You’re probably wondering what a publication like Rush is doing writing an article about a 2.5-tonne luxury SUV. Well, it’s because this is a driver’s car. Hear me out; a driver’s car firmly falls into one of two categories. The first is a car that makes you want to drive it, and the second is a car that’s meant for a driver - the gloves and a hat, "call you sir/madam" type.

Bentley has a long-standing tradition of building vehicles that are a blend of performance and craftsmanship. Founder W. O. Bentley once said, “We were going to make a fast car, a good car, the best in its class,” and he meant it. You don’t win Le Mans four times on the bounce (1927-1930) with just any old machinery. In recent years, Bentley has continued that mantra by building lavish luxury vehicles that remain driver-focused, with mainstays like the Continental GT and the Speed model lines. Market forces inevitably meant an SUV had to appear in the line-up, hence the Bentayga - a car said to be “a go-anywhere SUV that offers the ultimate in power, luxury, and usability.”

First impressions of our EWB Azure spec Bentayga test car are that they have certainly nailed the craftsmanship, but I can't initially see it as a driver's car. Opening the soft-close door releases a waft of leather and wood that triggers immediate bickering between Craig and me as we fight for a seat in the rear instead of at the helm. You can’t help but want to be driven, but since I’ve programmed the suggested route into the satnav, it’s only right that my "driver," as he shall now be called, takes the wheel.

From the backseat, I can immediately tell you that, even with my 6’4” “freakishly large frame” - thanks, driver - there is more legroom than I’ve ever experienced in anything that moves. The extra space comes from stretching the wheelbase by 180mm. What this translates to is the ability to recline, cross my legs, do a merry little jig, or hold a small board meeting—it’s cavernous.

Then there’s the leather. So much leather. It’s smooth, soft, smells good, and my lord, is it comfortable. The rear airline seats are infinitely adjustable, with cushioning that’s both supportive and squishy. Diving into the central control panel, which is of course removable, I set my seat to the fully reclined position and deploy the front seat’s drop-down footrest. I didn’t think you could be more comfortable.

That is, until I discover the myriad of "wellness" massage settings and close the blinds. Now, we are motoring. This all might sound gimmicky, but it just isn’t. You find yourself sitting back, admiring the view, and simply lapping up the experience. It looks after you in ways you can't even fathom. Not only is the seat automatically adjusting my posture, but it’s also keeping me at an optimal temperature. I think I’m going to claim squatter's rights in here; I have zero interest in driving. Why buy a dog and bark yourself, eh?

Unfortunately, my driver is insistent on exploring its dynamic potential, and after adjusting my seat back to the business setting, I allow him to indulge. He’s been informed that his bonus will be curtailed this year if we don’t dispatch anything that gets in our way—be it a tractor, slow-moving commuter, or a bunch of those damn pesky trade unionists.

Even from the rear, I can feel the ride and handling are remarkable for something that weighs this much. It can breathe with even the worst of British roads in comfort, yet in sport, it tightens up and gives you a connection to the road that’s up there with the most sporting of hot hatches. At this point, I’m not sure which of us is having a better time. I doubt anything with an extended wheelbase has ever been driven so sportingly, or anyone has had such a vigorous massage at such speed, but who cares? It’s what W. O. would have wanted.