The Prince of Whales

Just 645 Aston Martin Lagondas were built between 1979 and 1990, so our gathering represents almost four percent of total production. In an exclusive for The Intercooler, this is the only time all 24 have been photographed together. I’ll be driving one later, but first it’s time for a guided tour.

‘Welcome to the wedges.’ Studio434 owner Rodger Dudding proffers a warm handshake and a plate of Jammie Dodgers. The 83-year-old made his millions inventing the ‘take a ticket’ queueing system, then built a UK-wide empire of 14,000 lock-up garages. His car collecting began in the early Seventies with the Jensen FF he arrived in today. The Lagondas? They’re a more recent obsession.

‘I bought my first about 10 years ago and my wife hated it,’ reveals Dudding. ‘It always took us where we wanted to go, then had a hissy-fit on the way home. On holiday in Cornwall, I remember bursting with pride as I left a pub to find a crowd of people admiring it. Then the damn thing wouldn’t start. I wanted the ground to swallow me up.’

That car was sold ‘to save the marriage’, but six months later Dudding plucked up the courage to buy another ‒ and he hasn’t stopped since. ‘They’re quite temperamental, but very relaxing to drive,’ he says. ‘And they have so much presence. In London, it literally stops traffic.’ The Lagonda’s underdog status is also part of its appeal: ‘Without this car, Aston Martin would have gone bust. Yet it’s been whitewashed from history.’

Unveiled at the 1976 London Motor Show, the Lagonda didn’t reach showrooms for a further three years. Designer William Towns adopted a ‘folded paper’ aesthetic to create something akin to a four-door origami supercar – albeit with cartoonish proportions and bizarrely long overhangs at either end. Compared to a Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow, or even a Ferrari 400, it looks impossibly exotic.

And that’s before you see the interior: a head-on collision of wood-and-leather opulence and 16-bit electronics. Original dashboards used two CRT projectors – like old-style TVs – plus more than 40 touchpad buttons. They soon switched to LCD displays, but these were still notoriously unreliable. ‘The wiring was made in Silicon Valley by the company that supplied NASA,’ explains Dudding. ‘There are rocket ship logos soldered behind either end of the fascia.’

A profligate 5.3-litre V8 and £50,000 price tag (back when a Ford Capri 2.0S cost £4035) meant many Lagondas found buyers in the Middle East. One such car is Dudding’s 1987 Series 3, originally sold to an Arab prince. It has every inch of brightwork plated in 18 carat gold, right down to the seatbelt buckles and his-and-hers cigar lighters.

Dudding then walks me around a Series 2 owned by the late Dodi Fayed, which he has spent £100,000 restoring; a labour of love when Lagonda values rarely reach six figures. Its quadruple-DIN Clarion hi-fi – with mandatory graphic equaliser – is the Eighties answer to widescreen infotainment.

Other notable cars in the collection include a body-kitted Tickford model, two of the 10 EWB Lagonda limousines, plus three ‘parts cars’ bought for breaking. ‘They’re all runners, though,’ insists Rodger. ‘We keep the cars on trickle chargers, so they’re all fit and ready to go.’

My steed for the day is a last-of-the-line 1989 Series 4, complete with softened edges, a simplified dashboard and six rectangular headlamps instead of pop-ups. I twist the key and a stentorian rumble resonates around the room. Then it’s back into the giant lift, this time inside the car, before emerging, dazzled and somewhat daunted, into the daylight of the outside world.

The Lagonda looks even more alien in semi-detached suburbia. You can almost hear the curtains twitching. Despite becoming a rolling social media event, though, I’m enjoying some splendid isolation. Cocooned by a wide transmission tunnel, on supple seats with pillowy headrests, the ambiance is not unlike a classic Jaguar XJ6. Space in the back is limited by the bulky sunroof, but at least this Series 4 has opening rear windows (only offered from 1983).

The Casio graphics of the LCD display are easy to read through the two-spoke steering wheel – early cars had a Citroen-esque single-spoker – and there are enough flat touchpads to shame a Mk8 Golf. One switches the speedo between mph and kph, another cycles through modes on the trip computer. You can even choose from two horns: one a friendly toot, the other an angry blast.

Performance is modest by 21st century standards, with 60mph dispatched in 7.9 seconds and a top speed of 143mph. Yet the 280bhp fuel-injected V8 serves up all 360lb ft of torque from 3000rpm and its three-speed GM Torqueflite gearbox (no paddles here) is butter-smooth. It feels brisk, brawny and surprisingly eager: a muscle car with manners.

There are traces of Aston Martin DNA in how the Lagonda handles, too. Granted, wallowy suspension and 60-profile whitewall tyres mean it’s no super-GT. But alert steering and a calm sense of balance soon encourage you to press on at unbecoming speeds. It all seems a bit incongruous, and that’s part of the fun.

Rodger Dudding now plans to sell all but 10 of his much-loved Lagondas. Driving one has been an experience to savour, although owning one isn’t for the faint-hearted. Still, start a collection and you’ll always have at least one wedge with its electrics playing ball. About 24 cars should do it.

With thanks to Studio434, which offers car hire and storage, plus fully equipped studios for photography and filming.