The clubman looks odd from just about any angle you care to view it from

Note to fellow Mini Clubman drivers. You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you? The stares you get from other road users, pedestrians and the occasional curious stray cat. Disconcerting, aren’t they? Given the throughput of metal that goes with this job, I’ve been stared at more than most over the years, so allow me to interpret.

Up to now, I’d thought there were five basic types of stare. The Truly Gobsmacked (Veyron, Zonda, Koenigsegg), the Knowing Nod (Audi R8, Nissan GT-R, Merc CLK Black), the Cute As Hell Grin (new Fiat 500, old Fiat 500), the Call That A Car Smirk (Vauxhall Tigra, Toyota Prius, Fiat Croma) and There’s Something Nasty on The Sole of My Shoe (BMW X6, SsangYong Rodius, Merc R-Class).

But the Clubman has created a sixth category: the Huh? It’s neither approving nor dismissive, just the facial manifestation of a question mark. As in ‘I wish I could put my finger on it, but why hasn’t this worked?’

Most estate cars these days manage to improve on the looks of the equivalent saloon or hatch. The Renault Laguna, the Peugeot 407 and the new Audi A4 are just three of the more obvious examples. Even the old half-timbered Countryman/Traveller had a charm that preserved the character of the Mini. But the Clubman seems somehow a much more brutal corruption of the basic idea that, remarkably, contrives to look intriguingly odd from just about any angle you care to view it from. Side on, it sometimes seems as if the twin-door tailgate is actually sloping backwards – so the Clubman does optical illusions, too.

This all became just a little more painfully obvious a few days ago when I called round to see my son James, who has just bought a very tidy previous-generation Cooper S hatch, a car that actually seems to get prettier with age, though I’ve no doubt this has something to do with the comparatively bloated appearance of its larger successor. Inside, too, the earlier car’s leaner, edgier, less clunkingly exaggerated architecture seems far sexier and more inviting.

Still, people can stare all they want, I like the Clubman more now than when I took it on. Moreover, I’d like to have seen the expression on the face of the BMW 330d driver who, perhaps not unreasonably, thought he’d dust the ugly little spud on a long, uphill section of dual carriageway only to discover that it remained glued (at a safe distance, of course) to his tail. It’s rapid this car, and getting quicker as the miles pile on. I’ve also started to leave the ‘Sport’ button depressed for much of the time to sharpen the throttle response and put some extra weight into the steering. Even if it doesn’t completely eradicate the extra helping of torque steer the Clubman gets over the Cooper S hatch, at least it dulls it.

As for the Clubman’s practical charms – yes, with the rear seats folded flat, it managed to swallow all of Gus Gregory’s photographic clobber with room to spare on a recent trip to Wales. And, no, despite the rear-hinged, driver’s side suicide door, my sprightly 84-year-old mother-in-law still views the task of extracting herself from the back seat with fear and loathing. That’s why we took the Audi RS6 everywhere for the week I had it. That’s my excuse, anyway.