To me, the latest BMW 3 Series’ design remains woefully uninspiring. I would have hoped that by now it would “speak to me, enthral me, and stimulate my senses”, but the Three must have lost my number.
So, with fob in hand, I approach the 330d from the rear without really looking at it, open the door and sink into the cream leather seat. The E46 remains the prettier sibling, I think, but as I’ve said before, you don’t have to look at the car once you’re in it!
Nevertheless, I punch the starter button, hook the auto shift into reverse, hum along to the park sensors, and we’re away.
With no real use for my left hand or foot, I’m absolutely paranoid of drifting into Lalaland. But this 330d simply wouldn’t allow me to do that. Its pounding powerplant is ready for action at a tap of the throttle pedal, and the compliant auto’ allows me to concentrate on more important things, like barrelling into a series of yummy sweeping bends.
Essentially, the 330d suggests rather than pounds, and whispers rather than yells, but the message from its growling three-litre turbodiesel motor remains crystal clear. Thank goodness those brakes work so brilliantly…