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This morning, I returned the Ford Mustang Mach-E I’ve been driving all week, dropping it back to a hallowed enclosure (in Brentford, outer London) known and loved by all muttering rotters: the much-loved Ford press garage. I climbed back into my usual Dacia Sandero Stepway and found – whoa! – a £15,000 car that steered and rode better than the £70,000 Ford. 

Don’t get me wrong: this electric ’Stang has many strengths, including size, price, refinement, equipment, performance and boldness of concept. But in the very places Fords usually excel, it’s pretty ordinary. Despite the weight, the ride is pitchy and lumpy, as if the front and rear suspensions come from different cars. 

The steering is curiously weighted and not at all intuitive. Driving along, I imagined myself sitting next to the chief engineer, asking: “Did you really mean it to be like this?”

Ford has many priorities (and is clearly handling them well because the New York share price has lately trebled). But I still don’t reckon this chassis carries forward the proud traditions of Richard Parry-Jones as well as it could. 


Our fascinating story in our latest issue about the late Richard Burns was of special interest to me because I knew the rally champ quite well, interviewed him a few times and liked him a lot. 

One evening, outside a north London pub, he graphically described how it felt to be a penniless but talented wannabe who suddenly signed the big contract and had a million quid dropped in his lap. “First, you buy the helicopter,” he told me, “then the big speedboat moored somewhere nice in the Med.