Still, the familiar blaring to life of its B58 is a heartening novelty, and it probably feels quicker than its quoted acceleration on the move. Like an old G, it favours a ‘very slow in, slightly quicker out’ approach to corners. Any commands of its chassis require the gradual hinting process of a spouse approaching Christmas. Sudden inputs are not something the Grenadier relishes.
“Hustling this car isn’t for the faint of heart,” read the Autocar road test, and I can’t disagree. Its trail-focused steering ensures even modestly arced corners have your arms twirling furiously, a task made all the more befuddling by the two-spoke steering wheel that – at a quick glance – could be facing up or down.
But you’re unlikely to be going anywhere in a hurry, and with more relaxed pace, its straight six burbling away beneath the surface, you can revel in the immature charm of piloting something so ludicrously chunky on a Great British highway.
It’s far from the perfect platform for celebrating this engine, yet it’s a car whose inimitable character still feels galvanised by it. Lock it in manual, leave it in third, and you can achieve a gently satisfying flow on a sweeping A-road. Fuel economy might not lag the diesel by as much as you expect, either.
An owner of a pre-CX Morgan will feel right at home in the Grenadier, making similar allowances (or excuses) for its on-road manners. Modern Morgans, however, are a vast step on – the outgoing Plus Six had ragged edges but offered eloquence and everyday liveability we had not previously seen from an ash-framed car.
