The sat-nav may be third-party, but its operation is straightforward and intuitive, either from the centre console or the touchscreen. Throughout two days at the wheel, only the engagement of the diff locks presented a challenge: the system is easily confused by inaccurate pokes, while the user is easily confused by the fact that the lights that illuminate to show they are engaged are hidden beneath the finger pushing them. A dial or switch might have been simpler, but once you go about things the right way, they work.
What doesn’t improve with time are the offset pedals. On the upside the seat is super-comfortable, your position adjustable (it even has a telescopic steering wheel) and – praise be – you can rest your right elbow on the window ledge. But there’s no escaping that in right-hand-drive form, much of this modernity is undone by the protrusion of the exhaust manifold into the footwell. Disguised as the world’s widest footrest it may be, and surely big enough for a pair of size 16s, but as a result, the brake pedal doesn’t start until beyond the centre point of the steering wheel. On first acquaintance, you half- wonder if you need to make use of that dashboard compass to send an expedition out east to discover the accelerator. Lord knows, the old Defender had quirks, but the fact that left-hookers have none of these compromises tests your loyalty as much as it does your flexibility.
It’s a pity, because it’s a bit of a bodge in an interior that otherwise belies none of Ineos’s ‘new kid on the block’ status. It’s comfortable and practical, if perhaps short on a bit of space for the driver to stow stuff because of all those buttons, but otherwise extremely spacious. Likewise, passengers get a good deal; even tall adults will fit in the back, and there’s a surfeit of USBs in another nod to modernity. The boot – accessed by a split tailgate that shows a concession to practicality that other cars bearing a chunky spare wheel and side hinges could learn from – is capacious. It’s measured at up to 2000 litres, but perhaps more importantly its width, depth and square sides mean you can fit enough hay bales in there to keep the horse happy.
One more negative, so we can complete the list of right-hook gripes and move on: the windscreen wipers – whose ability to clear the whole window was questionable at times during our runs in grotty weather anyway – aren’t converted either, leaving you to watch as a thick layer of grime builds up down the right-hand edge of the screen. Add in a chunky A-pillar and you have a blindspot of almost absurd proportions.