There are, however, a couple of rather cheap- feeling switches, tucked away down by the gear lever. Open your eyes and you'll see that one has a symbol of a mountain next to it, signifying that its function is to select the lower gear ratios should you wish to indulge in some serious offroading. The other has a picture of a smug-looking goat, and it's the switch for Hill Descent Control, which juggles the ABS to stop you slithering uncontrollably down especially steep and slippery hillsides (OK, I made up the bit about the goat).

Anyway, the engineers obviously sussed that the quality of these particular switches was incidental, because as we all know, they're unlikely to see much action. At the risk of restating the bleedin' obvious, while Range Rover buyers demand a car that's capable of clambering up and down Ben Nevis and wading through knee-deep slurry, the vast majority sure as hell have no intention of doing it themselves.

No, what they really want is a car that makes a statement, a car with immutable presence, an icon. Irrefutable evidence of impeccable taste, class, breeding. A purchase that makes them feel good about themselves.

After all, wasn't it Dr Wolfgang Reitzle, Dr Feelgood himself, head of Ford's Posh Automotive Group, who said that the new Range Rover had been designed to compete with the world's best luxury saloons?

What Dr Reitzle knows is that buyers want a Range Rover because it's big, imposing and sumptuous, so when you scrunch up someone's gravel drive in it or pull up outside the Dorchester, they jolly well know you've arrived. In every sense. What's more, no-one will snigger at your choice of leviathan, because although it's as big and sparkly as the Dorchester's ballroom, there's not even a whiff of vulgarity about it. And what other car has the same effect? Toyota Landcruiser? Don't think so. Merc S500? Not quite. Try a Bentley.

So here we are at Evo Towers, awaiting the arrival of an Arnage Red Label and a Range Rover V8 Vogue. We'll know when they arrive from the heavy-duty scrunching in the car park, though there is one false alarm when something big, square-rigged and rumbly pulls up outside. It turns out to be a Parcelforce delivery van.

Silly of us, really. When the Range Rover arrives, it's much bigger. And boy does it have presence, though when you make a BMW X5 look like a RAV4 it kind of helps. But there's also something about the Rangey that makes it somehow evo when, say, a Merc ML just isn't. It's that icon thing again. A wealthy bloke in the village where I grew up had one of the very first Mk1 Range Rovers and my mates and I thought it was even cooler than his Jensen Interceptor. It was the almost brutal functionality of the lines, the lofty seating position and the big, woofly V8. It took a grip on our hearts then and it's never really let go.

The Mk3 taps into that, and yes, it still has a V8 and full-time 4wd, but that's really where the similarities end. You'll know by now that new Rangey does away with the separate chassis and the live axles, replacing them with a full monocoque and fully independent air-sprung suspension. These days the V8 is a 4.4-litre BMW unit joined to a five-speed auto with a Steptronic manual shift option. And then there's all the sexy, techy bits like Dynamic Stability Control and Electronic Brakeforce Distribution, as well as the aforementioned electronically switchable high and low ratios (for the first time you can now switch beteen them on the move) and Hill Descent Control.

And do you know what? The single most impressive thing is the interior. Climb aboard and what hits you, apart from a trace of vertigo, is the sheer classiness of it all. That and the unashamed sensuality. Remember how the original had rubber floor coverings so you could hose it down? Our test car has plush carpets and cream-coloured trim, and that's just in the boot. Muddy Wellingtons? Not in Egham, dear.

Putting your cynical trousers to one side, you know you're in something unique, and very special. Even the wood ΂- cherry in this car ΂- looks convincing, almost structural. All of which confirms our suspicion that the car closest in character to new Range Rover is not a Landcruiser, not even an S-class, but something rather closer to home. Something from just up the road in Crewe, to be precise.

The Arnage Red Label scores highly on the scrunchometer as it swooshes into the evo car park. In most situations its sheer grandeur would guarantee that all eyes were drawn towards it. Parked next to the Range Rover, however, it looks Mondeo-sized; literally and figuratively overshadowed.

The stats are still impressive, though. This car may not have the new Arnage T's twin-turbo V8, but the venerable single-turbo 6750cc unit is still good for 400bhp and 619lb ft of torque at an amusing 2150rpm. And then there's the price tag, the best part of ΂£150K, which, to keep the numbers nice and round, makes it about ninety grand more than the range-topping Vogue V8 (call it ΂£60K in standard trim, ΂£63K if you tick the few remaining options boxes).

Some of your extra outlay you can see and touch ΂- and smell ΂- when you slip into that creamy cocoon. The most flawless and gorgeously aromatic hides cover everything from the seat squabs to the headlining; the rich-looking veneers on the dashboard are punctuated by heavily chromed switches and vents which operate with a precision and weightiness that's simply unrivalled. And when the V8 starts its distant pulsing and the instrument faces illuminate in soft sepia tones, there's a real atmosphere to the Arnage.

There's also something wickedly seductive about the way the Red Label delivers its abundant torque. The wave of acceleration swells from deep down, and there's just a murmur from the engine overlaid with a hint of turbo whistle as it propels you forward like it's just grown jet engines. That's the way Bentley owners like it ΂- remember how the quad-cam BMW V8 that appeared in the first Arnage was quietly dropped after customers said they preferred the old torque-laden pushrod motor.

I can see the appeal. As I point the Red Label down some favourite B-roads, the incredible hulk of the following Range Rover fills the rear view mirrors with its big, bluff, slightly menacing face. If the intention is to give other drivers a mild coronary when it appears behind them, it's certainly succeeded. Only thing is, as I squeeze open the Bentley's heavy throttle and the Rangey falls steadily but inexorably back, it doesn't look quite so butch. And at the end of a long straight, when it's a still-receding dot in the mirror, it doesn't look very butch at all. There ain't no substitute for cubic inches and a ruddy great turbo, as they say in Crewe.

The Red Label weighs two and half tons, which puts the performance in perspective. It also asks big questions of the chassis. In fact it covers ground at a rare old lick, though at the expense of a slightly wooden ride, and just occasionally a bump or ridge sends a little shimmy through the body. You can also feel the bulk shifting around, especially through a rapid sequence of turns. The steering is weighty, to the point of being a tad stodgy about the straight-ahead, but it livens up nicely when you give it some input. All things considered, I'm a fan. And I'm very grateful for traction control on damp, greasy blacktop. On just one occasion, with a bootful of throttle at a T junction, it's caught napping and the back-end squirms round ΂- a reminder that there's 600-odd lb ft of torque going through the rear tyres. The rest of the time it keeps all two and half tons pointing straight up the road, which is probably just as well.

The Bentley is good for the soul. Climbing back into the Range Rover (it helps if you remember to set the suspension to the lowest of its four settings when you park up) you'd imagine it would have to be an anti-climax. But it isn't. It's tall and upright and airy after the Bentley's snug intimacy, and where the Arnage is an evolution of styling themes rooted in the 1930s, the Range Rover is bold and thoroughly modern, coming across all IKEA-generation widescreen-TV techno-with-cherrywood and a-dash-of-motoryacht.

But it exudes a similar quality-in-depth. And the impression is reinforced when you start driving. There's a deliciously tight, honed feel to the drivetrain and the suspension. You can sense the rigidity of the whole structure, and feel the suspension working from this platform. Reminds me of the Aston Vanquish, which is a similar quantum leap over earlier Astons.

Retracing the same route I've just driven in the Arnage, the Range Rover gives little or nothing away in ride quality. And though it too weighs as near as dammit two-and-a-half tons, it disguises the fact at least as well. I hesitate to use the word agile, but it's so much more together than previous Rangeys it's a revelation. Sure it rolls, and eventually you'll find understeer, but it does it so predictably it's almost chuckable. It's much more all-of-a-piece than the Arnage; just a pity the steering mistakes weight for feel. And even on these slithersome roads, traction out of turns is simply never an issue. You're more likely to reduce your speed because of the sheer size of the thing. At well over 7ft wide, over 16ft long and more than 6ft tall, it's a bit of a whopper.

Size, though, does matter. It adds to the Range Rover's imperious air, the feeling that you're driving a car with gravitas. What you'd give for 600lb ft of torque, though.
The BMW V8 is much keener to rev than the Bentley, and the quick-shifting auto has the rev-counter flickering back and forth. But although there's enough power to step smartly off the line, you have to work it pretty hard on the move, and even on moderate throttle openings it's surprisingly vocal. Not an unpleasant sound ΂- after the Arnage it sounds like a TVR! ΂- but not quite in keeping with the Range Rover's character. Since it's unlikely they're going to 'do a Bentley' and exhume the old Land Rover V8, maybe Uncle Henry will come up with a nice new V12.

For now though the Bentley driver needn't worry about being embarrassed by a 4wd. He has the answer under his right foot. And that's not all he has. The Arnage has old-school old-money appeal. It's conservative with a small c, upholding a tradition that's rather older than the Range Rover's. And nowhere in the car is there any evidence of it being built down to a price. Just use the best materials, we'll cost it later, seems to be the attitude. That's another thing that makes it special.

But is it an extra 90 grand's worth of special? Not by any logical reckoning. No-one climbing into the Range Rover is going to feel anything less than thoroughly pleased with themselves. It, too, is a special car, just as its makers intended.

But like I've said, these aren't entirely logical purchases. Whether the Bentley's worth the extra ΂£90K is a question only someone in a position to buy one can really answer. And that, sadly, ain't me.

Many thanks to Lloyd Warren and Buster for helping with this feature.