When the beeping stops, you may go

There can be no doubt, of course, that the three-letter acronym was created so that people at work could save time while talking. If I, for instance, want something in a medium-sized close-up, I simply ask for an MCU and the cameraman frames up accordingly.

This, presumably, is why TLAs are so prevalent in the army. In the heat of battle you can’t very well take up 20 seconds of radio time calling for something when you only need three for the abbreviation. “Can someone fetch that sort of portable light-machinegun thingy” can be changed to “Get the LMG” and all is well.

Unfortunately, army people spend so much time with one another talking entirely in TLAs that they can’t stop when they’re round at your house for a plate of FOC. This means you have no idea what they’re on about.

And to make matters worse, half their acronyms take longer to say than the words they’ve replaced. The late Douglas Adams once joked that the nine-syllable www abbreviation was the only TLA that took longer to say than the words it replaces. But he’d obviously never talked to an army chap about an IED. This means improvised explosive device. Which means bomb.

And then you have ACV, which means armoured combat vehicle. Which means tank. Or ADW, which means air defence warning. Which means siren.

Businessmen are similarly guilty. Instead of talking about work in China (two syllables), they talk about going to the PRC (three). And what’s more some even refer to the time it takes to get there as P2P, meaning pillow to pillow, which is just about the most custardish thing I’ve ever heard.

In other words, people are using three words where one will do, simply so they can use a TLA and therefore exclude you and me from their conversation. One chap even went on the Chris Evans radio show last week and said he was an “iffer”. It turns out this was an IFA, which is an independent financial adviser, which is a long and complicated way of saying “thief”.

My least favourite acronym of them all is PLU — people like us. Anyone who uses this has no connection with me, at all, except for the brief moment where my fist is connected to their nose.

I’m bringing all this up because I’ve just spent a week driving the new Lexus LS, which is so full of acronyms I spent most of my time with it on the verge of a very large crash.

Let me give you an example. There’s a feature in this car that monitors your progress down the road. If it senses that you’re straying out of lane it alerts you, not with a worryingly pleasant vibration in your seat — as happens in the Citroën C6 — but with an annoying beep.

Of course I knew that it must be possible to turn this feature off, but which button to press? Tricky that, because each time I looked down to identify a likely suspect I’d edge towards the white lines a bit and there’d be another beep.

One button was marked “TCS off”. Could this be it, I wondered, or might it be some device that detaches the wheels from the car? Hmmm. Beep. So what about this one down by my right knee marked “AFS off”? Beep. Damn.

I pushed it tentatively and nothing happened. So with a deep breath I hit the TCS button, and again nothing happened. Beep. So I pushed every single one of the car’s several hundred buttons, including two that said “auto”, until finally I pushed one of the 15 on the steering wheel, marked “LKA”, and the beeping stopped.

LKA? I presume the L is for lane and the A for alert. But the K? Khaki? Kind? Kipling? Kuwait? If anyone has any idea do please write and let me know because I’ve been through the alphabet and nothing seems to make sense.

I even went to the trouble of delving into the car’s press pack, but after a page or two I was even more lost. All I can tell you is that the D4S is combined with VVT-iE and the PCS can activate the VGRS, the AVS and the VDIM. You’d need to be a brigadier to have the first idea what the bloody hell all this means.

The boys at Lexus have plainly become so used to speaking in TLAs that they’ve lost the ability to talk normally. An advert for the Lexus I read recently said: “If we never came up with an eight-speed automatic transmission would you have asked for it?”

That’s grammatical nonsense. But I sort of get their drift and the answer is: “No, because I’ve tried Merc’s seven speeder and that’s too many, so why would I want eight?”

There’s more. It’s also got a device that looks at your head and beeps if you fall asleep. It’s got a collision avoidance system like an Airbus. It’s got a satellite navigation system that tells you if the road ahead is slippery or blocked, and what it’s blocked by. Small wonder there are so many acronyms. This has to be the most advanced piece of consumer electronics ever offered.

And yet, behind the almost impenetrable shield of buttonry beats the heart of a very satisfying car.

What makes it work so well is that unlike Mercedes, Audi or BMW, Lexus has no sporting aspirations for the LS at all. Oh, it shifts, be in no doubt about that, but it is not supposed to be a driver’s car. And by taking that out of the mix they have been able to concentrate on making it, above all else, unbelievably comfortable and quiet.

Really quiet. It may be a 4.6 litre V8 up there under the bonnet, but at tickover it barely makes a sound. Then there’s the suspension. Sadly, it’s made from air, which means it doesn’t work very well in normal mode, but put it in “comfort” and the leviathan just glides.

The driver’s seat should be singled out for praise too. It’s like sitting on a sumo wrestler. Couple that to the gearbox, which changes so smoothly you cannot feel the shifts, and you have a car that can be compared to the Rolls-Royce Phantom.

Except for the price, of course. At first the starting price of £57,000 appears to be a lot but a Mercedes S 500 with a similar spec will cost you about £13,000 more.

There are a few drawbacks, though. Its thirst, for a kick-off, but also its looks. It is a very handsome car but the styling means you can’t smoke while driving. No, really. If you crack the window open a tad in most cars your ash is sucked outside. In the Lexus, it’s blown back in.

This means you spend quite a lot of your time behind the wheel on fire, and that means you swerve about quite a lot as you try to put yourself out. And that means the LKA beeps furiously.

Then there’s the boot lid. You press a button on the key fob and it opens automatically, at exactly the same speed America is moving away from Europe. If it’s raining this is extremely annoying.

Hopefully this is an optional extra that you don’t have to have. But I can’t be sure because it’s almost certainly referred to in the press pack by a set of initials. LBJ? ACU? DDT? Who knows?

The worst problem, though, is the interior. It’s a bit like an executive suite at the Hyatt Regency Birmingham. Very comfortable and graced with lots of features that make your stay more enjoyable. But it’s all a bit nasty, if you see what I mean — the half-timbered steering wheel especially.

It sounds as if I don’t like this car and that’s not right. I do. In the olden days Lexi were bought only by northern businessmen who’d had a row at the lodge with the local Mercedes dealer. They were reliable, quiet and comfortable but utterly soulless. This new one, though, is AFB.


VITAL STATISTICS

Model Lexus LS 460 SE-L

Engine 4608cc, eight cyclinders

Power 375bhp @ 6400rpm

Torque 363 lb ft @ 4100rpm

Transmission Eight-speed automatic

Fuel 25.4mpg (combined cycle)

CO2 261g/km

Performance 0-62mph: 5.7sec / Top speed: 155mph

Price £71,000

Rating 4/5

Verdict A satisfying drive — if you know your bhp from your BNP

And yet, behind the almost impenetrable shield of buttonry beats the heart of a very satisfying car.

What makes it work so well is that unlike Mercedes, Audi or BMW, Lexus has no sporting aspirations for the LS at all. Oh, it shifts, be in no doubt about that, but it is not supposed to be a driver’s car. And by taking that out of the mix they have been able to concentrate on making it, above all else, unbelievably comfortable and quiet.

Really quiet. It may be a 4.6 litre V8 up there under the bonnet, but at tickover it barely makes a sound. Then there’s the suspension. Sadly, it’s made from air, which means it doesn’t work very well in normal mode, but put it in “comfort” and the leviathan just glides.

The driver’s seat should be singled out for praise too. It’s like sitting on a sumo wrestler. Couple that to the gearbox, which changes so smoothly you cannot feel the shifts, and you have a car that can be compared to the Rolls-Royce Phantom.

Except for the price, of course. At first the starting price of £57,000 appears to be a lot but a Mercedes S 500 with a similar spec will cost you about £13,000 more.