is an extreme thirst. And on this front the Outlander scores well because it comes, in the front alone, with no fewer than five cupholders.

What’s more, in the back, there’s seating for five on two rows of seats. Though a word of warning here. Anyone volunteering to sit in the boot should remove their head and legs first.

Mitsubishi says there’s another reason for picking its offering. In the blurb, it claims the Outlander has a distinctive ‘jet fighter’ grille. Well, I’ve studied the front end for quite some time, and I don’t think this is quite correct, mainly because jet fighters don’t have grilles.

Perhaps the best reason for choosing the Itchy Pussy is because, unlike the rivals from Peugeot and Citroën, its 2.2-litre diesel engine comes with variable valve technology. That means fewer emissions, better power and more miles to the gallon. Absolutely, but it also means a very narrow power band and the consequent need to change gear every one and a half seconds. There’s even a light on the dash instructing you to shift up, constantly.

Other problems? Well, it’s boring to look at, boring to sit in and extremely boring to drive. It feels like the suspension and steering are made from cardboard. Apart from a few joke cars from the former Soviet Union, I cannot think of any other car that feels quite so inert.

Of course, if you are not an enthusiastic driver, this will not matter. You will be far more interested in the promise of great reliability, a genuinely good satellite navigation system and all those cupholders, in case you are bitten by a French dog.

But really, are you better off with this, or the Peugeot, or the Citroën, or the Land Rover Freelander, or the Nissan Kumquat or Honda CR-V, or a Ford or a Jeep or a Volkswagen? The answer, with cars of this type, is very simple. Since they are all largely the same, simply telephone the dealers, ask for their best price and buy whichever is the cheapest.

If you end up with the Outlander, it’s not the end of the world. But don’t expect the earth to move, either.