The new Peugeot 607 is a big lump of French luxury. Smooth, silent, unnecessarily long and stuffed to the roof with toys, it wants to be up there rubbing suited shoulders with the big boys - the top flight Audis and BMWs. It wants you to love it like a tax perk.
In my favourite publicity photo of the car, the 607 is parked adjacent to an airfield and off in the background, beside a glamorously pointy black helicopter, the driver - in blue shirtsleeves, briefcase to hand - is offering a firm handshake of gratitude to the liveried pilot. That's the kind of person you are if you drive a 607: perpetually out on pricey business, in and out of the heliport, keys to the executive washroom on your fob.
So you leave the pilot and walk crisply towards your mercilessly polished saloon, which has really ugly headlights, but never mind. You thumb the boot-opener on your remote control, at which point it unlocks with a satisfying "punk" and the lid rises silently and ever so slowly into the air. (The general idea of labour-saving technology is to get jobs done faster. But, as everyone knows, the really cool and properly satisfying thing is to see something happen automatically but slowly. This is as true of hidden film-screens, doorways into secret passages and CD-trays as it is of car boots.)
Then you stow your case and close the lid - though it doesn't shut first time, unfortunately, because you have to learn to give it quite a good whack, which is also the case, you've noticed, with the doors when you get out. Memo to self: have a word with Dave in the Fleet Division about this? Anyway, you're inside now, in the leathery splendour of your ergonomically-precise seat. (The car has already remembered and run a check on your favoured settings. It recognised you from your remote control.) And you're ready to begin lightly poaching your executive backside with the under-seat heater.
You've checked the on-board phone for messages and programmed the satellite navigator. Incidentally, if you don't mind seeing films on a five-inch screen, you can avail yourself of the socket in the glove compartment and watch videos or DVDs. How technology creeps on. Only National Express used to offer an on-board movie service.
With the engine whispering under you, there's just time to catch your own eye in the glare-defeating rear-view mirror before signalling. Now you come to mention it, the indicator stalk feels a bit plastic-like and stiff. In fact, don't the instruments in general on this car feel - dare one say it? - a little junior manager?
And finally, you're on the road and it feels good. Not fantastically powerful, like you, but good anyway. As a top-level executive in an enormous car, your need to get things done is almost as pressing as your need to get things done for you. Peugeot understand this. The 607 wants to relieve you of driving's most onerous chores. Switching on the lights, for instance. Headlights come on automatically when the car decides there isn't enough natural light about. The hazard lights will come on automatically when you brake sharply, leaving you free to concentrate on the slightly more urgent matter of doing the braking. (A smart idea, that. There have been a number of occasions I can recall during sudden traffic build-ups on motorways when, fumbling along the dashboard for the hazard button in order to let people behind know that I am slowing down pronto, I have almost forgotten to slow down pronto.)
What's more, the windscreen wipers work automatically, as do the headlamp washers. The air conditioning automatically adjusts itself and so does the volume of the hi-fi, according to the noise of the engine. When you lock the car the wing mirrors automatically fold away. It can probably be set up to go off automatically and shop for a present for your PA.
The car is even keen to take onto its broad and manly shoulders some of the burden of reversing. There's a radar at the back that sounds to let you know when you're risking your paintwork. In a moment of executive fat-headedness, I chose to ignore the radar's judgment during a basic reverse parking manoeuvre. This was not especially clever - though, in fairness to myself, I should point out that the radar had earned some scepticism from me by beeping urgently whenever I reversed off my drive. The slope of the drive, combined with the camber of the road, meant the sensors, which are strung along the bumper, were locking on to the surface of the road and informing me that there was tarmac in the way.
Also, what would Michael Schumacher be likely to trust: potentially fallible technology or his fastidiously disciplined naked eye? During this later parking manoeuvre, which took place on level ground, the radar's beeping rapidly quickened to a continuous tone. I would not like to be forced to review video footage of my complacently smiling expression as, in the midst of this shrilling alarm, I turned to my mildly anxious passenger and said, "Ridiculous device! I've got yards." Emerging from the car, I saw that I had parked with the bumper actually resting on top of the vehicle directly behind. Still, no damage. Well, not to the 607, anyway.
As a top-level executive, you'll want to know about the deal. Unfortunately, the 607 won't be unveiled until the London Motor Show next Monday and the price, Peugeot tells me, remains a secret until then. If it comes in at under £10,000, snap one up, would be my advice. Realistically, though, you're probably going to need at least three times as much as that. Still, who cares as long as the company's paying?
The lowdown
Peugeot 607
Price: To be announced
Top speed: 132mph
Acceleration: 0-62 in 11.5 secs
Consumption: 29.7 mpg (combined)
At the wheel: The new MD
On the hi-fi: Classic FM
En route for: The M1
