I don't know that much about rats, but I'm damned sure I don't want to meet one that eats land Rovers for breakfast - unless I'm armed

This August has been a very limited motoring month for me, mainly since I decided to spend some quality time with my family (rather to their horror) and headed out to Ibiza.

Before doing that, though, I started on a mission to become more familiar with the real world of contemporary motoring. In our new inclusive society I’m going to stop assuming everyone drives either an 8-litre supercar or something made prior to 1930. This month CitroΫn kindly lent me a DS3 D Sport to try.

It made me feel a little elderly.  It was the same when I drove a Fiat 500 Sport. It’s the shame of appreciating the performance, but really wanting the more softly sprung version.

It’s great to head for the Lake District to hurl the car around, but there really ought to be more evaluation in the back streets of Islington. After a day or two of those speed bumps I was ready for a nice 1957 Cadillac, or the full three-piece-suite-and-in-car-entertainment ‘Glastonbury special’ (4500 watts and mosh pit) that I suspect Rolls-Royce is working on.

Anyway, back to Ibiza. Contrary to what you might have seen on the telly, it isn’t all wild nightclubbing, I’m sorry to say. There are plenty of beaches, lots of boats, as well as civilised luncheons and dinners. Having said that, I felt it was my duty to engage with the local culture. The pumping dance music is played everywhere. On the beaches, in the cabs and in the restaurants and supermarkets. Sometimes the shoppers can be seen twitching to the rhythms like a scene from Shaun of the Dead.

Earlier in the day you get chill-out music, which can be anything from Tom Jones to the sort of stuff you get in those organic health spas, the ones where they look confused when they offer essential oils and you ask for Castrol R.

Your fearless reporter cruised various cavernous rooms of a number of clubs, and was struck by the close link between engineering and Ibiza house music. The obligatory backing track might be mistaken for the engine room of the Titanic, although to add to the interest there is an increasing tendency to use live musicians to play along with the tracks. I heartily approve of this, although I have to admit this makes it even more nightmarishly Titanic, with the orchestra milling about with the stokers.

Apparently there are a few fancy cars on the island, but I haven’t seen them. Ibiza’s not God’s gift to motorists in terms of road width, and many houses are up tracks that replicate the best of the Paris-Dakar rally.

In my case I have access to a couple of vehicles. A Land Rover Discovery 3 and a rather magnificent long-wheelbase Land Rover known as ‘The Beast’, circa 1978. It looks as though it’s just been dropped off by Mad Max, but it’s got the V8 engine and is quite capable of taking 12 teenagers clubbing.

Vincente at the local garage agreed to get it running properly, and after careful inspection announced that the main problem was that rats had been eating it. Now, I don’t know that much about rats, but I’m damned sure I don’t want to meet one that eats Land Rovers for breakfast – unless I’m armed.

The only other drawback is that few people on the island like to drive it.  We did find a driver (Diego) who would do all the late nights and early mornings to drop off and collect the clubbers – and check the number remained the same. On one occasion it worked out particularly well: Diego simply dropped them back at the airport at breakfast time for their flight home.

Unfortunately I had to give in and let Diego have the Discovery while I got the Long Wheelbase. He was a bit of a fusspot in my opinion. He didn’t like the gearshift (well, I didn’t have time to fit the knob on top of the stick), and I don’t think the driver’s door swinging open every time he went around a right-hand bend endeared the vehicle to him. 

I will get the speedo repaired, and yes, the choke light stays on to remind you there is one, and I admit a couple of small vents jammed open is not really the same as air conditioning when you’ve got 12 on board on a hot night. And of course it wanders a bit over 50kph, but that’s to remind the driver to take it steady.

Enough of the coarse end of motoring – The Goodwood Revival
is imminent.

NICK MASON

Pink Floyd’s drummer and a great car enthusiast, Nick has raced classic and modern cars for the last 30 years and has written two books: one on cars, Into the Red, and one on his version of the history of Pink Floyd, Inside Out.