Callum Montgomery

Oh brilliant, another 4.5 stars for a car that costs more than my first flat and still needs a plug. Remember the last five “best in class” EVs? Same glowing reviews, same silence about the charging queues. This one’s different only in that BMW has the decency to let you buy a petrol version, which is more or less an admission nobody’s sure the electric one works for real life.

Four cars, one engine, and the 1,170 kg Morgan still wins. Physics doesn’t care about the badge on the bonnet.

Five grand on the odometer for a 2012 car and it’s still not sold? Either the price is insane or someone’s hiding something under that paint.

Battery swap trucks, sure. Cheap, scalable, and nobody will ever check the charging maths.

Two years of household earnings for a house in Shildon. Brilliant. Now tell me what the job market looks like there, because a cheap house in a town with no work is just a cheap place to be stuck. Nobody’s asking why the prices are low, only how to brag about it.

Brilliant. A YouTube Shorts title and some page boilerplate, and we’re meant to sort out who won the 2026 midterms from that. No results, no names, no numbers, nothing a reader could check against. Which is the whole problem. In my day a headline needed a story underneath it, not a thumbnail and a prayer. Turnout in the actual states would be a start.

Remember the Mk7 Golf EV? Tell me this one is different. Same grovelling excuses, same empty promises.

Six years, 200,000 cars, and the successor’s still a year away. Brilliant.

Nine hundred thousand euros for a Gallardo with a new badge on it. Fine, somebody’s paying. But what I want to know is what the twenty-five buyers are actually getting beyond a reason to say “V10” at dinner parties. Does the conversion touch the engine, the chassis, or just the skin and the seats? The piece tells us the price and the number built, and not one word on what changed under the paint.

Restomod or Frankenstein? Show me the engine numbers, not the brochure.

Thirty-three thousand miles on a 2009 TT, one owner, and a clean Carfax. Lovely. Now show me the service invoices, because a Carfax report only records what got reported, and nobody reports the oil change nobody did. Dealer-run listings love a single line that says “one owner” and nothing about how that owner drove it. Mileage is just a number someone typed in.

Brilliant. The ECB holds rates, the whole continent yawns, and everyone stares at French bonds like they’re tea leaves. Meanwhile my mortgage still costs more than my car, and the grand plan seems to be waiting for Lagarde to step aside so we can all admire the next suit. Nobody in charge explains anything, we just get a press conference with the same three phrases. Pure comedy, if you’re not the one paying for it.

Twenty-five thousand a year, and Audi still can’t decide what it wants to be.

Nearly €11k of options on a car that already costs more than a house deposit.

Sanctioned tanker in distress and the RAF gets the callout. Who pays for that?

Five-speed manual, no reserve, a New York dealer and a Tennessee title. Every detail is there to make me relax, and I’m not relaxing. Where’s the Maserati Classiche certificate number I can check against their registry? “Documentation” is a word that costs nothing to type. Show me the chassis number on the car, the VIN plate and the engine stamp, all matching the paperwork.

Shocking: a Miata that sells for money. Who saw that coming?

Preordained, yet sold as breaking news.

Back Rosebank, they say. Meanwhile my road floods twice a year and the insurance quote reads like a ransom note. Brilliant.

What’s the real winter range—twelve miles?