Why does this half-a-million-dollar hybrid Bentley hate me?

I sometimes struggle to understand, or enjoy, stupidly expensive and otiose vehicles like the Bentley Bentayga SUV. But this car takes the cake.

Buying a hybrid or electric Bentley seems like buying an abattoir but then telling your mates you still do meat-free Mondays. Picture: Supplied

Yes, I admit it, I have class issues. If I had the courage of my convictions I would move to Finland, where private schools are nigh-on banned, because the idea that my taxes should subsidise the rose gardens, sashimi lunches and water-polo poncing at those palaces of privilege makes my distinctly un-blue blood boil.

I agree with Warren Buffett, and Succession star swearer Brian Cox, that we should tax the rich more punitively – although it’s an easier argument to make for me than it is for them.

My irascibility about such things might help to explain why I sometimes struggle to understand, or enjoy, stupidly expensive and otiose vehicles like the Bentley Bentayga SUV. What is harder to explain is why the most recent one I was partnered with seemed to take a dislike to me.

I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy the lovely drive we took down the south coast of NSW together to a suitably expansive holiday house – the seat massage soothing the traffic troubles from my spine, the superlative stereo salving my soul and the genuinely delectable steering wheel making my hands feel like I was wearing posh gloves. But that was perhaps because I chose gleaming new sneakers, a gifted polo shirt and proper dress shorts for the trip. The next day, when I dared to head to the shops wearing faded boardies, thongs and a rashie that showed off all of the alluring folds and mounds of my torso, the $478,400 Odyssean Edition of my Bentley felt less than impressed.

Inside the Bentley Bentayga Odyssean Edition. Picture: Supplied

Just for a start, you can tell this car wasn’t designed to be driven with bare feet (only a fool drives with their thongs on), as the brake pedal is emblazoned with a giant “B” that is not flesh-friendly. I could tell there was an icy tension developing between us, as if I’d worn my beach-friendly outfit into a members-only golf club and asked if I could borrow their bathroom facilities to snap one off.

Sure enough, when I returned to the house there was a definite hiss of disdain as the self-sealing doors inhaled themselves shut, and two minutes later a klaxon-like car alarm started going off. No problem, I thought, just a bug – lock and unlock it. But no, every few minutes, whether locked or not, the alarm would go off again and, after the 20th time this happened, I sensed that I was as popular with my fellow house guests, and neighbours, as a barking dog frolicking in an exposed sewer line.

You can tell this car wasn’t designed to be driven with bare feet. Picture: Supplied

I went for a drive around the block – but still no dice, so I called Bentley’s representatives, who contacted their friends at HQ in the UK, who declared this all to be very strange indeed. It was agreed that I was in a spot of bother, old chap, and I was told that hopefully someone would be able to help, toodle pip.

In the meantime, we decided it was best to leave the key in the Bentley, which should be left unlocked, inside a locked garage.

At this point I did ponder how I would feel if I’d actually bought this Odyssean Bentayga, a special edition limited to just 70 examples worldwide and, apparently, “focused on sustainability” (honestly, the idea that anyone buying a giant Bentley SUV cares about sustainability is like pretending that Greta Thunberg is a fan of new coal mines).

I decided that I would be ropable, and that no amount of “environmentally friendly” materials in my vehicle’s interior – including “open-pore Koa veneer”, whatever that is, and panels of tweed made from 100 per cent British wool – would make me feel better. Nor would the fact that the leather on the seats come from hand-picked herds grazing high above sea level in northern Europe (apparently this is to avoid ugly bug bites on their hides).

The idea that anyone buying a giant Bentley SUV cares about sustainability is like pretending that Greta Thunberg is a fan of new coal mines. Picture: Supplied

I’ll admit that the next day, when I presented myself to the car in more suitable attire and it decided to stop shouting at me, I liked its hybrid powertrain, an effortlessly enthusiastic 3.0-litre twin-turbo V6 mated to a 100kW/400Nm electric motor generator, but I was a little bemused by the fact that you’d be lucky to get 40km of range out of it in electric mode.

My tween daughter, who is a far more reasonable human than I, told me I was banging on about nothing again, and that she thought the Bentley was lovely – silky smooth, suitably posh and hulkingly handsome, even (I took her for an eye test when we got home). We also met a butcher in a small town who was entirely taken with the Bentayga and reacted to its presence as if actual royalty was parked outside his shop.

As I have pondered before, buying a hybrid or electric Bentley seems like buying an abattoir but then telling your mates you still do meat-free Mondays, and yet the brand has pledged to be fully electric by 2030 so it has to take the whole idea very seriously.

Perhaps if I’d had a private education I’d be smart enough to predict how that’s going to work out.