This car got me a parking ticket. I’d taken a neighbour to Stretford Mall in Manchester to do some shopping, and she was impressed with my new wheels. Enid (pictured), who usually suffers my filthy Toyota Yaris with good grace, was keen to know how much the Lexus cost. She’s price-sensitive, is Enid – that’s why we don’t go just to Tesco, but also Iceland, in case the ready meals are a few pence cheaper.
After parking in the disabled bay, I reached into the cavernous back seat to look at the press bumf. “You’ll never guess,” I said. “£40,000!” We were both so flabbergasted at the price tag that we forgot to put her badge on the dashboard, and returned to a £60 fine stuck to the windscreen.
We decided to appeal, with Enid, 84, gamely posing for a picture with her walking stick to use as supporting evidence (we’re still waiting to hear).
But back to the car. I loved driving it, but it baffled me at first. There’s neither ignition nor handbrake, just a power button to press with the foot brake engaged. Once the power is on, the driver’s seat moves forward to whatever position you’ve set it to, reversing again once you’ve parked, so that it’s easier to get out.
Despite its considerable size, the NX would be a good car for creeping up behind an enemy – the hybrid engine (2.5-litre four-cylinder petrol combined with an electric motor and E-CVT automatic transmission) is spookily quiet when gliding at 30mph. There’s a lot of technology inside, not all of it intuitive.
I found the hyper-sensitive touch pad difficult to control, and never figured out how to input a postcode into the satnav, nor how to activate the rain-sensing wipers. I couldn’t get the wireless smartphone charging tray in the armrest to work, either. It’s got a banging surround sound system, though, with between eight and 14 speakers dotted around the car, depending on the model.
Crawling around the perennially busy M60 one morning, I was grateful for the wing-mirror sensors, which lit up any time a vehicle snuck into my blind spot. And the auto-dimming rearview mirror was handy on the Woodhead Pass, when a numpty behind had his headlights on beam.
Thankfully, I never had to put the car’s eight airbags to the test, nor the “pedestrian protection provisions”, which include energy-absorbing material in the front of the bumper. If only it could incorporate a traffic warden-repellent, too.
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