What’s the best multi-purpose vehicle on sale today? You’ll struggle to find a better one than the Land Rover Discovery - an amazing jack of all trades, if ever we’ve seen one. It can go almost anywhere. It can carry seven full-sized adults in absolute comfort. It’s family friendly, loves motorway journeys and, in diesel spec, is even vaguely sensible.

Yes, ok, so it weighs a frankly astonishing 2.7 tonnes (even Volkswagen’s V10-engined Touareg only tips the scales at 2602kg) and the tide is turning against lumbering, big SUVs. But is this fair? We thought it was time to reappraise the Discovery and its ilk.

It’s hardly new. Why are you only driving the Land Rover Discovery now?

CAR Online launched in summer 2006, which means we missed out on the Disco’s original launch. With new engines and other tweaks coming next year it seems the right time to revisit a vehicle that is a true favourite in the CAR office. (We’re planning to plug some of the gaps in our first drives over the coming months, so look out for more retrospective first drives.)

Based on the same sturdy underpinnings as the Range Rover Sport, the Discovery offers a more traditional take on the Land Rover experience than the new-age flashiness of its brother. It’s still vast, though, with plenty of space for seven.

Surely the Land Rover Discovery is too big for British roads?

The Disco certainly feels better suited to US roads than our more congested European streets. At 4835mm long and 2009mm wide it’s actually shorter than an Audi Q7 (5086mm) but wider (1983mm), and only slightly smaller than its big brother the Range Rover. The height also means you’re always instinctively ducking when going into multi-storey car parks.

But the Discovery never feels too intimidating to drive. Of course, the Disco feels big but the chunky, angular styling means you always know where the extremities are. The styling of an X5 might disguise its size, but it also hides where the bumpers are. Driving the Discovery around town is like driving an enormous Smart car.

So you know where the edges are, but surely it still handles like a 2.7-tonne 4×4?

Of course. Unlike a BMW X5, Porsche Cayenne, or even the Range Rover Sport, the Discovery isn’t meant for hot hatch baiting. Negotiate a roundabout with any vigour and it rolls, especially as the lack of any weight through the wheel means you take a few stabs at getting your line through a corner right. But relax and drive it like it’s a 2.7-tonne 4×4 and you’ll be amazed at what it can do.

The Discovery grips and hangs on gamely although you’re always aware of the huge masses at play. At least its heft crushes all bumps in the road. The thick sidewalls of the 19-inch tyres (dwarfed by the car’s height) soak up almost everything else. Only the biggest undulations can leave the Discovery floating along.

How does the engine cope with all that weight?

Surprisingly well. The same 2.7-litre V6 finds work in the Jaguar XF, which we criticised for feeling slow. Take away one turbocharger and add 947kg and it was never going to be fast. But the Disco’s bigger turbo means more low down torque. Compared to the Jag’s 207bhp and 320bhp it has 188bhp and 324lb ft at a low 1900rpm.

The Discovery is sprightly enough coming out of junctions, and goes well up to about 45mph. But at higher speeds, it accelerates with all the vigour of an old double-decker bus. Overtaking is a real worry, and you can feel the engine working hard against 2718kg and a frontal area the size of a small house.

Just make sure you plan ahead - whether it’s to overtake or brake. If you suddenly need to stop, the anchors will bring the Discovery to a halt, but they feel overwhelmed by all that weight.

So all this size and weight must count for something?

Space and go-anywhere ability. We didn’t get the chance to take the Discovery off-road, but we have before. CAR’s own Mark Walton took one to Timbuktu. Some people may use its mud-plugging abilities, most won’t. But traversing a muddy, rut-ridden car park is a doddle.

If you need to go further into the rough stuff, a twirl of the Terrain Response dial will adjust the electronics to suit the surface. The added bonus for us Tarmac-users is that the Discovery was built for tougher stuff than the school run. The rear washer jet for instance actually sprays the entire rear window, and the wipers are big enough to clean the whole thing so you can clean it properly.

Just how much space is there in the Discovery?

Enough to carry seven blokes who are each over six foot. The raised floor means there’s no transmission tunnel intrusion for the middle-row passengers, and the Discovery is wide enough for three to sit comfortably abreast. In the very back anyone under six foot will be absolutely fine. Insist on putting a 6ft 6in bloke back there and the worst he’ll suffer will be knees pressed against seats. No other car offers as much room for seven people. And the seats are such a doddle to fold that we never even looked at the instruction manual.

Is the interior as good as a Range Rover’s?

No. The wood and leather don’t feel as expensive. The quality doesn’t feel as good, and there were a few rattles in our test car. Our top-spec HSE model costs a steep £44,535, but you still get things like hollow plastic door handles that creak when you rest your knee against them.

You do however get four heated seats, leather everywhere, audio controls for all three rows, climate control, and electric this, that and the other. And if you insist, a six-speed manual is a no-cost option.

But the interior is a wonderful place to sit. High above the rest of the world, with a great view out, on wonderfully comfy seats. You feel completely invulnerable, invincible, and it’s a great feeling.

Won’t somebody please think of the children?

Let’s face facts. In this eco-conscious, eco-friendly world the Discovery isn’t the cleanest or greenest car around. It might come with a diesel engine, and Land Rover might charge you £115 to offset the CO2 from your first 45,000 miles of motoring but those are mere sops. In our time with the Discovery it averaged 26mpg over 800 miles at an average speed of 37.6mph. The official claim is 27.7mpg, but it’s still no wonder Greenpeace is against 4×4s.

And while LR is making great things about its CO2 offset, you have to pay £450 extra for a diesel particulate filter. Don’t worry though, there are some new 5.0-litre V8 petrol models on the way to help out… Land Rover’s green technologies can’t come soon enough.

Verdict

If don’t mind being occasionally cast as the harbinger of death then the Discovery is one of the most versatile cars in the world. For a family of five a Ford S-Max is a better drive and kinder to the environment. But if you want something that feels truly premium, can carry seven full-size individuals anywhere, and makes you feel like you’re literally on top of the world when you’re behind the wheel, then the Discovery is the car to have.

This is the Land Rover Defender SVX, a special edition built to celebrate Land Rover’s 60th anniversary. Based on the short-wheelbase 90, the Defender SVX is available as station wagon or soft-top, and just 1800 are being produced for sale worldwide. The Defender’s a hell of a thing, an institution – a car you should drive before you die. Or before Land Rover kills it. Whichever.

So what’s so special about the Land Rover Defender SVX?

To get the full SVX hit go for the soft-top version. Every SVX gets metallic black paint and satin black 60th anniversary decals (making these about as subtle as possible, despite their door- and bonnet-filling size), silver detailing including the front grille (not the most successful aspect of the design…), and unique clear-lens lights – including the alarmingly contemporary LED rears. Then there’s the reinforced aluminium front undershield, and flash looking ‘diamond turned’ alloys. But only the soft-top includes a standard fit roll-cage.

Since you’re all thinking it we may as well say that, yes, this does look like it came from the Lara Croft accessory catalogue. But like the original open Land Rovers, the SVX soft-top stacks its spare wheel behind the front seats and features a flat load bed – complete with useful lockbox hidden underneath.

Looks drafty. Where do you put the passengers?

Going the full roll-cage monty is the best way to show off the SVX’s bespoke Recaro seats. It also clearly demonstrates that there’s just the two of them. This makes the SVX something like a sportscar of the mud-plugging world. But without a roof you’d struggle to fill the spare seat during a UK summer, let alone any other time of year; fortunately the SVX does have one, a tailor-fitted fabric job with lots of zips and velcro.

This, however, is so complicated it requires a crack team of military experts to disassemble. And good luck putting it back up in a hurry if you get caught in the rain. It also sounds as if the wind resistance is literally going to tear it off at motorway speeds, so you’ll be wanting earplugs or a decent level of tolerance for the SVX’s upgraded stereo. Especially as someone seems to have mistakenly interpreted ‘upgrade’ to mean cheap looking aftermarket headunit, and a subwoofer. Seriously. A sub. In a Defender. Still, at least there’s an iPod connector.

Does it still drive like a medieval torture device?

Actually, the SVX is surprisingly civilised. Some recalibration is necessary, obviously – and heaven forbid you ever need to use a concrete surfaced motorway – but last year’s major revisions have done their best to erase the Defender’s truly sadomasochistic side. The steering is light enough at low speeds to almost overlook the ridiculous turning circle, the brakes brake, and the six-speed gearbox is entirely agreeable so long as you’ve got enough potency in your left leg to move the clutch pedal.

All the crunching and banging from the full-time four-wheel drive only adds to the charm. The SVX is powered by the 2.4-litre turbodiesel also introduced in 2007, and although 120bhp doesn’t sound much, 276lb ft in a 90 with no tin lid is pretty handy – especially as it’s available from just 2000rpm. Top speed is a gobsmacking 82mph, 0-62mph takes…patience. But once you’re up and running there’s no need to keep anyone waiting, as the torque punches the SVX along very nicely. It even makes a decent stab at cornering quickly, if you’re careful.

What about the anti-SUV lobby?

A Defender isn’t an SUV, it’s a tool – designed for heavy duty off-road work, an environment where the standard dual-range transfer box and 47 degree approach and departure angles make the SVX almost unstoppable. It gets respect rather than aggravation. The looks of this particular variant do occasionally raise an eyebrow – or engender an actual ‘wow’ from G.I. Joe-minded children. Easily solved by letting it get a bit muddy.

While it might have air-con, electric windows, and a heated front windscreen, the SVX is still essentially an antique. It’s like the modern motoring equivalent of canal boating – you could go faster if you wanted to, but in truth it’s better to relax and enjoy the scenery. Just don’t let too many people know it still only manages 27.5mpg combined, and emits 274g/km CO2. At least you can get Land Rover’s CO2 offset scheme.

Verdict

The SVX starts at £30,495, with the soft-top as tested coming in at a hefty £32,800 – a far cry from the Defender’s £18,905 entry-level. But the difference is irrelevant as the UK allocation is just 300, and they are already sold out. Hopefully the owners will occasionally get their feet wet, even if the SVX is a piece of living history.

Here’s to another 60 years – though somehow we doubt the Defender as we currently know it will be around that long. Get one while you still can. You’ll enjoy it.

The overview

This is Freelander 2, an all-new British-built small premium off-roader, not to mention the successor to the car that kicked off the whole market for such cars. The final Land Rover designed by Geoff Upex before his retirement, Freelander 2 is bigger - 50mm longer, 109mm wider and 32mm taller - than the old car, faster, better equipped and, yes, more expensive too. A worthy addition to the Land Rover family? Read on to find out.

Under the skin

The new Freelander is just that, new. The body is a conventional steel monocoque constructed from high-strength steel but it’s not light, leading to a total kerbweight of around 1800kg depending on model. Suspension is all-independent by coils and gas dampers, the brakes are relatively large and plusher Freelanders will come with a version of Land Rover’s Terrain Response system. Like the Discovery’s and Range Rover’s, it has four modes: general driving, mud and ruts, slippery surfaces and sand and uses electronics to brake each wheel and send torque wherever suits.

Under the bonnet

Both of the Freelander’s engines are new, or new to the Freelander, at least. The old 2.0-litre TD4 finally gets the heave-ho and is replaced by a far more powerful 2.2-litre PSA lump. Power jumps from 110bhp to 158bhp and torque by 104lb ft to 295lb ft. That’s Brits sorted as there’s now no small petrol engine alternative to the diesel, the 1.8 K-series having been junked. But our gas-loving Stateside pals will be more interested in the other new arrival, a transversely-mounted 3.2-litre straight six. It pumps out 230bhp and 234lb ft compared with the 177bhp/174lb ft KV6 of the old Rover lump. It’s only available with a six-speed automatic gearbox, which is unlikely to upset many buyers; the diesel conversely, demands you manually sift through its six ratios, at least for now, which could put some buyers off. As with every Land Rover, and unlike most small off-roaders, the Freelander is full-time four-wheel drive. In normal driving it sends most of its torque to the front wheels but can send it rearwards instantly when necessary.

The inside story

The good news is that there’s plenty of good news. The cabin is bigger in every dimension and thankfully the driving position is adjustable this time. Which means no more head brushing the headlining. You still sit high though, giving a clear view of the road and the four corners of the car. Rear seat passengers have it easier too although the rear footwell isn’t deep enough to stave off leg aches on really long journeys. But while the old car’s nasty hard dash plastics have thankfully been given the bullet, there’s still a whiff of cost cutting. Some of the switches don’t feel that great, the moulded wood strip bisecting the dash looks pretty unpleasant, particularly the lighter wood version, and the cartridge key deserves a special mention. It’s essentially a poor copy of BMW’s cartridge key but not as nice to look at, to hold or to use as the Munich original. Don’t be surprised if a revised version appears quite soon. And don’t be surprised to hear owners of the old car moaning that the new version’s tailgate window doesn’t retract. There are bright spots too, like the smart rubber shelf just below the sat nav unit, perfect for resting your thumb to stabilise your hand when your pawing at the touch sensitive screen.

On the road

The chassis tuning is the work of Mike Cross, he of Jaguar fame, and it shows. The Freelander has that mature air that makes Jaguars such great road cars: good noise suppression, a supple ride and easy gait, but complemented with fine body control. The Freelander rolls more in corners than a BMW X3, but the light steering is quick and turn-in swift, giving the Freelander the demeanour of an agile car, rather than a lumbering off-roader. It’s not exactly a GTi with a false beard – grip levels are relatively modest and you never forget how tall the thing is - but it manages to be genuinely interesting to drive without compromising any of the family car virtues a Freelander should have.

Performance

Even with all that extra kerbweight doing its utmost to offset the new engines’ extra power, performance is much improved. Of the two, the 3.2 petrol six is the fleetest, slurring through its six ratios to reach 60mph in 8.4sec before running out of steam at 124mph. But the diesel’s on paper disadvantage (60mph in 10.9sec) never seems so big when you’re behind the wheel. Both are torquey, quiet, refined and more economical than the engines they replace: believe the figures and you’ll get 25mpg from the V6 (up from 22mpg) and 38mpg from the diesel (up 1mpg).

Off road

If it’s Sahara-crossing capability you’re after, you’re going to need something more hardcore than the Freelander. But when confronted with all the horrors our quarry could throw at it, the sort of stuff that would turn a CR-V grey with fright, the baby Landie shrugged its shoulders, rolled its sleeves up and got stuck in. There are no diff locks but the combination of the hill descent software and the four Terrain Response settings allows the Freelander to haul itself out of all sorts of sticky situations. Short overhangs and a respectable ride height keep nasty exhaust scraping noises to a minimum. A proper off roader, such as a Defender, will still humble the Freelander though.

Value for money

The Freelander starts this category with a big minus: it costs £2000 more than the car it replaces. Land Rover of course, would rightly argue that the new car is better in every way than the 1996 original. But the fact is, the Freelander range now starts at £20,935 and stretches up to a ludicrous-sounding £33k. It is not a cheap car and clearly has its sight set on leaving the Honda CR-V and Rav4 melee for a slice of the BMW X3’s more profitable pie. But it now has the sort of safety kit a car of this price deserves, comes fairly well equipped, even the base TD4 S offering alloy wheels, climate control and four electric windows. But start adding leather, sat nav and you’re not going to get much change from £30,000.

Verdict

After two great cars (Range Rover and Discovery) and one not so great (the too heavy, too thirsty but depressingly popular Range Sport), the new Freelander could have gone either way. But any fears have been assuaged, it’s a great junior off-roader and a worthy addition to the Land Rover family. Good enough off road to suit all but the most demanding of the green welly brigade and equally impressive on-road, it’s even a strong rival to a traditional junior exec.

Long-term test goodbye - 1 July 2008

This test was all about finding out if the new, updated Defender could cut it as a genuine family 4×4, and take on the new breed of 7-seater SUVs. On paper it’s got everything – great styling (ok, not exactly styling, but does anyone NOT think this is a handsome car?); it’s got three rows of half-leather seats, with a folding third row; it’s got a 2.4-litre turbodiesel engine and six-speed gearbox borrowed from the Transit; and it’s got four-wheel capability to embarrass a Challenger tank.

And it translates from paper into the real world surprisingly well. Yes, there is a culture shock: the first week with this car took some adjusting, to the stiff clutch, massive steering wheel, sheer weight and size of the thing. But you soon realise there are very few faults – it just does things differently. In fact the new interior is excellent, with chunky switches and good air conditioning system; it cruises at 80mph, it’s surprisingly comfortable and quiet on the motorway (smooth roads are fine – bumpy one are where it feels crude).

In fact, in the final week, the one insurmountable problem was the same one that really got in the way in the first few days: the turning circle. It sounds like a minor setback, but it’s a really annoying limitation that makes you wary of taking it on certain journeys, especially urban. It means you have to be prepared to do 20-point-turns to get in and out of car parks, or even to get round tight bends in narrow streets. I can’t believe the Land Rover engineers can’t solve this one, but they clearly can’t – it’s too obvious a flaw for them not to have noticed.

Altogether, and with a price-tag of £30k, you’d think it was a no-brainer – no other car would survive for a minute in the competitive SUV world with the problems the Defender has. And yet… And yet the Land Rover continues to sell, and a friend of mine has just bought one as his main family car with his own cash. Why? Well, I’m not about to spend my own cash on one (I’d have a second-hand Discovery3 for the same money) I can completely see the appeal. I’m going to use the c-word now – it’s got ‘character’. Even in a few short weeks we got to know the Defender, peeled back a few of its layers to understand it more, appreciated its weaknesses, its quirks and its incredible strengths. What other car do you know of with layers?

The kids absolutely loved being in it too, and their friends all asked for lifts back from school in it – that doesn’t happen in a BMW X5 or a Volvo XC90. And for the driver, the Defender brings an element of adventure, romance even, into your journeys, by feeling unstoppable, dependable, heroic. Imagine a dark night, it’s lashing with rain outside, the wind howling; you strap on your boots and put on your Goretex, grab the Defender keys and open your front door, allowing the storm to briefly rage in your hallway. You turn to your family (who have gathered to wish you luck) and you say ‘I’m going to get a Chinese takeaway now’, and your youngest son looks up at you with an anxious tear in his eye. ‘Don’t worry son,’ you add with a reassuring smile. ‘I’m taking the Defender.’

That’s what it’s like being a Defender driver. I’m going to miss it.

Defender Who? - 19 May 2008

The modern Defender is an old fashioned Tardis. This is a car that’s so big on the outside, it makes everything else in my street look like a Matchbox toy, circa 1974. Look down the line of the parked cars, and above everyone else’s rooftops you’ll see the Defender’s bonnet bulge. Yet when you climb in and sit at the wheel, you find your legs are tucked under you, your knees are virtually touching the dashboard and your elbow is wedged against the door. And the back seats are a teensy little bench like the kind you’d expect to find in a primary school.

And yet somehow, fold up the third row of seats and open that gaping back door, and it becomes a cavernous boot. It’s not that wide – those folded seats restrict that – but it’s deep enough and tall enough to swallow not one but several washing machines. Or enough logs to keep the Walton family warm for weeks. Or an 18-week-old Friesan calf. (That’s an estimate, not tested).

First report - 14 April 2008
My love of our long-term Defender isn’t just about Ray Mears off-road fantasies and humdrum domestic activities. Family Walton also genuinely needs a tow car, because my 12-year-old daughter has a pony and I have an old sailing boat. While it’s been with us, the Defender’s hitch has been properly used and abused.

To understand fully how at home the Defender is in this territory, you just have to look at the Defender brochure, There’s a whole chapter dedicated to the subject of Carrying, Towing and Winching. Winching. Oh god I wanted a winch… but instead I had to make do with a multi-height towbar, plus electrics, which altogether costs £326 (including the ‘S’ type auxiliary plug, used for interior lights on trailers etc).

First problem was the height – the Defender is such a tall car at the rear, even on its lowest setting the towball was on the high side for our Ifor Williams horsebox. You can buy a useful ‘adjustable multiheight tow bar’ which gives a bit more height flexibility – it slides up and down and is locked with a big pin, instead of nuts and bolts, which is handy if you’ve got trailers of various sizes to pull.

Once hitched though, as you would imagine, the Defender is totally at home with a trailer behind it. That 2.4-litre Transit engine, with 232lb ft of torque available from just 1500rpm (and a peak of 265lb ft at just 2000rpm), means it pulls away from a standstill effortlessly, as though there’s nothing behind it. And because the Defender already punches such a big aerodynamic hole in the air, a trailer makes no difference at all on a long journey – it feels stable, unfussed, and on a 200-mile round trip, we got an identical 23mpg.

The only problem with the Defender is that turning circle, which I’ve mentioned before in my magazine reports. In town, with no trailer, it’s a hindrance because it’s hard getting into a small parking space or getting round tight, narrow streets; with a trailer it just cramps your reversing style. You have to start switching from lock to lock earlier than most other tow cars when you reverse, otherwise you just end up following the trailer, instead of ‘kinking’ it in the direction you want. In tight reversing scenarios, it makes you look like a complete amateur. Which hurts my pride.

Actually, there is one other issue, and that’s the price. Our long-term test car is a 110 Station Wagon in top-of-the-range XS spec, which means half-leather seats, air-con, CD player and five-spoke alloys. Add a few options, including the third row of seats (£400) and the metallic silver paint (£475), and you’re up to (gulp) £30,000. It may have an agricultural heritage, but the Defender is definitely premium now.