Peugeot Rifter review: silly name, looks awful but hard not to love

My colleagues laughed when the Peugeot Rifter arrived. ‘Ha-ha-ha,’ they all said. ‘You’ve got to spend all week in that.’

”A stupid-looking car with a silly name”: the Peugeot Rifter.

My colleagues in the office laughed when the Peugeot Rifter arrived. The delivery driver parked it on the far side of the car park, and even though it was raining everyone went outside for a giggle. “Ha-ha-ha,” they all said. “You’ve got to spend all week in that.” They did have a point. It’d be like being a clothes reviewer and spending a week walking round in a brown suit that was 14 sizes too large. And made from pleblon.

And then there was the name: Rifter. That sounds like some kind of drug paraphernalia. Or one of the services offered by an escort at a Frankfurt airport hotel. “Ja. I do rifter.” So it’s a stupid-looking car with a silly name. And it’s a Peugeot. I don’t want to sound like a stuck record, but Peugeots are the new Volvos. They are cars for people who hang things from the rear-view mirror, which is an internationally recognised sign that you can’t drive.

All of which meant I was happy as I climbed aboard and brought the dismal diesel into life. This would be a no-star car, and I’d have a whole joyous week thinking up a million new metaphors to explain why. At first, though, I couldn’t think of anything at all, because the car was busy telling me – using the exact same klaxon as they use in a diving submarine – that I was the Duke of Edinburgh. And then, after I’d fastened my seatbelt, it went crazy again because it thought I was going to crash into the car park’s automatic barrier. This is a car that panics, very often and very loudly.

However, while in the car park I noticed that it had an exceptionally tight turning circle, and steering that is almost comically light. And then, as I drove over the speed hump at the exit of the car park, I noticed that I didn’t notice. It was uncanny.

Around town this is almost certainly the most comfortable car you can buy. The wheels are like special forces soldiers. They deal with potholes without any of the squeaky, “Did you see that?” histrionics you’d get from an ordinary set. Of course, at speed they can’t cope at all and flop about in a blizzard of confusion. But this won’t trouble a Rifter driver, because they will never travel at speed.

Once, I overtook a slow-moving old lady in a Rover, which meant driving for a little while with two of my wheels on the grass verge. The vibration was so bad that it felt as if I were being hosed down with .50-calibre machinegun fire. But, once again, the Rifter driver will never experience this, because he or she won’t overtake anyone.

So, the Rifter is not aimed at someone who wishes to set a lap record at the Nürburgring. And they’re going to love the soft town ride and the light steering and the sixpence turning circle. They’re going to love the space, too.

Let’s not mess about here. The Rifter is a van. It was designed to be a van, and even though the back is full of seats now rather than tools and cement mixers, it’s still a van. This is bad if you turn up at the Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo – you’ll be sent to the tradesmen’s entrance – but if you want to move your kids to university or go on holiday for a fortnight, then it’s brilliant.

The boot on the five-seater I tried was big enough for three St Bernards, and then there was another massive luggage area in the ceiling. And there’s so much space in the cabin that at one point I actually misplaced a one-litre bottle of water. You could play hide and seek in there, and win, even if you were fat.

It’s a nice place to sit as well. There’s a cool art-deco light installation on the panel running the length of the passenger compartment, and above that a glass roof. There’s also a funky steering wheel and good-looking trim on the dash. My test car even had foldaway tray tables in the back, like you get on an aeroplane.

On a blustery day I noticed it was affected by crosswinds at motorway speeds, but, again, this is of no concern to the Rifter driver. They’ll be doing 60kmh in the loser lane, desperately trying to find their lost handbag and getting their specs tangled up in the religious artefact hanging from the rear-view mirror.

If this is you – if you are a normal person with normal children and you want a normal car to do the school run and trips to the garden centre and annual trips to the seaside – it’s a fabulous car.

Peugeot Rifter

Engine: 1.5-litre turbo-diesel four-cylinder (97kW/300Nm)

Average fuel 5.9 litres per 100km

Transmission: Six-speed manual, front-wheel drive

Price: £24,689 (N/A Australia)

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars