The kitchen clock has just turned 7am and I must be on my way: I have urgent business at the White House in Washington. I ease the Cadillac into “drive” and purr on to the highway as the radio recounts the final presidential wranglings of John McCain and Barack Obama.

In reality, I am taking the M3 towards Basingstoke. My mission is not to reassess the credibility of US foreign policy, but rather to size up its latest and most luxurious automotive product. That the White House I am travelling to has been unearthed, after much Googling, on the outskirts of Brighton and turns out to be a residential care centre, and that Washington is a quaint village on the nearby South Downs of West Sussex, illustrates how desperate motoring hacks can get for an angle.