ISN’T it strange how nations are perceived in the automotive world?

You have the style and beauty of the Italians, the pinpoint precision of German engineering, the somewhat unreliable-yet-traditional Brits and the full fat Americans.

Each have their stand-out performers, but the USA isn’t particularly known for its finesse. Think of cars like Corvettes, Vipers and Cobras - all unashamedly loud, proud and brash - and bought by people who have grown up adoring how they look, not how they drive.

The Mustang is another significant chunk of American muscle and, for the first time, you can buy one from your local Ford dealer as opposed to stepping through the minefield of importing one from overseas.

There are two engines available - a traditional 5.0-litre V8 and this, the 2.3-litre four-cylinder.

I know, I know. You’re probably as aghast at the thought as I am - a Mustang should have a lusty V8 up front and a manual gearbox. Nothing less, nothing more, right?

I hope you’re sitting down for this next part and, if you’re not, I suggest you do so because this point may make petrolheads weep&

A manual is missing on our version, so this car has Ford’s ten-speed - yes, ten-speed - semi-automatic gearbox. My first mountain bike only had nine.

But let’s look at the positives, because its turbocharged engine is sourced from the all-conquering Focus RS, albeit in a detuned specification, so its lack of cylinders - and hopefully much better fuel economy - may claw back much-needed points.

It may not have got off to the best starts but there’s no denying that it’s a very handsome car. It’s typically Mustang and the rear light design harks back to vehicles made famous by Steve McQueen - from just about every angle it looks right.

Inside, it’s a bit different. I really don’t like its design, but there’s cheap plastics, a strange pattern on the dashboard fascia and a gigantic steering wheel which wouldn’t look out of place on a yacht all vying for one’s derision.

There’s bags of standard kit, though, including its touchscreen satellite navigation system and a series of driver set-ups for you to scroll through.

By default it’s in normal mode, but a toggle skips through enticingly-named Sport, Sport+, Racetrack and Drag Strip. All are largely pointless in truth, as are the multiple steering settings which somehow manage to make an already artificial-feeling system even more aloof and disconnected.

The gearbox is a strange one, too. As with most semi-autos, there are paddleshifts mounted behind the steering wheel, but it’s not a car you want to take the reins of so most of the time I found myself simply putting it in ‘D’ and leaving the gearbox to its own devices.

That’s an eye-opening experience in itself, as you’ll be in seventh gear by the time you’re doing 30mph. It’s a pain on the motorway when you need to overtake a dawdling lane hogger, as it’ll take an age to kick down from tenth.

Ford surely fitted it to aid fuel economy, but the figures simply don’t add up. On a 20-mile commute into work, all largely done on the motorway, I couldn’t manage more than 25mpg.

Now I haven’t driven a V8 Mustang, but it won’t be far off that figure on a decent run. If the whole point of the turbocharged version is having a Mustang but with the added bonus of improved fuel economy, my week with it suggests it really isn’t as good as you’d perhaps hope.

This test car, the £42,000 convertible version, unravels further when you show it some corners. The steering has little feel, so you just pitch it in and hope for the best. You’re given masses of body roll, there’s no clue as to what the front end is doing through that boat-like steering wheel and it wobbles more than a freshly-set jelly.

It appears I’m being a little harsh on the big old brute, but all is not lost as it’s a completely unique thing. Despite its considerable flaws I grew to appreciate it for what it is - a cruiser which has very little sporting intentions despite its ludicrous driver modes attempting to suggest otherwise.

The turbocharged Mustang, especially in convertible guise, is like a clumsy, faithful old dog. You know it’s not the most agile and it’ll probably wee on your carpet from time to time, but there’s something you just love about it. In my case, it’s definitely its looks.

There’s nothing quite like it - people appreciate it, they look, they admire. It puts a smile on faces of all ages who pass by.

A driver’s car it is not, but the engine is actually rather good. It’s a big, heavy, long vehicle but the 300bhp it conjures - which is matched by a hearty dose of torque - is ample and enough for a 5.2-second dash to 60mph.

Get it on the motorway, where it’s mostly straight, and it comes into its own when you’re not asking it to drop down several cogs.

Would I buy one? Absolutely not, but I can completely understand why non-car lovers would want to own such a thing.