A Crushing Future?

Even Ford's new, entry-level petrol engine contains sophisticated tech.

Tri-turbo diesel engines, suspension that ‘sees’ the road through cameras and adapts itself accordingly; engine start-stop technology that calls into action a starter motor eight times stronger than a normal one, and automatic transmissions with no less than eight forward gears.

They are all incredibly impressive and would blow the minds of car engineers from 50 years ago. But what if something goes wrong? A used VW Golf with a dual-clutch gearbox might set you back 10 grand, but if its transmission gives up the ghost you are looking at over 75 percent of the car’s value to replace it.

Nowadays, every diesel engine has a turbo and now petrol motors are getting in on the act. Ford’s one-litre, three-cylinder Ecoboost motor packs a turbo, which as well as mighty fine efficiency figures, grants enough performance to make not just the old, naturally aspirated, 1.6-litre engine redundant, but the 1.8 as well. It is expected to sell by the bucket load, but how many of those thousands and thousands of buyers know what it’ll cost to fix a blower if it fails?

Technology in cars is good, infectious even; once a car maker breaks new ground, the rest soon follow. Yet at the same time, technology brings complications, expensive complications. And what really frightens me is that such complex kit is now found on new, everyday metal – the stuff I might want to buy used in three to four years time.

After say 40,000 miles, can I really trust a sexy, swift acting DCT to not eat itself, or a turbocharged (and thus more stressed) four-pot to not start guzzling oil or blowing steam through a gasket?

I feel we are on the brink of something big, driven by as much as anything, Western emissions legislation, which continues to put pressure on car manufacturers to produce ever more high tech vehicles to meet CO2 and NOx targets. Ultimately, the buyer will pay the biggest price when something immensely complex like a tri-turbo engine, start-stop system or eight-speed gearbox goes wrong. And they will because no car is 100 percent reliable.

We could become a throw-away society, moving from sophisticated new car to sophisticated new car after our three-year contract is up. And on the face of it, that would be good because we’d all be driving factory fresh vehicles built by companies with increasingly strong new car sales figures – endowing them with more capital to invest into R and D, to make even more brain scramblingly brilliant products...

The downside, though, would be a faltering and eventually imploding used car market; nobody is going to buy someone else’s potentially ruinous problem. A decade old, MK1 Ford Focus is relatively straightforward, mechanically, and thus hardly a frightening used buy today. But the current MK3 in 10 years time? The only way is up as far as bills are concerned, a theme that has already begun and I can only see getting worse as the years progress.

All Things AMG

Mercedes' impressive facility at the historic Brooklands site in Surrey.

Seeing an email drop into your inbox with ‘AMG Performance Media Day’ as its subject can do incredible things to one’s saliva glands.

As part of a new initiative to keep motoring journalists in touch with the huge range of cars it offers, Mercedes-Benz UK is putting on press days throughout the rest of the year, each with a main theme. The brain child of new PR top dog, Angus Fitton, the first theme he dreamed up was AMG. Naturally.

An efficiency theme and a trip to Mercedes’ new driving centre at Silverstone are in the pipeline, but what better way to capture test hacks’ imaginations that with an array of other worldly machines capable of not just blowing your socks off, but rearranging your face and redefining your idea of fast. Alton Towers on tap, if you will. On the day, the least powerful AMG there was the new SLK55 with a paltry 416bhp.

Taking place at Mercedes-Benz World in Surrey, its vast visitor car park played host to no less than 38 cars, most a muscle bound representation of AMG’s insatiable desire to create the most intoxicating cars possible under the guidance of Mercedes-Benz. There also happened to be a certain racing legend on hand giving passenger rides, going by the name of Bernd Schneider. You may also know him as Mr DTM. 

All the AMG trimmings on the 5.5-litre V8 powered SLK55.

With around 80 motoring journalists expected, the ratio of cars to people was a favourable 2:1, and having got there early enough, I was rewarded with the brand spanking new SLK55. It may have a small footprint but within that short wheelbase lies the power of over four C250s, and I don’t doubt it as I dare to stoke the motor with a firm prod of the throttle in the car park. Wearing a bib is highly recommended.

The latest R172 SLK has received mixed reviews from the press, its attempt to appeal to drivers sapping it of some rolling refinement that buyers of the old models loved it for. And yet despite this, it still won’t worry a Porsche Boxster or BMW Z4 through the twisties, making its existence somewhat confusing – what exactly is the SLK trying to be? That said, styling and build quality inside and out make the old cars look half finished.

The AMG version goes some way to rectifying the SLK’s confused identity with heavier steering (the standard rack on the normal SLK is surprisingly loose), tauter suspension and of course, a V8 complete with cylinder shut-off function to save juice. It's wonderfully tractable, the eight-pot motor, and capable of making the car’s arse squirm in second gear even with all the safety systems switched on.  

Yet there is no getting away from the fact the engine is pinned to an inherently underwhelming chassis. Attack a few bends and you’ll get a hint of understeer, a surprising amount of shake through the body and rack, and a general feeling of unrest. Ease back though, and everything makes much more sense. For instance, the steering’s otherwise disappointingly dead feel around centre makes progress using solely your fingertips a happy pursuit. As a point and shoot machine, the brutish SLK55 is simply unbeatable in its class, its soundtrack capable of producing an adrenaline hit all by itself.  

A great car in standard form, the latest AMG SL delivers and then some.

The all new SL63 AMG, however, is an utter revelation. Its ride is as soft as cheese yet body control is as tight as an Olympic gymnast’s. Powered by the same 5.5-litre V8 found in the SLK, but with two turbos that haven’t muffled the thumping soundtrack in any way, the grand roadster covers ground so quickly and with so much panache that it almost makes you wonder why you’d have the SLS AMG Roadster. 

Speaking of which, I happened to sample just such a car and if you can afford the droptop SLS, the SL63 simply doesn’t figure. The SLS is an absolute monster, but its cabin – circa 2009, don’t forget – is starting to look a bit old hat; the new SL’s is far, far sweeter and packs way more electronic wizadry.  

Useable but still so capable, the SLS AMG Roadster is simply thrilling.

Still, once you’ve found a road long enough, mashed the SLS’s floor hinged throttle pedal and heard the rippling, supersonic blare of its 6.2-litre lump partnered by the DCT’s gunshot like upshifts, you forget about the mediocre cabin. You forget about everything in fact, your brain entirely focused on computing your velocity and making sure your limbs don’t do anything ridiculous. At full chat, I wouldn’t blame a passenger for sticking their arms in the air and WOOO-ing just like they would on a roller coaster. I’d do the same but I’m too busy hanging onto the circular handle bar in front... 

More subtle in its approach and not entirely convincing despite my test car’s £149,000 price tag, is the CL63 AMG. Based on a plush, otherwise laid back coupe, it packs that stonking great V8 biturbo motor in its nose but the revamped air springing devoids the car of all the traits that made it so brilliant in the first place. Yes, the AMG V8 adds more character, but it’s otherwise raucous snorting is absorbed by layers and layers of bodywork and sound proofing material. I’d honestly rather have the far cheaper, more comfortable and hardly any slower 500 model. 

Both have four seats, but the CLS63 (left) makes more sense than the CL63.

Sharing the same engine, the CLS63 AMG comes close to feeling redundant given its base car’s pillow soft character, but its sharper E-Class underpinnings warrant a boost in power and fettling of the suspension. Endowed with the AMG Performance Package, it produces 549bhp and 590lb ft torque, seeing off 62mph in 4.2 seconds. Call up third gear using the sexy aly paddleshifter and it’ll fire from 50 to 100mph in an eye-widening six seconds, by my reckoning. Check out the video below and see for yourself (sorry about the shoddy quality).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0rl17X4NrQ&feature=youtu.be

Needless to say, each and every car offered performance as shocking as a slap across the face and gave an insight into the company that pieced it together. The AMG DNA is clear for all to see, hear and feel – I’m sure even passers-by get that faintly alarming vibration in their chest when an Affalterbach engine is opened up. 

Five-time DTM champion, Bernd Schneider turned up, too.

Mercedes’ previously rigid and somewhat staid image is rapidly evolving into something hugely more exciting and youthful, and the latest AMG models are among the driving factors of this reforming persona. Having Mr Schneider show us hacks what an SLS can really do on M-B World’s twisty handling circuit confirmed both companies aren’t just trying to dazzle with big wheels and flip-up spoilers, they’re adding real substance as well.

The Chase Is On

Nissan's 350Z packs a throaty great V6 sending power to the rear wheels – much love!

I love bikers. Most of them, anyway. Once in a while you’ll come across one or maybe even three who know what they are doing and make absolute mince meat out of a road. They’ll even hang out a leather clad knee through a corner, making your sweaty efforts behind the wheel of a car seem about as heroic as eating spaghetti with your bare hands.

Bikers, particularly the enthusiastic ones (those who sometimes like to relay shouted stories to each other at traffic lights) can add an epic amount of fun to a drive. It is one thing to go chasing apexes alone in a four wheeled machine on a deserted country road, but quite another to chase blokes straddling something Japanese along a road you’ve never driven before and they have.

And so it was with a recent and rather impulsive B-road blat, my cousin kindly handing me the keys to his glorious sounding Nissan 350Z, looking positively bulbous in metallic grey and subtly aftermarket on its optional Rays rims.

A quick supermarket run beforehand morphed into something more inspiring after deciding that, with the night before’s hangover quickly dispersed in a flurry of paracetamol and Diet Lilt, we fancied a road trip. With tank fat with fuel, the Zed was up for it and so the search for twisty asphalt began. To find it, we simply aimed at the countryside. What we discovered blew us away.

The route, which starts just outside Otley and spears north towards the A59.

Keep your patience navigating through the West Yorkshire town of Otley and soon you are presented with the national speed limit sign of Newall Carr Road, which heads north and links with Weston Moor Road. Drink in as much scenery as you dare, but don’t forget there are blind dips, off-camber corners and I-could-take-that-twice-as-fast-next-time sweepers to deal with.

Views get better still on Askwith Moor Road, your fast advance backed by breathtaking views of some of Yorkshire’s finest moorland. For most of the time along this dream piece of tarmac, visibility is panoramic, which invites you to keep that right foot planted just a little longer.

Views are stunning, those along Askwith Moor Road particularly so.

Several hair raising corners later, connected by straights that aren’t really straight at all, and you eventually come to the A59 near Carr Wood. Of course, I was looking forward to the return leg, that six miles or so not only whetting my appetite but also making me fall in love with driving all over again. And then it got really interesting.

Our about-turn landed us behind a 4x4 pick-up whose driver looked in no hurry. Umm-ing and ahh-ing about an overtake on a steep incline, I had precisely three seconds to register the glaring headlamps of two superbikes in my rear-view mirror before their riders hunkered down, flicked their wrists and whipped past. Challenge accepted!

The return six miles or so were a mesmerising blur. The Zed and I gave it everything to keep up with the two wheeled madmen. Firing along unfamiliar roads at speed focuses the mind  and is definitely not recommended, but things were made easier by the two bikers up front who were guiding me along.

Judging their entry speeds into corners was key to keeping in touch and I was managing to eat into the distance between us in the braking zones, but that gap would increase once more as they opened it up on exit, backed by that unmistakable superbike scream.

The bikers' knowledge of the road came in handy during parts like this.

I couldn’t tell you what speeds we hit and it doesn’t matter anyway. What I can tell you, though, is that during the last stretch of road the Zed called time, its brake pedal going long and making me thank the heavens for knowing how to use a gearbox to scrub off speed. That last left hander could have been quite messy!

Truth be told, I was glad our coupe had had enough. Its owner too, no doubt. By this stage I was a sweaty, grinning mess and had received that adrenaline hit I’d sub-consciously craved since slipping behind the Nissan’s helm. I’d even managed to keep the bikers honest, if only just.

Ticking and pinging as we walked away from it afterwards, the Zed had done its job and then some. It really does sound wonderful and is one of those cars that feels at its best when you’re working it hard. It hates being mollycoddled.

Anyone that loves driving will eagerly tell you about their most enthralling experience, and this was definitely one of mine. Not only had I found a stunning piece of road, I'd crossed paths with two great bikers as well.

A Journey of Discovery

Boxy brilliance; the Land Rover Discovery 3 blew me away.

Sometimes, just sometimes, cars surprise their driver so much with their natural talent that said enlightened person must go home and blog about it. So, here goes...

Contrary to earlier belief, the Land Rover Discovery ­and more specifically, the Land Rover Discovery 3, ­is a brilliant car.

I say this not because I've driven one through six feet of snow, weaved through crowds of brown bears hunting trout in rivers, nor pointed the Discovery's blocky nose skyward and pounded up a mountainside. But because I've steered one up the M40. The M25 and A5, too.

My steed was a base spec, 2.7 diesel with cloth seats, Costa coffees in the cup holders and claw like scratches on the black plastic trim in the boot. 
As you would expect given the Disco 3's two-box design, the interior follows a similar path with cube shaped air vent and door handle mounts, and prisms for door pockets, door trim and centre console. Protruding from the dashboard, the latter looks like Optimus Prime's chest post morph into a robot.

The six-speed manual has a lovely, chunky feel to its action.

Sprouting way up high from the floor and with a girth to make a pornstar proud, the lever linked to the six-speed manual 'box feels a little loose when not in gear, but the way it slots home is genuinely astounding. Not because it's particularly brilliant, but because you expect it to be so bad. It just isn't. Nor does the steering shuffle loosely around centre ­- yes it is a little light dead ahead, but weights up nicely on the move while turning. There is even a bit of feel, I kid you not.

Who'd have thought you could heel and toe in a Land Rover.

The fact the pedals are perfectly spaced for heel and toeing says it all; a designer or engineer, probably British, sat down and said, "Let's get the basics spot on and go from there". Whoever you are, I applaud you. Not only have you created a supposedly rugged 4x4 that looks half decent, is capable of climbing Everest ­- probably -­ and is mildly appealing inside, even in base spec, but you've actually managed to make it pleasurable to drive.

Large bumps made the front end of the Disco I drove buck slightly, signalling worn front shocks, yet it still cornered handily and pummelled road scuff without occupants feeling the violence going on beneath them. Of course it rolled, but then there is never a need to go baiting hot hatches in a Land Rover.

This marque now means so much more to me than before.

The Land Rover Discover 3 gave me one of those drives that made me curse the impressions others have handed out to me. Its brilliance lies in its undeniable refinement, more so since, unlike SUVs from Audi, BMW, Mercedes et al, the Disco is also genuinely capable of taking you to little inhabited corners of the Earth.

A First Time For Everything



My 16-valve, Japanese steed on the fateful night looked a lot like this beauty.

My first 'crash' involved my first car, a 1998 Nissan Micra 1.0 16v (the 16-valve bit is important), a cold night in October, a field full of wheat and standing water. I was late for meeting friends so was hammering along a road I know pretty well, the B5248 that links Leyland to the A59. Approaching a cambered left-hander you can take in third gear in the dry, I pitched the Micra in and right smack bang in the middle of the bend was a huge stream of water... Even before I hit it, I knew it was going to spit me out big time - luckily nobody was on the other side of the road. I stamped on the brakes (no ABS), slid a little then careered through the water still with the anchors on and still trying to turn left. I had no chance. I understeered right off the road, down an embankment and into a wheat field. The corner complete with camber, which helped very little... Such is the Micra's impressive ride height, I managed to carry my momentum round in a big arc and attempt to get straight back up the embankment. At this point two things happened. One, I hadn't got quite enough speed up and so the car slithered back into the field (with me shouting profanities at the Jap-mobile). And two, another car came into view on the road. Saving myself embarrassment, I rolled backwards to a stop, turned my lights off and waited for the car to pass, praying its driver didn't spot my little red Noddy car in the Weetabix. He/she didn't, fortunately, and after they’d disappeared down the road, oblivious to my misfortune, I banged my old biatch into first gear, eased off the clutch then toed the throttle. Somehow, the Micra crawled out of the field, up the grass verge and back onto the road. The only sign of anything untoward when I checked the car over later was a clump of mud and grass in the tow hoop. I was a very lucky boy...

Pagani's Big Miss

Pagani's new Huayra disappointed at Goodwood.

The new Pagani has been getting a lot of coverage lately, particularly in evo magazine. But after watching it fire off the line at the Goodwood Festival of Speed last Saturday, I realised it didn't have quite the same impact as the Zonda. In fact, it wasn't even close.

There are two reasons for this. One, it sounds unremarkable at best. Pagani simply hasn't cracked how to make a turbo motor sing. Maybe it should have asked AMG for help, the firm which supplies the Huayra's V12 and manages to make its own V8 biturbos snarl. Although admittedly, even these don't sound as good as the old, normally aspirated V8.

The screaming Zonda F of 2005 with a 600hp V12.

In contrast, the sound a Zonda makes is spine tingling, shocking even. It sounds just like a hypercar should. It also looks the part, which brings me to the second reason I muttered 'meh' as the Huayra whisped off the start line.

I remember a feature in evo a few years ago, where Gordon Murray spent time analysing the Zonda including its aerodynamics. There were flaws, but it was these flaws that made it look so sensational.

The Huayra is a sleeker, more aerodynamically efficient proposition and yet its looks left me slightly cold in the same way a Bugatti Veyron's do. Moveable flaps are all well and good, but they do nothing for me.

Purity of form has been lost on this new Italian hypercar, and I think it will be the Zonda, the car that put Pagani on the map, that will be more fondly remembered in years to come.

Driving to Survive

As the sun slipped out of view, my journey north began...

Norway is a country of contrasts. The people that choose a more exhilarating life in towns and cities are never more than a stone’s throw from the sleepy vistas of rolling countryside. Alcohol is ruinously expensive but that doesn’t seem to stop the locals enjoying it in vast quantities (take note the UK Government). And for half the year its roads are bathed in sunshine and lined with lush green trees, while the other half of the year sees the tarmac glisten under the influence of snow and ice, and the flora haunt the edges of roads as skeletons of their former selves.

Oslo Rygge airport's collection of rental hatchbacks.

My visit to Norway in February was my first – I’ve got a feeling it won’t be my last. But that certainly won’t be because of my hire car, a lowly 1.6-litre, petrol powered Toyota Auris with all the guts of a nostril hair trimmer and an engine note to match. 

Our first encounter with the Japanese hatchback at Oslo Rygge airport was far from memorable. Road salt was yet to be washed off its silver metallic bodywork, which made it look like one of those old fridges you see discarded on a landfill site.

But at least it had winter tyres. These are compulsory in Norway during the winter months and were soon to prove their worth as I slipped onto the E6 motorway heading north towards Oslo, before spearing west on route 23.

The eastern entrance to the challenging Oslofjordtunnelen.

This road takes you west of Drøbak via the fast descending and then fast climbing Oslofjordtunnelen, the latter challenge of which the Auris could only just manage in third with right foot mashed on the loud pedal. This part of the journey was mind boggling, but only because the tunnel lighting was so poor and the juggernauts had more torque than our entry level Auris.

A Norwegian speed camera.

We hadn’t travelled far – about 45 clicks – but already the Norwegian roads had made a massive impression. The speed cameras, for instance, are as covert as a sniper in a ghillie suit. They are finished in matte grey, which blends into the night so well, every time you see a speed camera sign your eyes protrude from their sockets for the next eight miles because you are never quite sure if you’ve past the wretched thing or not.

You don’t know how easy we have it in Blighty until you’ve seen one of these things – or rather not seen one of them until it’s too late.

Of course, you could always travel at the speed limit which is usually around 50km/h out of town. But given the sheer amount of lovely sweeping curves Norway’s terrain throws at you, it always feels a bit pedestrian. And more often than not, you’ve got a Scandinavian close behind. But not too close, because if they were their headlights would get clogged up with the road grime your car is kicking up out back. Experience is priceless on Norway’s roads.

Salt prevents ice spawning on the road - but not always.

But even with extra know-how, during winter the continuously evolving road surface will always catch out the exuberant. Which is why even those familiar with the roadscape tend to stay in convoy for tens of miles at a time rather than overtake each other and risk their life for an extra few minutes at home.

You stay together for so long, in fact, you develop a sense of camaraderie. If one of you was to fall off the road there’s little doubt everybody else would stop and check for vital signs. The poignant feeling of isolation does that to human beings, especially at night.

Another factor to keep you on your toes is the Monaco esque channelling through the tighter curves of what Brits would call B-roads. First comes a roadside sign letting you know you’re close to the corner. Then, out of nowhere, come the six-feet tall walls that separate your lane from the other side. These things are like central reservations on steroids.

And yet every one bears the scars from a machine whose owner anticipated there was more grip than there really was and sent their pride and joy into a very expensive embrace with solid concrete. Norway may be quite beautiful, but its roads can bite back. Hard.

The town of Gol is surrounded by breathtaking roads.

The four hours it took to reach Gol felt like twice that – and the first beer tasted doubly good. I set off from Oslo Rygge airport at sunset and arrived in Gol in the dead of night when temperatures were nearing their lowest. The return journey – again at night – saw the Toyota showing -15C on its unappealing, yellow lit display. Experience counts for a lot when things get that cold. Luckily, I had at least some...

The Speed of Sound

The new Mercedes-Benz SLK250 CDI has more torque than its V6 petrol sibling despite two less cylinders, and is only a tenth slower to 62 than the similarly priced SLK250 petrol. Yet according to Stuttgart, the oil burning SLK returns over 56mpg on the combined cycle and emits less CO2 than the most polar bear friendly A-Class. It’s by far the most efficient SLK ever.

So why couldn’t I get on with it? Well, it’s all to do with the noise. The SLK250 CDI’s pace is unquestionable. It fires off the line with maximum twist from just 1,600rpm and before you know it, you’re doing naughty speeds and glancing in your mirrors like a paranoid with a dodgy tick, hoping the rozzers aren’t watching your every move.

But, as I found out, just because your diesel sports car can mix it with the big boys in a straight line doesn’t make it an intoxicating drive. Diesel engines are all about keeping cash in your pocket – even if it takes 10,000 miles for their premium over petrol models to be nullified. And so, to expect a spine tingling soundtrack from a motor with ‘third generation, common-rail, direct fuel injection’ is as foolhardy as expecting it to redline at 7,000rpm. It’s just not going to happen.

Mercedes’ 250 CDI engine is a lightweight, torque heavyweight and its inclusion in the SLK range challenges people’s perceptions of what a sports car can and can’t be. But it’s a task too big even for the truly superb, four-cylinder biturbo motor.

A sports car allows you to bask in the texture of an engine’s voice. Roof down motoring doesn’t get any better than when your every move is backed by the rich sound of pure mechanical opera. But on the occasions when I did hang onto the SLK250 CDI’s gears and eek out every last drop of performance, I instantly regretted it because the rugged, diesely drone was unescapable. Worse still, when the SLK’s roof is down you hear everything a pedestrian would, which really does make you think twice about ‘dropping the hammer’ again. That’s just not how a sports car should make you feel.

The SLK’s four-pot and V6 petrols produce a sound that’ll have people spinning on the spot and you grinning like a mentalist. All the diesel engine does is let people know you’re as bothered about fuel economy as style – and that’s just not very cool, is it?

The Generation Game

The Lamborghini Reventon didn’t stand a chance. The Ferrari F40 had already spooled both turbochargers and its driver had already selected the right gear. Exiting the opening left hander, the Maranello supercar cut inside – a pay off of going deeper into the turn. With more exit speed, the F40 rocketed into first place, its V8 screaming and willing its pilot to slot home another gear.

Two corners later, the Ferrari was just a speck on the horizon, the Lamborghini bogged down by its weight, unevocative four-wheel drive system and the inexperienced driver behind the wheel. 

You can have moments like these every time you turn on an Xbox 360 console and place Forza Motorsport 4 onto the disc tray. On this occasion, I was in the Fezza and my girlfriend’s 11-year old brother was in the Reventon – him wooed by the Lambo’s matte grey paint and jet fighter styling, me taken by the F40’s unsanitised get-up-and-go, fizzing Italian bellow and carbon fibre body shell. 

In all likelihood, I’ll never see an F40 on track alongside a Reventon, let alone drive one of the things. But the beauty of computer gaming is that, on any of the multiple tracks Forza has at its disposal, you can – and do. Such indulgence of racing fantasies on computer consoles has been the guilty pleasure of petrolheads for years. And that got me thinking. 

After I’d zipped past the Lambo and proceeded to take the chequered flag, it dawned on me that I’d just beaten an 11-year old boy at his own game, so to speak. I’d played these things before, sure. Hell, I own an Xbox 360 and Forza 3.

But whereas I taught my dad a thing or two about lift off oversteer on 1990s arcade classic, Ridge Racer, and told him when to brake for the Corkscrew at Laguna Seca on Gran Turismo 4. Maybe this generation of budding fathers will, for the first time in history, soon be showing their offspring a thing or two on racing games. And I can’t see the balance ever swinging back the other way. 

Playing computer games is much more accepted in society now than it was 10 or 20 years ago, and is an entirely more accepted activity among middle aged blokes. Experience counts for a lot in the digital world, and the way I see it, us current crop of dads - and soon to be dads - have more than any other generation to walk the Earth. You just can’t compete with that, kids.