Sir

I don't drink tea, have never had a crumpet, and I don't know much about British cars. I do know what a boot is and what's under a bonnet. I also know the difference between a saloon and an estate car. I know cars don't have a loo, but caravans do. And I'd give a fiver to know the bloke who nicked my spanner.

My love for cars extends across the pond to the often underappreciated work of the losing team. But let's not focus on one tiny war England lost to a ragtag bunch of colonists lest we forget about the incredible positive impact England has had in world history. Many innovations we take for granted today were birthed on England's shores. Penicillin F, the steam engine, and gravity for example. From spawning the Industrial Age to creating Monty Python, they have left their mark on the world as we know it today. 

In the automotive world they have left us a legacy as complex as history itself. We are left breathless at the beauty of the E-Type and DB5 while also wishing we could forget the 1998 Jensen SV-8. What car is that, you ask? Ah, so you have forgotten. Good for you. Of course, I was born in the country that gave us the Pontiac Aztec, so I can't be too hard on them. They have their Morris Marina, we have our Chrysler K-car. Let's call it even.

One of the many British classics I love is the Jaguar XJ-S. Firstly, everyone should own a V12 at some point in their life. This one measures out to 5.3 liters of silky smooth goodness. It produced 262hp at 5,500rpm when new, and 300 lb.ft. of torques at only 3,500rpm. Magazine ads in 1990 used the tagline "A Blending of Art and Machine", to which I reply, "Well done, good sirs." The art of the Jaguar XJ-S is easily discovered through the eyes. It's classic long hood/short deck design already pleases the senses, giving the impression of power and speed, but Jaguar shaped the curves of the XJ-S with a minimal side profile and short windshield, leaving the further impression of a big cat crouching low, ready to spring forward at a moments notice. It seems appropriate, then, to place a V12 under its bonnet. It was at that time, as now, a very exclusive club shared with the BMW 8 Series, Mercedes S Class, and Ferarri's  Testarossa. In 1990 horsepower terms, 262, (then later 285hp and the final versions 300hp) was a very adequate number. Keep in mind, the Mustang 5.0 was putting out 225hp in those days, and the base Corvette only made 245hp. So the Jaguar XJ-S was, in their own words, proof that power and elegance are not mutually exclusive.

I've been on the lookout for one of these cars, so when my eye fell on a classified ad for a low mile convertible that was very near to my house, I had to call on it. My wife and I drove out on a beautiful Minnesota June morning. We pulled in at a driveway which opened up to a garage on our right filled with motorcycles and a quonset-style shop on our left, complete with a lift holding up a vintage American car. The owner of the Jaguar explained it wasn't his house, but just a place where friends got together to work on projects, which had found them recently working on motorcycles more than cars lately. I could see the long, green XJ-S sitting over in the shade, so we walked over to take a closer look. The gentleman who owned it spent a lot of time explaining the eccentricities of British engineering to me, while going over the car. He explained the starting procedure, how to put the top up and down properly, how to clean the top, how to open and close the hood correctly, what recent service had been done, and to definitely not drive it in the winter. Or wash the top with water. Or drive it in the rain. I could tell that he had loved the car well and cared for it properly. I like that, because I also care about where my cars go after I have spent time with them. I want to know they will be loved as well as used, because a happy car is a car that is allowed to do what it was meant to do. A lot like people, I suppose. We made a deal that day, and I declined his invitation to help me put the top back up. The sun felt warm on my head as I piloted my new V12 convertible onto the motorway. I smiled. We might make it home in time for tea.

"Grace, Space, Pace" was Jaguar's tagline during the era of the XJ-S, so I will seek to discover what that means. My driving impressions are thus:  Well - let's back up a bit. A little furtherrrrr... There. Can you see it? Ahhh. What a beautiful profile. 

To get the most out of your driving experience, you must begin with the walk-up. See the wheels pushed out to the edges of the fenders, creating the impression of power and handling. Spend some time admiring the british racing green lines so artfully formed in symmetry with its chromed gas cap and bumpers. Let your eyes slide down it's curves until you appreciate the full sense of what it is and how it makes you feel. I'm sure you're smiling, on the inside if you're British, on the outside while exclaiming loudly if you're Italian. Bello! Piacevole! As those feelings grow, you reach for the chrome door handle, enjoying the hefty chunk of a latch releasing before the door swings solidly open under your hand. The top is already stowed and the windows are down. The keys are in your right hand as you slide down into the leather bucket seat, admiring all the burled wood, tan leather, and bright chrome. The shift handle perches delicately on its chromed stalk at the bottom of a ski-slope of laminated burl. It is bracketed by twin ashtrays, to make sure both driver and passenger can smoke in comfort. Sharing trays is so bloody awful. Your eyes go to the gauges next as you prepare to turn the key, noting a full-sized rev-counter on the right and pace-recorder on the left. (is pace-recorder not the correct term? I'm confused) Between the two largest gauges is a barrel-style readout that tells you from left to right the water temperature, oil pressure, fuel level, and battery charge. What a beautiful space in which to spend time! (Ah! Finger in the air, "Space". There it is.) Let's move that special feeling back to the forefront as we sense the specialness of this car which extends to starting the engine. Turn the key and hold it while the starter gains momentum with a whine. Keep holding! It takes an extra beat, in which our American sensibilities warn us that something might be wrong, before the engine suddenly catches and then settles into a near-silent purr. With your foot on the brake pedal, pull the gear-selector into drive and then glide away like a big cat down a boulevard of dappled shade. 

One of the first things you notice is the solidity. For a convertible, and one 30+ years old, it is remarkably free of shudders and creaks. The suspension is well-damped, and the ride as you might expect from a luxury car. The steering is easy and works with the fully-independent suspension to make navigating roundabouts almost effortless. The hefty amount of low-end torque from the engine helps pull the car from a stop with grace. (Well, there's where "Grace" comes in.) The car never feels in a hurry, never frantic or high-strung, but always capable and unflappable. 

"Pace" is immediately evident as you roll into the throttle on the freeway. You never understand this car more than when you are at speed on the interstate, or any road that allows you to open the taps. All three descriptives rise up into one as the XJ-S glides effortlessly down the road at the highest legal speeds and beyond. The smooth power delivery of all 12 cylinders propels you gracefully through space at a goodly pace. This is a car that never feels in a hurry, yet can get you there in a hurry if you like. However, you will usually find yourself taking the long way 'round to get where you are going, and taking less time to get there than you planned.

Some features and eccentricities of this car are worth noting. I've mentioned the dual ash trays, but not the capacious trunk. You could definitely fit two full-grown bodies in there. I'm not saying it would be comfortable, but there are times when comfort doesn't matter any more, that's all I'm saying. You would have to share it with a full-sized spare - in this case never used, and a car battery, so maybe it wouldn't be your cup of tea.

Another tidbit of note, the air conditioner sounds as if a jet is preparing for takeoff at all level settings. Like the rest of the car, it isn't in a hurry to give you cold air. The air will get plenty cold but what's the big rush? I'm sure it makes sense to a Blighty. 

Finally, for now, it seems the Brits like to tell people not to slam things. "No need for that, sir, just give it a gentle push." They have left these polite yet firm reminders in the form of stickers placed strategically at hood and trunk, complete with further instructions on how exactly they do expect you to close things. I am only surprised they failed to place these notices on the center console lid, glovebox, rear storage lid, and beneath the outside door handles. Yet another example of English restraint.