‘Glen Waddington? Of Octane magazine?’ I hear this as I’m about to leave the ‘boss’s seat’ in the back of the Toyota Century. We’ve pulled up outside one of Manchester’s premier hotels, and the concierge is making his way across the dark and shiny marbled forecourt. Perhaps he’d spotted the flagstaff on the front bumper (though we weren’t sporting a pennant at the time), or maybe it was the regal bearing of this long yet simple-looking car. But then he frowns and suddenly it doesn’t look anymore as though he’s about to open my rear nearside passenger door. No, it turns out he’s not happy with where we’ve parked. Then I make out the immortal words: ‘Never heard of him.’ Whatever.
The point is that he was anticipating the emergence of a VIP, no matter what the faux pas involving where the car had stopped. You’d expect someone of significance to step from it, not a motoring hack (who’d more likely want to be behind the wheel anyway). And he was certainly confused by its identity: ‘A Toyota? Never!’
Not simply a Toyota, though, but a Toyota Century, the working car of Japan’s emperor, and the choice of wheels among Japanese captains of industry who prefer to be driven. As the company itself suggests: ‘The Century is acquired through persistent work, the kind that is done in a plain but formal suit.’
This is Japan’s ultimate mobile status symbol, yet it is not one that shouts. You’ll notice that there are no blacked-out windows, which would clamour to
