torque talk
What’s in a name?
by Lee Jones
Feeling somewhat bored and at a loose end this weekend, waiting for paint to dry, (literally, as I’d just painted the front door), I got to thinking how manufacturers select names for their cars. From the exotic Aston Martin Lagonda, to the humble Fiat Panda, they evoke both praise and ridicule.
People that know me well will attest to my love affair with the Rolls-Royce marque, which goes right back to the early 70s. Back then, posters of the Silver Shadow, and later the Silver Spirit, sat proudly on my bedroom wall, surrounded by blu-tack and aspirations. The names sounded so cool back then to my 6, and later, 14 year old brain. While my schoolmates draped posters of Lamborghinis and Ford Capris across their walls, I gravitated toward the silent prestige of the traditional Rolls-Royce. They didn’t name cars with an alpha-numeric code that sounds like an airline seat on EasyJet, they went for something much more stately that conjures up an image more akin to a stealthy spy novel by John le Carré. So as I let my mind wander, so became this article.
Car manufacturers invest billions into the design, manufacture and marketing of their products, and often use a mix of creativity, strategy and cultural context to name their cars. Many brands have a long history in the automotive industry that go back more than 100 years, and so often reuse iconic names from their motoring heritage to evoke a sense of nostalgia, racing pedigree, or prestige.
In Germany, however, it’s all about logic. BMW’s naming system, like 320i or 530d, refers to engine size and model hierarchy. It’s clinical and efficient. Mercedes sticks with the A, B, C, D, E and S-Class, and so on. You know where you stand, but it’s about as evocative as the German highway code.
Audi, too, prefers the digital watch approach – A3, A4, A8. You’re not buying character; you’re buying hierarchy, something to show off your position in the corporate world.
The Italians, meanwhile, go for the opera. Ferrari gives us names like Testarossa, which means ‘red head’, referring to the red-painted cam covers of its 12-cylinder engine. Or the F40, named in celebration of the company’s 40th anniversary. Not sure where they were going with the Dino, maybe Enso was a fan of the Flintstones! Lamborghini famously names its cars after Spanish fighting bulls such as Miura, Countach, Diablo and Aventador. It’s passionate, flamboyant, sometimes ridiculous, but never dull.
Then we have the French. Peugeot and Renault like numbers. The 208, the Clio, the 5. They occasionally get poetic, remember the Citroën DS? The name ‘DS’ sounds like ‘Déesse’ (goddess) in French. But mostly, it’s a catalogue of code.
America does things differently again. Ford’s Mustang conjures up images of freedom and wild horses. The Dodge Challenger sounds like it belongs in a bar brawl. Chevrolet’s Corvette Stingray, meanwhile, feels as American as baseball and the Apollo Space programme, and the all American astronauts that drove them. Their names are bold, brash, and usually tied to a narrative of strength or rebellion, except perhaps the AMC Pacer which sounds like one of those chewy mints you got back in the 70s.
But let’s rewind back to Rolls Royce: specifically the Silver Ghost.
It could have been a boiler
In 1906, when Rolls-Royce introduced the 40/50 HP, marketing and PR were in their infancy – no Instagram, Facebook, and a PR agency back then. The 40/50 sounded like a combi gas boiler, but chassis number 60551 was a bit different from your average motor at the time. Painted silver and finished with silver fit
It could have been a boiler
In 1906, when Rolls-Royce introduced the 40/50 HP, marketing and PR were in their infancy – no Instagram, Facebook, and a PR agency back then. The 40/50 sounded like a combi gas boiler, but chassis number 60551 was a bit different from your average motor at the time. Painted silver and finished with silver fittings, it was dubbed ‘The Silver Ghost’ by Claude Johnson – often called the ‘hyphen’ in Rolls-Royce, such was his influence between Charles Rolls and Henry Royce. Johnson wasn’t just a managing director; he was a marketing mastermind who understood the power of mystique.
He used this single car to promote the reliability and refinement of the new model, embarking on a 15,000-mile reliability trial. The car performed so well and so silently that the motoring press began calling it the Silver Ghost, and Johnson, seeing the appeal, adopted the name. It wasn’t just marketing, it was mythology. From that moment on, names like Ghost and Phantom weren’t just ornamental – they were foundational.
Phantom: the name that wouldn’t die
The first Rolls-Royce Phantom arrived in 1925 as the successor to the Silver Ghost. That name is again attributed to Claude Johnson and his early marketing team, and was, you could argue, a masterstroke of its time. A ‘phantom’ suggests presence without noise, power without aggression. It gave off an ai
Phantom: the name that wouldn’t die
The first Rolls-Royce Phantom arrived in 1925 as the successor to the Silver Ghost. That name is again attributed to Claude Johnson and his early marketing team, and was, you could argue, a masterstroke of its time. A ‘phantom’ suggests presence without noise, power without aggression. It gave off an air of aristocracy with just a whiff of the occult. Very British is that, remember the Hell Fire Club of old, to which our sister club bares its name. Typically associated with Francis Dashwood's Order of the Friars of St Francis of Wycombe, where rumour has it the club served as the meeting place for persons of quality who, shall we say, wished to take part in what were socially perceived as immoral acts, and the members were often involved in politics. Not much changes there then, when it comes to politics.
Over the years, the Phantom has become the cornerstone of the Rolls Royce brand – its flagship. It’s been through eight generations. Kings, dictators, rock stars and reclusive billionaires have all been chauffeured in Phantoms. During WWII, Phantoms were even modified for use by the RAF, and the British Royal Family made regular use of them. The name, like the car, has endured.
Wraith: a spiritual successor
The original Wraith came in 1938. It was a pre-war luxury car that combined elegance with cutting-edge (for the time) technology, such as independent front suspension. ‘Wraith’ means an apparition or ghostly image, perhaps darker than ‘Ghost’ and more mysterious than ‘Phantom’. Field Marshal Montgomery’s sta
Wraith: a spiritual successor
The original Wraith came in 1938. It was a pre-war luxury car that combined elegance with cutting-edge (for the time) technology, such as independent front suspension. ‘Wraith’ means an apparition or ghostly image, perhaps darker than ‘Ghost’ and more mysterious than ‘Phantom’. Field Marshal Montgomery’s staff car was a Wraith and was famously the first civilian vehicle to disembark in Normandy after D-Day, landing on Juno Beach. The Wraith name was used again in 2013 for a striking fastback coupé, designed to attract younger buyers. With a 624 bhp V12, it was the most powerful Rolls-Royce ever made. A Wraith with 624 horses may not nay loudly, but it sure does murmur with menace.
Who named it this time? By then, BMW had taken over Rolls-Royce, but the 21st century Goodwood-based design and branding team, led by Giles Taylor, (then director of design) and Torsten Müller-Ötvös (CEO), ensured the naming heritage remained steeped in British grandeur. They didn’t just resurrect an old name – they reimagined it for the modern era.
Shadows and spirits: the silent elegance of the mid-century box
When the Silver Shadow launched in 1965, it represented a seismic shift. Gone was the traditional body-on-frame construction. In came miniskirts, monocoque chassis, disc brakes, and advanced hydraulic self-levelling suspension from none other than a French Citroen. The name suited it perfectly. The Silver Shadow moved with such grace and silence, it didn’t as much as drive, it wafted.
Again, marketing came from within the Rolls-Royce PR and branding machine in Crewe, and names were chosen not by committee, but by those who understood the quiet authority of knowledge. Originally intended to be called Rolls-Royce Silver Mist, it was replaced with Silver Shadow at the last minute, due to mist meaning ‘manure’ in German.
The Silver Spirit followed in 1980, with a notably less spooky-sounding name than its predecessors, it reflected the more modern, globalised aspirations of Rolls-Royce in Thatcher’s yuppie era. It was still regal, in your face square like the shoulder pads of the day, with all the aerodynamics of a small 3 bedroom detached house. ‘Spirit’ has obvious links to ‘Spirit of Ecstasy’, the iconic radiator ornament sculpted by Charles Sykes in 1911. The word evokes motion, elegance and determination, perfect then for a car that was meant to glide, not gallop.
Camargue: straying from the formula
The Camargue then was something of an anomaly. Launched in 1975, it was the first post-war Rolls-Royce not named after something spectral. Designed by Paolo Martin at Pininfarina, it was a bold attempt to embrace continental style. The name comes from a wild region in southern France, famous for its unta
Camargue: straying from the formula
The Camargue then was something of an anomaly. Launched in 1975, it was the first post-war Rolls-Royce not named after something spectral. Designed by Paolo Martin at Pininfarina, it was a bold attempt to embrace continental style. The name comes from a wild region in southern France, famous for its untamed horses and flamingos. The intention was clear – luxury, freedom, European sophistication.
The result was rather mixed. While it carried the engineering pedigree of Crewe, its styling divided opinion. The name didn’t help either. It lacked the traditional otherworldly reverence of Ghost or Phantom. Camargue sounded like a Mediterranean cocktail rather than an aristocratic statement. But perhaps that was the point. Rolls-Royce was experimenting, seeing if its customers could be seduced by something slightly less, er British.
Silver Seraph: the celestial interlude
The Silver Seraph arrived in 1998 and was the first Rolls-Royce to use a BMW-sourced engine – a 5.4-litre V12 no less. The name ‘Seraph’ refers to the highest order of angels. It was elegant, rarefied, and appropriately divine. The model only lasted until 2002, as the BMW takeover led to a complete
Silver Seraph: the celestial interlude
The Silver Seraph arrived in 1998 and was the first Rolls-Royce to use a BMW-sourced engine – a 5.4-litre V12 no less. The name ‘Seraph’ refers to the highest order of angels. It was elegant, rarefied, and appropriately divine. The model only lasted until 2002, as the BMW takeover led to a complete overhaul of the brand and factory.
The Seraph was a beautiful car, understated, dignified, but it perhaps suffered from being caught between eras. Though still Crewe-built, but with German blood flowing through its veins, some say the Seraph was perhaps the last of the true Rolls-Royces, but I am not so sure with that BMW engine.
The modern era: Ghost, Dawn, Spectre
When BMW officially relaunched the brand in 2003, they knew names mattered. The Phantom VII was the first all-new Rolls-Royce under BMW ownership, and wisely they retained the naming lineage. In 2009, they resurrected the Ghost name, again, a nod to the 1906 legend. But this time it wasn’t just homage;
The modern era: Ghost, Dawn, Spectre
When BMW officially relaunched the brand in 2003, they knew names mattered. The Phantom VII was the first all-new Rolls-Royce under BMW ownership, and wisely they retained the naming lineage. In 2009, they resurrected the Ghost name, again, a nod to the 1906 legend. But this time it wasn’t just homage; it was a clear statement – Rolls-Royce could evolve without losing its soul.
In 2015 came the Dawn, the convertible sibling to the Wraith. The name, while less spooky, evoked new beginnings and unparalleled luxury. It was then an open-top Rolls-Royce for the great and the good – elegant, photogenic, a statement.
Then came Spectre.
Not 007’s arch adversary, but a leap into the Green camp. The Spectre marks a turning point. Unveiled in 2023, it’s Rolls-Royce’s first fully electric vehicle. With a range of over 300 miles and instant torque, it represents the future of truly silent, effortless driving. Maybe now you really can hear the ticking of th
Then came Spectre.
Not 007’s arch adversary, but a leap into the Green camp. The Spectre marks a turning point. Unveiled in 2023, it’s Rolls-Royce’s first fully electric vehicle. With a range of over 300 miles and instant torque, it represents the future of truly silent, effortless driving. Maybe now you really can hear the ticking of the clock over the road noise!
Why ‘Spectre’? Spectres are ethereal, powerful, and untraceable, just like the 007 baddy and so to this electric beast that moves without a murmur. CEO Torsten Müller-Ötvös personally endorsed the name, stating, “it needed to feel modern and ancient, forward-looking and timeless”.
They could have called it the EV1. But maybe that would’ve been too German.
20/25, 40/50 and the technical era
Before the naming went poetic, Rolls-Royce models were purely practical. The 20/25 (produced between 1929 and 1936) was a follow-up to the 20 HP, and referred to its horsepower ratings – 20 taxable and 25 actual. This was common in the early motor industry where names were more mechanical than magical.
But
20/25, 40/50 and the technical era
Before the naming went poetic, Rolls-Royce models were purely practical. The 20/25 (produced between 1929 and 1936) was a follow-up to the 20 HP, and referred to its horsepower ratings – 20 taxable and 25 actual. This was common in the early motor industry where names were more mechanical than magical.
But even then, Rolls-Royce stood out. Other manufacturers may have slapped on names like ‘Type B’ or ‘Model T’. But when Rolls-Royce decided to name a car the Silver Ghost, it changed everything. The motorcar became a character, not just a machine.
Why Rolls-Royce names still matter
Rolls-Royce names still matter quite simply because they mean something. They tell stories. They have continuity. While the rest of the car world changed their names to fit SEO algorithms, Rolls-Royce stuck to its ghosts and phantoms and it worked propelling Rolls-Royce’s sales figures to the best they’v
Why Rolls-Royce names still matter
Rolls-Royce names still matter quite simply because they mean something. They tell stories. They have continuity. While the rest of the car world changed their names to fit SEO algorithms, Rolls-Royce stuck to its ghosts and phantoms and it worked propelling Rolls-Royce’s sales figures to the best they’ve been since 1978.
Each name is chosen carefully, often debated over months within the walls of Goodwood. The goal? To ensure that the car doesn’t just perform, it resonates with the discerning buyer. The names are about lineage, aura, and an uncanny sense of permanence.
Which is why, all these years later, I still have the Silver Shadow on my wall and the Sliver Spirit on my drive. Not because they were the fastest or the flashiest, but because they bring a sense of order to an ever changing world.
A Visit to the Le Mans Classic Centenary Event
by Alan Parkes
This article is about a once in a lifetime opportunity to go to the Le Mans Classic Centenary Event in 2023. However, it is a recurring event which takes place every two years, the next date being early July 2025.
Once in a lifetime opportunities sometimes start in somewhat unlikely ways, and so it was one morning on a skiing holiday, in a lovely hotel in Ortisei in the Italian Dolomites, that one of our good friends, Rob, came down to breakfast and asked me if I might be interested in being his navigator, for going to the Le Mans Classic. I thought about this for possibly no more than a few milliseconds, and the rest, as the saying goes, is history.
Rob, who is a keen enthusiast for UK and European driving tours, had booked a couple of places on a driving tour to the Le Mans Classic and back with a small family-run company called Fantastic Roads, who specialise in organising road tours, often with a motorsport connection, in various countries in western Europe. Rob’s wife, Mary, very kindly suggested that maybe Rob might want to ask me to go with him to the event, knowing what a big enthusiast I am for classic cars.
Above is a photo of the main entrance gate to the Le Mans circuit, known locally by the way as the ‘Circuit de la Sarthe’.
One of the most memorable moments at this event, for me, was watching the line-up and start of 71 pre-war racing Bentleys, organised by the Benjafields Racing Club. In the photo above, you can see some of the drivers starting to line up in preparation for their sprint across the track for a traditional Le Mans start. Remarkably, the line-up included two of the original racing Bentleys which took part in the inaugural Le Mans 24 hours race, back in 1923. The number 8 car, which can be seen about 5-6 cars along from the right, is one of those inaugural race competition cars.
Our driving route to Le Mans took us far to the west of Paris, and we intentionally avoided the perennial bottle neck around Rouen, where many vehicles struggle to get across the Seine at certain times and also to avoid the city’s ULEZ zone. As we were travelling down to Le Mans in Rob’s fabulous, but somewhat thirsty, 5 litre V8 Jaguar F-Type, we thought it best if we avoided Rouen altogether! We had also been informed about how easy it is to stray into the ULEZ zone without being aware of it. Instead our westerly route took us across the Seine on the truly spectacular Pont du Normandie, which makes the Dartford Crossing bridge look somewhat dated by comparison.
We had set off from Buckinghamshire at about 7.00 am on Thursday 29 June. We took Le Shuttle across the Channel and arrived in Le Mans about 5.30 pm that evening. The journey in total, from Calais to Le Mans, took us about 5.5 hours, with a couple of short stops en route.
Whilst we were travelling, news came in from one of Rob’s car club friends about a couple of guys from a major UK-based Porsche dealership who had been apprehended by the French police, having been clocked doing 265 kph (about 160 mph) on one of the French motorways. They had both been arrested immediately, their Porsche cars impounded, and they would not make it to Le Mans at all that weekend.
So herein lies an important first lesson for anyone wanting to drive across France to get to Le Mans – there is seemingly nothing that the French police like doing more, than catching speeding motorists exceeding the speed limits on their way to Le Mans. Respect the speed limits and the French police and you should be fine.
Arrival at the Le Mans circuit by road is quite straightforward, and there are numerous car parks around the periphery, although car parking is naturally in high demand during major events and can be expensive. There is a metro tram service which runs approximately every 10 minutes from Le Mans city centre and bus services available too.
There is also an aerodrome very close to the northern periphery of the circuit for helicopters and small passenger aircraft, for those who are wealthy enough to want to get there in style!
Click here for a fairly high level map of the circuit with key areas clearly highlighted.
The entire (full length) circuit is comprised partially of both closed public roads and also some dedicated racing sections. The most famous straight on the circuit is the 6km-long Mulsanne Straight, which is normally a public road (the RD 338) when it’s not required for major racing events. The north-west side of the circuit, where the main grandstands are located, is actually on the far left of the map.
With Fantastic Roads, we stayed in a small family-run hotel located on the outskirts of the very picturesque town of La Fleche, approximately 25 km from the main entrance to the Circuit de la Sarthe. Our tour organiser laid on a minibus to take us to the circuit each morning and also to pick us up each evening. However, accommodation in the Le Mans area is in short supply when there is a major event taking place at the racing circuit, and often has to be booked many months or sometimes years in advance. Many visitors decide to use the camping sites, some of which are located at the circuit itself, with others off-site but fairly nearby.
The picture above is a photo looking down over the numerous paddock areas which can be visited with the purchase of the appropriate paddock pass. In the background are the main grandstands which nestle on both sides of the starting/finishing straight.
An expanded map of the north-west corner of the circuit can be found here. This is where the main entrance to the circuit is located and immediately below it on the map, the main grandstands and paddocks are located. There are also numerous shopping stands, car club areas, vehicle display stands, food outlets, and various other interesting attractions including the Porsche Experience Centre, a must visit experience for all Porsche owners/fans.
The 2023 centenary event was held over a four day period, starting with the opening of the course on the afternoon of Thursday 29 June, and finishing with the closure of the course at 5pm on Sunday 2 July. It appears that the 2025 programme will be held broadly over the same timescales. In general, each of the heats and qualifying rounds consisted of a 45 minute race for each of the six time-banded vehicle classes, also referred to as ‘The Grids’.
The Grids
To enable both the cars and drivers to compete in fairly equally matched races, the cars competing at the event are divided into six time-banded categories, which pertain to a particular era, Grid 1: 1923-1939, Grid 2: 1949-1956, Grid 3: 1957-1961, Grid 4: 1962-1965, Grid 5: 1966-1971 and lastly Grid 6: 1972-1981. In order to qualify to compete in the event, each car must meet a key criterion, being that they are a model/type of car which has taken part in the Le Mans 24 Hours some time between 1923 and 1981. Priority for entry is normally given to cars which have actually competed at the Le Mans 24 hour race at some time in the past. For cars in Grids 1-4 a traditional Le Mans start is used. Cars in Grids 5-6 use a flying start, presumably due to safely reasons.
Below are some example photos of cars relevant to each of the time banded Grids. Picture 1 - Grid 1: 1923-1939, Picture 2 - Grid 2 : 1949-1956, Picture 3 - Grid 3: 1957-1961, Picture 4 - Grid 4: 1962-1965, Picture 5 - Grid 5: 1966-1971, Picture 6 - Grid 6: 1972-1981.
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A Gleaming Icon: The 2002 Jaguar XJ8 Polished Aluminium Saloon
A Gleaming Icon: The 2002 Jaguar XJ8 Polished Aluminium Saloon
A Gleaming Icon: The 2002 Jaguar XJ8 Polished Aluminium Saloon
by Lee Jones
During our recent Haddenham Classics trip to the British Motor Museum in Gaydon, I found myself strangely drawn to a car that seemed to defy the very concept of ageing. There it stood, resplendent under the museum lights, its mirror-like finish reflecting not just the room around it, but also the essence of British automotive ingenuity and what might have been. The 2002 XJ8 Polished Aluminium Jag. Not just a car, but a statement, a piece of art even.
But beyond its shimmering surface lies a story that spiked my interest and led to this article. It’s a story of not only innovation and ambition, but of a bold step into the future of automotive design. Let’s take a closer look at this gleaming Jag and explore why it remains such a standout piece in Jaguar’s history.
The shiny car’s debut: a car ahead of its time
Cast your mind back to the early 2000s, a fascinating period for the automotive industry. Manufacturers were grappling with the challenge of blending tradition with modernity, and Jaguar was no exception, often being surpassed by its German and Japanese rivals. Enter then the X350 series, the seventh generation of the now ageing XJ lineage, which debuted in 2002. This then was Jaguar’s answer to a rapidly evolving market, and was a bold one at that.
The X350 series marked a significant departure from its predecessors. This was thanks to its all-aluminium unitary construction bodyshell. Yes, Audi did it first back in 1999 with its polished alloy A8, but let’s not go there. This wasn’t just a minor tweak, it was an ‘up yours’ revolutionary move that redefined what a proper luxury saloon should be. To showcase this innovation, Jaguar created two pre-production models with polished aluminium finishes –
one left-hand drive and one right-hand drive, pictured here.
The polished aluminium XJ8 made its debut at the 2002 Paris Motor Show, where it stole the spotlight. Let’s face it, journalists and enthusiasts alike could not help but be captivated by its mirror-like finish, which highlighted the car’s graceful lines and showcased Jaguar’s engineering prowess. It said, ‘the British have arrived’, and to reserve a seat at the top table.
Engineering excellence: lightweight, luxurious and legendary
The decision by Jaguar’s design team to use an all-aluminium construction wasn’t just about making the car look good (though I think we can all agree it certainly achieved that). It was a strategic move to enhance performance, efficiency and longevity of a now ageing land yacht.
Weight reduction
The use of aluminium made the car significantly lighter and this weight saving translated into tangible benefits. The XJ8’s acceleration was blisteringly quick, its fuel efficiency improved, and its handling was more agile for a barge. It was like swapping a heavy overcoat for a spandex leotard – everything just felt more responsive.
A Gleaming Icon: The 2002 Jaguar XJ8 Polished Aluminium Saloon
A Gleaming Icon: The 2002 Jaguar XJ8 Polished Aluminium Saloon
Handling
The car was lighter and more nimble because of its aluminium body, and that made it a joy to drive on winding roads. Its double-wishbone air suspension system also further enhanced its ride, offering a blend of comfort and control.
Corrosion resistance
Guess what, in the UK it rains, but the Jag’s now aluminium body was resistant to the tin worm that plagued its forbearers, consigning them to the scrapheap. This Jag laughed in the face of rain and salt, ensuring the car’s longevity. But let’s not mention electrolysis!
The X350 also featured a silky smooth six-speed automatic transmission and a taller structure that increased its interior space, but without compromising its elegant proportions. Here was a car then that combined cutting-edge technology with timeless design – a rare feat at that time when it was all aerodynamic jelly moulds.
So what was it like to drive?
Unfortunately, I have no experience of driving one. But my research suggests that driving a 2002 Jaguar XJ8 was an experience that engaged all the senses. Slide into the supple leather seat, grip the leather-trimmed and hand-stitched steering wheel, catch yourself in the rear view and you’d have been immediately struck by the sense of occasion. You had made it big and you were a somebody! The cabin was a sanctuary of British luxury, with its mirror-matched walnut burl wood trim and meticulous attention to detail, this was a gentleman’s club on wheels.
Turn the key, and that 4.2-litre V8 engine woke with a refined growl, simmering down to a purr of contentment. Not aggressive, but rather a confident murmur that hints at the power beneath the bonnet, not unlike my Rolls Royce Silver Spirit 2. Pull away, and the six-speed automatic transmission would shift seamlessly, delivering smooth, effortless progress that a captain of industry deserved.
On the motorway, the XJ8 was a consummate cruiser with the air suspension gliding over imperfections in the road. Yes, roads did not have bomb craters back in those days. The cabin eerily quiet, allowing you to enjoy your premium sound system in peace, cocooned from the other peasants on the road. But it was on winding roads that your XJ8 truly shined. Because of its lightweight aluminium body and well-tuned suspension, this baby was a surprisingly agile car for its size. It would have felt planted and composed, with just enough feedback through the steering wheel before all the modern gizmos were introduced, to keep you engaged.
A Gleaming Icon: The 2002 Jaguar XJ8 Polished Aluminium Saloon
Now if you had a polished aluminium exterior like this one, you’d probably be pulling admiring glances from all, but likely as an industry exec, you’d have gone for a dark colour, to match your debonair image. But it’s the driving experience that would have left the lasting impression as you got to the office. The XJ8 was a car that rewarded its driver with a sense of connection and involvement, something that’s often missing in modern-day luxury saloons.
The polishing process: a labour of love
The mirror-like finish of the XJ8’s polished aluminium exterior is nothing short of breathtaking and no small feat. But that got me to thinking, how do you achieve this level of perfection? The process of polishing aluminium panels is incredibly labour-intensive, and would likely have taken hundreds of hours to complete.
Surface preparation
The aluminium panels would have had to be meticulously cleaned and smoothed to remove any imperfections, scratches, or oxidation. This would have involved a lot of sanding with progressively finer grades of sandpaper, a process that could take dozens of hours alone.
Polishing
Once the surface was as smooth as a baby’s bum, it would be polished using specialised compounds and buffing wheels. A step repeated multiple times to achieve the desired level of reflectivity. Each panel would have had to be treated individually, requiring a steady hand and a craftsman’s eye for detail. And you’d be well peeved if your mate Kev from the factory trimming department came in and lent on the car, while he told you what he did at the weekend.
Finishing touches
After polishing the surface, you’d need to treat it with protective coatings to prevent tarnishing and maintain its shine. This step is crucial, as bare aluminium can quickly lose its lustre if not properly cared for.
The result was a finish that looked like a gangster's ride! Highlighting the car’s graceful lines and showcasing Jaguar’s craftsmanship and at a time when money was tight, this was a testament to the brand’s commitment to excellence and its willingness to go that extra mile.
Pricing: then and now
When the X350 series was launched in April 2003, the XJ8 carried a price tag of approximately £51,500. That was a huge wedge back in the day, but adjusted for inflation, it is equivalent to around £85,000 in today’s money and just enough to pay your annual electric bill, for the EV parked on the drive. To put that into perspective, you could buy a top-of-the-range Jaguar F-PACE today for roughly the same amount.
Back in 2003 though, this pricing positioned the XJ8 competitively within the luxury barge segment. It was a land yacht that offered a blend of performance, luxury, and heritage that was hard to beat. Today, it’s a classic that represents incredible value for money, especially when you consider its unique place in automotive history.
Buying a used XJ8: what to look for
If you’re tempted to own a piece of Jaguar history, here’s my buyers’ guide.
Air suspension issues
Not surprisingly, the XJ8’s air suspension system is a common pain point. Air springs can leak, and the compressor can fail over time. Listen for unusual noises and check whether the car sits level when parked or sinks to its knees when it’s left overnight.
Electrical gremlins
Now I’ve had my fair share of these with my Roller, and Jaguars of this era are no different and known for their complex electrical systems. Issues with the infotainment system, window regulators, and central locking are not uncommon. A thorough inspection by a specialist is highly recommended, unless you want to give up a kidney.
Timing chain tensioners
The 4.2-litre V8 engine is generally robust, but its timing chain tensioners can wear out. Listen for a rattling noise on start up, which could indicate a problem, and then run for the hills!
Rust
While the aluminium body is resistant to rust, the steel sub-frames and suspension components are not. And so if you want to avoid buying a car more akin to a Swiss cheese, check these areas very carefully.
How much to pay
Top-tier, low-mileage, well-maintained examples, with a full service history fetch £15,000–£20,000. Mid-Range, solid cars that may require some minor work fetch £8,000–£12,000. A project car for the brave and budget-conscious would fetch £3,000–£5,000, but expect to pay double that and again, to bring it up to scratch.
Didn’t Audi get there first: the A8 silver car and German rival
While the Jaguar XJ8 was making waves with its polished aluminium finish, Audi had already brought the t-shirt three years earlier, with the Audi A8 ‘Silver Car’ that it unveiled at the 1999 Frankfurt Motor Show. This one-off concept was based on the first-generation A8 (D2) and showcased Audi’s aluminium space frame (ASF) technology. Like the XJ8, the A8 Silver Car featured a polished aluminium exterior, but it approached the concept with a more technical, precision-engineered ethos.
Key differences
Design: The A8’s angular, modern design contrasted with the XJ8’s timeless elegance.
Engineering: Audi’s ASF technology was more radical, using extruded and cast aluminium components for a lightweight, rigid structure.
Driving Dynamics: The A8’s quattro all-wheel-drive system gave it superior traction, while the XJ8 focused on a balanced, engaging ride, the A8 left it for dust.
Both cars were ground-breaking in their own way, but the XJ8’s charm was its character and set it apart as a true British icon.
Conclusion: a shining legacy
So was the 2002 Jaguar XJ8 Polished Aluminium Saloon more than just a car? Was it a symbol of a time when Jaguar dared to dream big? Well yes, it was, they don’t make them like this anymore judging by the new marketing. Here was a car that combined the cutting-edge with timeless design, that offered a driving experience that’s as engaging as it was luxurious.
Whether you’re a seasoned collector or a first-time classic car buyer, the XJ8 is a car that deserves your attention. Just be prepared to spend a shedload of time (and money) keeping it in tip-top condition. After all, as any British car enthusiast will tell you, the joy of ownership often lies in the tinkering.
So, if you’re ever at the British Motor Museum in Gaydon, take a moment to admire this gleaming icon as I did. It’s not just a car – it’s a piece of history, polished to perfection.
Holts Tyreweld review – a classic car enthusiast’s perspective
by Lee Jones
There’s nothing quite as deflating, literally and figuratively, as a slow puncture on a classic motor. And if, like me, you’re running some period tyres on less than perfect alloys, you’ll know the unique frustration of rim leaks. Not quite a puncture, not quite a blowout, just an insidious loss of air that leaves you topping up the pressure more often than you check the oil.
Enter Holts Tyreweld, a temporary tyre repair in a handy can that claims to get you back on the road without faffing about with jacks, wheel braces, or your roadside dignity. But does it actually work? I put it to the test.
What is Holts Tyreweld?
Holts Tyreweld is an aerosol-based emergency tyre sealant designed to reinflate and repair punctures, without requiring tools or tyre removal. Unlike the older-style tyre foams that leave a permanent, rubbery mess inside the tyre, this is a wash-out formula, meaning it doesn’t condemn your expensive rubber to an early grave. Once it’s done its job, the tyre can be properly repaired by a professional if required.
It works by injecting a latex-based sealant and compressed gas into the tyre, filling small punctures and re-seating minor bead leaks. Officially, it’s meant for punctures in the tread area rather than sidewalls or rim leaks, but in the spirit of all good classic car ownership, I decided to ignore the instructions and see what happened.
My experience using Tyreweld
My 1991 Rolls Royce Silver Spirit has tyres as soft and fluffy as a Marks and Spencer Victoria sponge. And as is often the case with ageing alloys, they’ve developed slow leaks around the rims, causing the front tyres to lose pressure over time. I’ve had the tyre boys look at them twice before and £30 later they were still leaking.
Rather than resort to tyre sealant beads or costly alloy refurbishing, I grabbed a of can of Holts Tyreweld (large size, for 16-inch+ wheels) and set to work in the pouring rain as you do. Officially, it’s one can per tyre, but being a bit of a cheapskate, I split a single can between both front tyres.
The result? It actually worked! The slow leaks have stopped, and the tyres have held pressure for weeks. No more morning rituals with the compressor. Impressive.
The catch – how not to wear Tyreweld
However, one minor gripe arose during application: if the tyre isn’t completely flat when you inject the sealant, it has a habit of blowing back down the inflation tube. The result? A fine coating of sticky white gunk all over your hands, shoes, and possibly a silhouette of you on the side of the car parked alongside!
I lost about a quarter of a can to the great tyre god of wastefulness, but even with only three-quarters of a can spread between both front tyres, it still did the job. That says a lot about the product’s effectiveness.
You also need to have a compressor handy in the boot if the tyre is already flat.
Verdict – a classic car toolbox essential?
Holts Tyreweld isn’t a miracle cure, and it won’t fix major punctures caused by potholes (don’t get me started there), sidewall damage, or properly warped rims. But if you’ve got a nagging slow leak and don’t fancy shelling out for a tyre shop visit just yet, it’s absolutely worth having in the boot.
Just make sure the tyre is properly flat before applying it, or wear gloves unless you fancy looking like a Starbucks cappuccino.
To drive or not to drive: The Great British winter classic car conundrum
by Lee Jones
Ah, the British winter. A time of festive cheer, questionable jumpers, and roads that resemble a third-world banana republic. For classic car enthusiasts, this season brings with it a dilemma as old as the Mk1 Ford Escort’s rotten arches: should you brave the salted roads and drive your pride and joy, or tuck it away in the garage (or under a cover) like a hibernating hedgehog? Let’s weigh up the pros and cons of both options, with a healthy dose of British humour and a nod to the practicality of owning a classic from the 1970s to the 1990s.
Let’s face it, your classic isn’t a museum piece (unless it’s a Capri with 12 miles on the clock, in which case, why do you even own it?). Cars from the 70s to the 90s were built to be driven, not to gather dust. Driving your classic through winter keeps the mechanicals happy, the battery charged, and the cobwebs at bay. Plus, there’s something oddly satisfying about cruising past modern cars in a vehicle that actually has character.
Okay, did someone say pass the salt? So salt is great on your chips but not on your classic. But if you’re diligent with your cleaning routine, you can minimise the damage. A thorough rinse underneath after a day splashing through the salty potholes will help keep the rust at bay.
Driving a classic in January is like turning up to a winter country ball in a kilt with nothing underneath – it’s ballsy, flipping cold, but earns you serious respect. Just imagine the look on your neighbour’s face as you fire up your MGB GT on a frosty morning while they’re de-icing their Nissan Juke.
But let’s not sugarcoat it. Even with the best cleaning routine, salt is a sneaky little blighter. It’ll find its way into every nook and cranny, and before you know it, your sills will be full of holes. If your classic is already a bit crusty, winter driving might accelerate its transformation into a pile of iron oxide.
And then there’s the issue of grip. Let’s be honest, finding winter tyres for a Citroen 2CV is like trying to find a sober person at a beer festival. Most classics weren’t designed with modern winter conditions in mind, so grip can be… questionable.
The Great British weather doesn’t help either. Rain, sleet, snow, and the occasional apocalyptic storm means your classic will spend more time looking like a muddy rally car than the gleaming beauty it is. And let’s not forget the joy of defrosting a windscreen at -5 degrees with no heated elements.
On the other hand, by keeping your classic tucked away in a garage or under a cover, you’re shielding it from the salt, grime, and general misery of British winter roads. Your car will emerge in spring with no rust and looking as fresh as Tom Cruise.
No need to worry about icy roads, frozen locks, or the existential dread of finding a pothole deeper than the Grand Canyon. Your classic can enjoy a well-deserved rest, while you sip tea and reminisce about summer drives when it did not require a second mortgage to fill up your car.
Let’s be real, classics from the 70s to the 90s aren’t getting any younger. By keeping yours off the road in winter, you’re preserving it for future generations (or at least until next year’s MOT).
But storing your classic for months on end can lead to neglect. Batteries go flat, tyres develop flat spots, and mice might decide your wiring loom is the perfect place to raise a family.
There’s nothing quite as frustrating as staring longingly at your classic while it sits idle. You’ll find yourself dreaming of the open road, only to remember it’s currently covered in slush and despair.
And if you’re lucky enough to have a garage, it’s probably already full of car parts, tools, and that lawnmower you haven’t used since 2003. Storing your classic inside might require a Tetris-level reorganisation.
So, what’s the answer? Well, it depends on your classic, your tolerance for rust, not to mention your willingness to brave the elements, and oh that line of credit you took out with the Bank of England. If your car is a solid, well-maintained example and you’re committed to regular cleaning, driving it through winter can be a rewarding experience. However, if your classic is prone to rust, it’s probably best to tuck it away until spring.
Ultimately, the decision comes down to this: do you want to be the person who drives their classic year-round, salt be damned, or the one who preserves it like a fine wine, only to be enjoyed on special occasions? Either way, just remember to keep the kettle on standby – you’ll need it after a long day of winter motoring (or garage reorganising).
Happy driving (or storing)!