Volvo ES90 review

When I was young it seemed ours was the only family that didn’t knock about in a beaten up old Volvo. My mate Silas’s parents had a 244DL in a very advanced state of decrepitude, a quarter million on the clock, torn upholstery, the all pervading aroma of damp labrador (and as Volvo cognoscenti will note from its model name, this wasn’t even an estate) and a truckle-shaped tin of sugar-coated travel sweets in the glovebox.

The first time I travelled in this thing I would have felt sorry for them, that they couldn’t afford something better, like the Alfettas in which I was routinely collected from school. Silas’s dad wore clothes as old, scruffy and patched up as his car. And I’d have continued to feel sorry for them until I got back to their place and realised it was about seven times the size of ours. Why on earth, then, did they not knock about in anything better?

It took me years – possibly decades – to realise that their chosen mode of transport was actually and effortlessly cool, and it was that way because being cool was the last thing that would ever have crossed their minds when deciding to buy it. But then Volvo got all self-conscious, stopped making those sorts of cars and decided to try and make cars that would appeal to people who really did consider themselves to be cool. Which is why there is nothing remotely cool about an 850 T5-R estate. A Volvo which shouts ‘look at me!’ is a Volvo in name alone. A Volvo that tries too hard is an oxymoron, pure and simple.