text_Georgia Lewis illustration_Jamiesneddon.co.uk

Jaguar XF

I’ve been handed the keys to a car of epic proportions; a proper four-door saloon. The Jaguar XF screams affluence, oozes manliness, and, for the next couple of hours, will incongruously accommodate a small, pasty female driver in a scruffy black t-shirt.

Once inside, I catch a whiff of cream leather and lower myself into a driver seat so squishily comfortable it emits a heartening ‘puffftt’ sound as I sit down. Instead of a boring old gear stick, there’s a shiny dial that wouldn’t be out of place on the set of Star Trek. And when I turn the engine on, panels on the silver dashboard rise open to reveal the air-con vents, which come in handy on scorching July days in Dubai.

Like a glistening shark, the Jaguar XF cuts a fine swathe through traffic and leaves trifling little cars in its dust. It loves nothing more than to overtake the feeble opposition, with its 4.2 litre V8 engine racing through 0-100kph in a piffling 6.5 seconds. But with a bonnet this big, parking isn’t so easy. Thankfully, sensors set off an ear-piercing beep when you’re getting too close to a lesser vehicle, so I was unlikely to damage the silvery paint job.

Other road-users looked on suspiciously while I dialled changes of gear in the plush cockpit. I received narrow-eyed looks from women sitting high in Porsche Cayennes and Range Rovers at traffic lights. Even as I returned the vehicle, a man approached me with a hopeful request for money so he could get his own car fixed. I apologised and explained that although I’d just parked a car worth US$80,000, my entire outfit came to only 25 bucks. Georgia Lewis is a motoring writer for The National.