Motoring journalists are decidedly peculiar people—I should know, as I am one of them! They pontificate as effortlessly as a dog defecates on its owner’s rare Cromwellian-era rug. They’re utterly bonkers; they bemoan an overabundance of dashboard switches yet, in the digital era they nostalgically yearn for the return of physical heating controls, as if Victorian England still casts a shadow over a modern Britain that has long since lost its former grandeur.

Do you know what truly made Britain “Great”? It wasn’t industrialisation, nor the industrialisation of slavery, nor steam trains, and certainly not Winston Churchill—or Churchill the talking car insurance dog.

What propelled Britain to greatness was the trade of drugs. Yes, Britain’s immense wealth in the mid-to-late 18th century was amassed through the sale and trade of opium. Sometimes, I genuinely wonder if motoring journalists here in Blighty are snorting the stuff themselves because every time they encounter a seven-seat SUV, their pupils seem to dilate, and they make a beeline for the third-row seats with a level of enthusiasm usually reserved for free beer.

What’s even more perplexing is that anyone with an ounce of common sense knows that third-row seats are mainly intended for children. Yet, you’ll find six-foot-tall reviewers waxing lyrical about the “spaciousness” of the third row—even if their arse is practically pointing towards the moon.

Third-row seating in seven-seat SUVs is little more than a talking point—a filler topic that reveals just how little there is to actually say. Yet motoring journalists have elevated the spacious seven-seat SUV to the status of a mythical beast, roaming the open plains in search of a family to serve, in search of a purpose that doesn’t truly exist. After all, the average family size in both the UK and the USA hovers around just 2.5 people.

I think I’ve cracked the code on why motoring journalists are so enamored with seven-seat SUVs: they see them as a way to make Britain “Great” again. They view these vehicles as the perfect bridge to resume the opium trade—a nod to the days when Britain’s wealth was built on the back of, shall we say, morally dubious commerce. They see the seven-seat SUV as the ideal drug mule, even a vessel for illegal immigration.

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves! Laa, La-la-la-lah-la-dee-dum-dee-dah-dahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Evening all…