At last, a Vauxhall Zafira for posh people: the new Mercedes R-Class. I like to think of myself as posh; I once owned a pair of trousers from Hackett, for instance, plus I have a foreign wife, so this looked very promising. It was low and sleek, sexy even (if we can ignore the unsettling echoes of the SsangYong Rodius to the rear; and the fact that it looks like it is crying), yet this was an MPV with room for six and whose seats did all of that folding and sliding business so beloved of Corolla Verso owners and their dogs. Usually, ownership of a people carrier indicates that one has resigned oneself to a life of school runs and runny noses, but the R-Class looked like it would be equally at home dropping me off outside the casino at Monte Carlo for my weekly high-stakes game of baccarat with George Hamilton IV. It could well be the very car I had been looking for all these years.
Full review here