It wasn't long ago that the word 'diesel' sent a shiver of contempt through the bones of any civilised motorist, conjuring up images of rattling tractors and smoking lorries. But today, the likes of BMW, Alfa Romeo and Audi all produce sporty diesels which manage to combine grown-up common sense (the fuel gives better consumption, it's environmentally cleaner and the engines go on for ever) with adolescent performance.
Some brands, however, held out against diesel as long as possible. One of these was Saab. The independent company - founded in Sweden in 1937 as Svenska Aeroplan Aktiebolaget (Swedish Aircraft Company) - clung to its four-star roots until it was bought by General Motors, which set about bringing the Scandinavians into line.
This gave Saab's die-hard fans palpitations (whisper it, but the 9-3 now shares much of its innards with Vauxhall's Vectra). However, the black-rimmed and white-shirted brigade needn't have worried. The Saab is still as distinct and impressive as it ever was, and its latest, tax-efficient 1.9 TiD 150bhp - which replaces the original 2.2 TiD - delivers a ride as smooth and relaxing as anything you'd receive in a Swedish massage parlour.
Britain's love affair with Saab started in 1960; since then, all things Swedish - from Abba and meatballs to flat-pack bookcases (though we're still struggling with the herrings) - have become the backbone of every self-respecting Hoxtonite. And Saab has been there to cash in as the ultimate statement of understated style. This year Saab sold more cars in the UK than in any other country, including Sweden. It's a trend set to continue, with dealers now taking orders for the 9-3 SportWagon and with Saab's fastest-ever road-going engine on its way - the all-new 250bhp 2.8 litre V6 Turbo.
Saabs are different from the lines of homogeneous fleet cars that clog our transport arteries. Step into one and you'll spend five minutes looking for the ignition (it nestles between the front seats). It's also not a key - more a hi-tech stump. In theory, this is great, but my cunning eight-year-old was able to slide his arm forward from the back and turn the engine off when I wasn't looking. Saab clearly enjoys playing hide and seek - the wing-mirror control is discreetly placed on the upward slant of the window post, while the handbrake is an invisible curve of plastic in the central console - when disengaged it folds flat. By the time you've adjusted your mirrors, found the key and discovered the handbrake you'll probably have a parking ticket.
Despite being under 20 grand (it comes in at £18,995), the Saab packs a premium punch. The memory-assisted seats are without doubt the most comfortable I've sat in this year. The instruments are well-signposted, knobs are rubbery, switches are finger-light, and the indicator has the resonant tick of a grandfather clock in a Strindberg drama. Best of all, though, is the cup-holder which pirouettes like Jane Torvill. As they say in design circles, it's the details that count.
