Have to admit that I'd never got the Defender thing. Sure they are brilliant workhorses, but I could never understand the cult following.
But having spent the weekend tooling round in a 110 XS, I'm a convert.
It helped that I had lots of smallish journeys to make, clearly, if I'd been doing a couple of hundred motorway miles we wouldn't have parted on such good terms.
It's loud, uncomfortable and the steering lock is frankly ridiculous, but what the Defender has that so many modern cars don't, is character.
From the solid click of the indicator stalk to the meaty mechanical gearchange, and the fact you have to clamber up into the driving seat the whole thing is an event. And sometimes that's what you want from a car.
The slight issue of manoeuvrability aside, the Defender is a doddle in London traffic. Why? Because no-one messes. Not buses, no black cabs and certainly not Porsche Cayennes.
Whether that's because they worried for their paintwork, or because our particular Defender is gunmetal grey and looks like something straight out of Spooks, doesn't matter. It's another reason to enjoy the Defender.
