Price £26,199
MPG 36.2mph
Top speed 112mph
“In wun hoondred yards, gerrof on the fookin’ left!” When it comes to the voice on my satnav, I’ve always been a fan of Birmingham’s most famous son, Ozzy Osbourne. I did take instruction from Sean Connery for a few years – “Follow thissshh road for shix milesshh!” – but found myself spending too much time imitating him, to the frustration of my passengers. Next, I think I might go for Julian Clary, or maybe Kim Cattrall. Or Mr T. Or Morgan Freeman… Yes, Morgan!
The giving (and taking) of directions (in cars, and elsewhere) is an area fraught with difficulty. A simple “I said left!” can trigger a full domestic meltdown. A few weeks ago, for instance, my wife was driving and I told her to leave the roundabout at 2 o’clock. After a pause of total incomprehension, she said: “And what time is it now?”
I suspect the true reason those old road atlases that live on our backseats are always so ripped and torn is that clueless map readers have had to use them as shields against drivers enraged by poor navigational prompts. The likes of TomTom and Garmin should be given a medal by Relate for services towards ending road rows between couples.
Which brings me to the satnav voice in this Mitsubishi Shogun – it’s the squeakiest, ugliest, most grating voice I’ve ever heard. It’s so irritating you’d rather be lost than listen to her listless drawl. It’s a missed chance to imbue the 4x4 with an appropriately deep and gravelly persona.
The Shogun is one of the big boys of the road. It’s a tough, no-nonsense, authentic SUV. It may not be pretty but it certainly gets the job done. It’s been with us since 1982 and was one of the first large 4x4s to couple on-road pampering with off-road performance.
This is now the fourth generation of the enduring SUV and thanks to advances in technology it is stronger, quieter, safer and smarter than before. Yet somehow a part of it still seems to be stuck back in the 1980s. Clamber in and the sheer scale of it hails from another time. The massive doors slam shut like trapdoors and the side-hinged tailgate almost needs two hands to haul it open.
Despite its terrifying presence, the Shogun is a friendly Gruffalo of a vehicle. It’s easy to drive and boasts a quick-thinking automatic which emulates your own driving style (that may not be a good thing). Power steering can be done with a fingertip it’s so light, while the hydro-boost braking system is mercifully efficient. In theory, parking should be impossible, but thanks to a raft of reversing sensors, cameras and an amazingly tight turning circle you’ll marvel at the spaces you squeeze into.
The 1980s vibe isn’t helped by the hopeless driver interface. Buttons are tiny, the display is an unreadable dot-matrix, and the controls are fiddly and don’t seem to do what you ask. Just like they were 30 years ago. But these are trifling concerns when you give in to the Shogun’s considerable charms. It’s genuinely loved by its owners: 70% of sales are repeat purchases.
The Shogun is a dyed-in-the-wool, no-holds-barred workhorse built for those who actually need to load, lug and pull heavy objects. It’s made to slither, climb, wade, plough and clamber over the toughest terrains. It feels unstoppable. The drivetrain, four-wheel independent suspension and traction-control systems mean it could keep going long after your courage has failed you.
The 3.2-litre four-cylinder diesel has been revised and primped. It’s still a chugger on the open road but it will pull a trailer though a bog with relish. And you can now switch from two- to four-wheel-drive to coax a few more miles from your tank.
It’s all great stuff, except for that voice: Arnie Schwarzenegger would have been perfect.
Email Martin at martin.love@observer.co.uk or follow him on Twitter @MartinLove166
