Here's a new people carrier from Peugeot that goes against the grain by looking like a lot of old ones. Recently, Peugeot's chief French rivals Renault have been turning out cars so angular and unworldly that they appear to have a future in mind as limbs on the International Space Station. Even the Renault Espace, the original, four-square people carrier or community centre on wheels, looks, in its latest incarnation, like a ghetto-blaster that's been involved in a bad rear-end shunt with an egg-whisk.
In the circumstances, one would not have been surprised if Peugeot had felt under pressure to get radical itself, tear up the drawings of the old and extremely straightforward 806 and produce something with the outline of a pile of crockery. That they haven't is testament to an admirable firmness of purpose. Or possibly cowardice.
Either way, the new 807 is thunderingly unfussy in appearance, quite blank-faced and dutiful - and welcome enough for that. Peugeot claims the car looks "feline", but surely the only way you could get a cat to look like this would be by squashing it into a loaf tin. Better, perhaps, to stress the 807's practicality and the unusual quantities within of light and air.
The big new development, and the car's major showpiece, is the remote-control sliding rear doors. One press of the "plipper" and the handles separate as the rear doors pop out and ease smoothly backwards, accompanied by a rather nice, soft warning chime. Fans of the concealed entrance to the Batcave will probably never tire of this device for as long as the electronics hold out. And children quite like it, too.
Indeed, children can't get enough of it. Deprive of them of all access to the plipper and they will simply revert to the illuminated, lift-style call button on the inside pillar and set the doors wagging with that. I undertook no journey in the 807 at the conclusion of which accompanying children didn't find reasons to open and close the doors at least four times each. New 807 owners may do well to factor this into their journey times.
Cautious parents could question the wisdom of placing small children in proximity to large, self-closing panels of metal. But Peugeot is ahead of you in your concern, and has installed an anti-pinch device. Sensing the presence in its path of your child's fingers, ear, ankle or whatever, the door stops in its tracks and backs off. Or that's the idea. Should consumer confidence in this mechanism be seen to waiver, perhaps Peugeot could persuade John Selwyn Gummer to stage another version of his stunt with the hamburger, and this time hold his daughter's head in the passage of the closing door. It only, after all, takes one person to demonstrate their conviction and the rest of us will follow. Meanwhile, I can merely report that I tested the door with a stick and that it seemed to work on that occasion.
The 807's other bright claim is, unglamorously but importantly, an airbag curtain for the third row of seats that no other car offers, presuming you are happy to take your chances back there. And that's it for innovations, though the car rises to meet levels of provision for family motoring that would have seemed absurd 20 years ago, when a four-seater car could be expanded into a seven-seater simply by the use of people's laps.
I lost count of drinks-holders and cubby-holes. And this is a car with no fewer than three sunroofs. Set them all to tilt and the 807 performs a fair impression of the Sydney Opera House. The handbrake has been shifted over to the driver's right and the gearstick is bedded in the dashboard, leaving a broad gap between the front seats that would be very handy for anyone planning to offer an at-seat trolley service of drinks and light refreshments.
The seats fold and unclip in sensible, unpuzzling ways, so you can hump them in and out without having to be a DIY expert nimble enough to put your foot behind your head. Remove the centre row and there's enough room inside for pole-dancing - though be aware that the pole is not available as an optional extra.
It drives like a bus with, if anything, a slightly larger turning circle, and the gearshift is so floppy that it all but collapses the distinction between being in gear and being in neutral. The 2.2-litre engine is quiet and unstartling, with just the hint, under acceleration, of a resigned sigh.
But then you don't buy a people carrier in the hope of hearing the engine sing as you take the racing line at corners. You buy one to fill it with children and bikes - and because its front seats swivel to face the back for a sociable dining experience during a stopover or, while in motion, for an impressive "Look, kids - no hands!" trick. See their little faces light up.
So, ding ding. And mind the doors.
