Volvo V90 Cross Country B5 review: it’s faultless

Admitting you drove a Volvo used to be like telling people your penis had stopped working. But while I wasn’t paying attention, its image changed.

Solid: the Volvo V90 Cross Country B5

In the olden days, when I first started to travel the world making television shows, I had a crew of four. A producer, a director, a cameraman and a sound recordist. We all mucked in, lugging tripods up mountains and humping heavy boxes at airports while someone queued for the rental car. Now, though, we must travel with data and drone wranglers, mechanics and mini-cam specialists, an army of people to probe our noses and throats and a squadron of producers, helpers, caterers and security people. Which is why, on a recent trip across the Arctic Circle, we had a crew of 72.

In the frozen wastelands of northern Scandinavia, mercifully, it was easy to move so many people each day because the roads were wide and we could hire a fleet of big, new Volvos. On about the fourth night we had a few refreshing beers and Richard Hammond observed: “You know, some of those Volvos do look pretty good. I think I may buy one. It’s exactly what I need.” James May put his pint down and said: “Good idea. Having a Volvo is like going to the dentist. It’s something you’ve got to get out of the way, so you might as well do it now.”

Inside the cabin

And me? I’d become especially consumed by one of the cars in the convoy. It was called a V90 Cross Country and it looked pretty good. The bonnet was long and graceful, and even though the ride height was raised slightly to give it some off-road ability it had a low, purposeful stance. I thought it was very handsome. In a break from filming I sat in it for a while, and inside it was even better. The trim and design were very Swedish. It felt light and spacious, and the boot was huge; one of the biggest of any car in the world.

When I came home, I borrowed one from Volvo and I’ve been using it all week, and it’s faultless. You can have a plug-in hybrid if that’s your thing, but I went for the B5 petrol, which has a two-litre, four-cylinder engine that uses some fuel. How much? Depends on how you drive. It also produces enough horsepowers to get this really quite large car from 0 to 60 in 7.1 seconds, and that’s fine.

It’s not really about speed, though. It’s about quietness and comfort, and it does both those things beautifully. And common sense: knobs you can adjust while wearing gloves, sensible phone charging and a London taxi turning circle. Off road? Well, it’s no Range Rover, but because it has four-wheel drive it can handle farm tracks and gymkhana car parks. And there’s the safety. From 2004 to 2017, not a single person died in a Volvo XC90 as the result of a crash. I presume you’re just as well protected in the V90. So that’s comforting.

From the back

This, then, is a car you simply cannot fault – except for one thing. The elephant in the room. You have to tell people you’ve bought a Volvo, which is the same as telling them your penis has stopped working. Or is it? Certainly, people my age will remember a time when Volvos were bought by bores and antiques dealers. My dad had one, a 265 GLE we called Claudia after my mother’s portly aunt. I refused point-blank to get in it, ever. To make matters worse, they bought my sister a Volvo 345, which was a Dutch-made hatchback powered by rubber bands. I drove it a couple of times and even now, when I think about that, I feel pale and frightened.

In 1994 Volvo tried to change its dowdy image by launching a turbocharged road rocket called the T5. They even went motor racing with it, and seeing it come down the main straight was like watching a huge tidal wave of Swedish steel. It had a few successes, but the PR onslaught didn’t really work. People continued to buy Audis and BMWs, and pretty soon Volvo had to be rescued by a Chinese operation.

Since then, while I wasn’t paying attention, Volvo’s image has changed. I was talking to one of the kids who works on my farm show last week. He’s young. Lives in a super-cool part of London. Goes to all the right places. Eats all the right gluten-free food. And drives a Volvo XC40. He’s not alone. If you check out your local supermarket car park, you’ll notice that all the badly parked cars, driven by elderly buffoons, are Beemers and Audis. The well-parked cars are all Volvos and they’re all driven by hot blondes and young men in tech. It’s become the coolest car brand of them all. So you can have a Volvo Cross Country. And you should.

Volvo V90 Cross Country B5

ENGINE: 2.0-litre four-cylinder twin-turbo petrol (173kW/480Nm)

TRANSMISSION: eight-speed automatic AWD

PRICE: Discontinued in Australia 2021; V60 B5 Cross Country Mild Hybrid AWD from $64,990

STARS: Four out of five