Bentley Continental GT - long-term review

I know what it looks like already, of course. I’d pored over the spec for hours when choosing it, followed it through the factory from bare pistons to final sign-off. I’ve pressed hoses into position, tightened bolts, buffed paintwork, wood and leather, seen parts that’ll never ever see daylight again. I literally know it inside out. The only thing that’s new are the number plates.

And yet I’m nervous. It’s the colour, you see. Verdant Green. I still worry about it: too dark, too trad? I’m not a trad person and yet a green-over-red Conti GT is basically reincarnating the Speed Sixes of the Bentley Boys 90 years on. A couple of photographers I’d spoken to had said Verdant is a great colour in direct sunlight, but a nightmare to photograph when the sun goes in. Very dark, apparently. I don’t want that.

Working on the production line had been interesting too. I’d seen plenty of stuff that made me wince and grimace, but also a couple of things that had me nodding appreciatively. Then someone had told me their ultimate spec was a sage Alpine Green with contrasting black pack. I look it up and really like it. Nuts.

So I arrive at Bentley Berkshire in Pangbourne conflicted. A Conti GT-shaped shroud occupies pride of place in the showroom. Sales manager Ian Lewis suggests coffee. I’m not sure I need to be any more on edge, but I say yes. We shoot the breeze about sales – the most common spec is still triple black (body, cabin, wheels), they sell more convertibles than coupes and don’t see that many green cars. He’s very complimentary about my spec, of course. But did I detect a hint of a pause in there?

Because here’s the thing about being in the fortunate position of speccing a new car. It doesn’t matter how much money you’re spending, be it Bentley budget or Dacia, once you give it the nod, you’re locked in. No-one’s invented switchable paint. And when the options are as limitless as they are with a Bentley, the car is a reflection of your personality, not a reflection of the limited choices available. You’re stuck with it.

I’ll tell you how nervous I am. I can’t decide where to stand as the wraps are pulled off. It’s altogether possible I’ve built this up too much in my mind, and the sales team are obviously keen to do everything possible to heighten your experience, not above a bit of theatrics.

The covers are gripped and whipped off with a magician’s flourish and there’s the car. Not dark, just stealthily imposing. Not aggressive, simply muscularly present. Not overt, but subtly eye-catching. I won’t say I instantly adore it, but my heartrate settles back significantly.

We roll it out into the daylight and the news is better. It’s a strong green, the right green. The cabin I do instantly adore – red cricket ball leather was absolutely the right decision as far as I’m concerned. The contrast linen stitching doesn’t run as far through the car as I expected, but I love the ambience, the look and feel of it. This, more than the exterior, is the Bentley experience for me. I’m talked through the car’s systems, from phone linking to nav to ambient lighting. I’m told to get in touch if there’s anything I don’t understand. And then I’m waved away. I creep off the forecourt as timidly and gently as I did leaving the hospital car park with my first child (don’t ask about the second child, that one went home in a supercharged Holden Monaro. It was the right decision, the car bug bit hard).

So baffling is the menu system on first impression that for the drive home I use the £4,770 Rotating Display so I get three analogue dials rather than a digital bombardment. I suspect I’ll be doing that quite a lot. Looks lovely, lessens distraction.

What else do I have to play with? I only ticked seven boxes on the options list, and yet that was a spend of £36,375. Let me tell you about two of them. Mulliner Driving Specification was the most expensive at £10,045. I’m not convinced it’s great value, as aside from the 22s, there’s no changes to the dynamics or mechanics. It brings metal pedals, oil and fuel fillers, plus embroidered emblems and diamond patterns and quilted seats. I did want that. What I didn’t realise is that this means our Conti GT contains 310,675 stitches. And that’s mind-blowing. And 31 stitches per pound, so cracking value, right?

I blew another £6,595 on the ultimate Naim sound system. I know, ridiculous. But so worth it. Pretty much the first thing I did was a trip down to Dorset at half term, just my 14-year old – the car-obsessed second – and I. We spent the whole journey finding the most bass-heavy tracks and letting the system do its worst. It was mesmerising. Hilarious. Brilliant. We laughed and cooed and sang. It was just a wonderful journey in a cool car. And more importantly a new experience, the stuff memories are made of.

The next day I’m walking back to the car in Lyme Regis after a long, wet beach walk. A couple walk towards me and I catch the edge of their conversation, “that’s exactly how I’d have mine” he says, “I do really like that colour” she replies. Just about makes my day.