Land Rover Freelander 2004 review: road test

Australian diesel is more pollutive than petrol. So I am suffering an embarrassing sense of hypocrisy for my admiration of this car. There. It's out in the open.

I can't even define just what it is about the Freelander that I came to love so much. Everything? Well, no. It's a bit sexist because the only vanity mirror is on the passenger sunshade – and the single broad strap on the driver's sunshade underside is not the best piece of design for either car-park cards or sunglasses. So there. I have criticisms. And in its diesel throb and its overall design, it is a fairly macho vehicle, I suppose. Certainly I gave it the male name of Fred, which alliterated nicely with Freelander.

When first I drove out of the Land Rover lot, I felt I was in a large 4WD. It drove large. Solid. Heavy. Diesel chug. This turned out to be a happy illusion. The Freelander is compact.

It slips easily into difficult and narrow parking spots. It manoeuvres happily around parking stations. It plays city car in the city.

Out on the open road, it plays country car. On dirt, it plays worker car. And all the time, looking at the fuel gauge, it seems to play economy car. So off to Willunga Farmers Market I took Freelander Fred to load its compact rump with sheaves of fresh spinach, beetroot, leeks and gourmet potatoes, hmm, OK, and a couple of creme fraisch cakes ...

And then the big test, up Willunga Hill. The Freelander was not impressed by the incline. "Chickenfeed," it chugged. "I can do near verticals if you want." I didn't want. I wanted an easy ride and I got it. It is automatic – and turbo. It found its gears and kept a steady, effortless pace. Muscular and not showy. That fairly well sums up the Freelander. It feels safe. It gives a good view of the road, although the rear vision is a bit cluttered, what with headrests and spare wheel with a brake light above it.

It has European controls – windscreen wiper and lights reversed – which take but a few minutes of adjustment. Its cup holders are superbly placed – embedded in the centre of the dashboard. After some of the darned dumb places car designers have been sticking cup holders, this good old common sense comes like a breath of sane, safe air.

And I suppose that sums up the Freelander. It is immensely practical. There is nothing flighty, faddish or gadgety about it.

The boot has two ways of opening – the glass slides down, for just dropping in a few bags of shopping, or the whole door swings open to the side. It does not look like a massive area, but it seems to take a lot of luggage. Work that out.

My week in the Freelander was a pleasure. It's a tasteful, restrained, classy workhorse – a bit like me, really.