A couple of weeks ago the third most senior bishop in the Church of England announced that it was a “sin” to jet off on foreign holidays and drive a gas-guzzling car. Yup, the Bishop of London, the Right Reverend Richard Chartres, said tourists and school-run mums were being “selfish” for making global warming worse.

Quite how he arrived at these conclusions we don’t know. I’ve checked and he has no known scientific qualifications. So far as I can tell, he read history before taking a job in Sainsbury’s. His hobby is advising men on how to wear dresses.

So, is eco-vicaring the lunatic ramblings of a lone maverick in a dog collar? Or is it now official church policy? Well, when reporters contacted the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, for his views on the matter, he agreed that he too had a beard. And that yes, not having a beard was selfish.

I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised by this. Few organisations know quite as much about selfishness as the Church of England. They preach to their increasingly small congregations about the iniquities of homelessness, and then lock up their churches at night to make sure tramps can’t get in and nick the communion wine.

They tell us about the need for tolerance and to forgive those who trespass against us, but won’t let homosexualists into the pulpit because that sort of thing is a sin too. And so is being a woman. And so is greed, of course. The sort of greed that turned a simple belief into one of the richest institutions in the world.

Then there are those who practise bell-ringing for two hours a night. Is that not a bit selfish; imposing your hobby and your vision of traditionalism on everyone within five miles? Some of whom may well have come from cultures where guns, not bells, are the soundtrack of village life.

Would these people therefore be on the moral high ground if they were to shoot a bell-ringer?

In the sort of multiculturalism the church likes so much these days (so long as you’re not a poof) then yes. Presumably they would. I’m sorry. I know it’s Sunday. I know many of you have deeply held Christian beliefs and you don’t like to see them being criticised.

But for the same reasons I don’t like to see cars being criticised, especially by some jumped-up shelf stacker who has absolutely no idea what he’s on about.

That said, I am approached by an increasingly large number of people these days who believe that their off-road car might be causing the lovely summer we’re having. This, for some reason, is making them feel guilty.

Well, I don’t know what’s causing global warming. I’ve read several reports saying it’s the Land Rover Discovery and that you must immediately part-exchange it for a windmill.

But then I’ve read an equally large number that say global temperature variations are cyclical and that choosing to become an automotive vegetablist won’t make the slightest bit of difference.

I don’t know which are right because my only qualification is a bronze swimming medal. What I do know is that those who wish to change their Land Rover Discovery for something else have a bit of a problem. What? Writing in the Telegraph recently, Annabel Heseltine made a very good point; that the law requires children in the back of cars to fasten their seatbelts. And that if you have four children, you therefore need four back seats. Which means that G-Wiz electric car won’t really do. And nor will a people carrier . . .

When I was a young man in London I had a very large overdraft and no real sense of how it might ever be paid off. Occasionally I’d look into the future and think, how do people manage? I am living in a shared house and I cannot afford the basics — cigarettes and beer.

So how do you cope when you have a wife who can’t work because she’s at home looking after two small children? How can one wage packet sustain four people, four holidays, four sets of clothing, four new pairs of shoes? And how does anyone ever have enough money to buy a washing-up bowl? No, really, I used to see them in hardware stores and wonder how boring and complete your life would have to be before you’d even think about buying such a thing. And that really is where I stand on the people carrier.

They’re for people with no imagination, people who can’t think of anything better to do with £17,500. Buying a Renault Scénic is like buying a passport into the grey, sterilised world of upper middle age.

So if you need lots of seats because you have lots of children, it has to be a 4x4 of some kind. We have the Volvo XC90. You may prefer a Disco. Either way, it shows you are still packing a bit of meat. That you haven’t yet reached that stage in life where what you crave more than anything is “an early night”.

And then along comes the Right Reverend Richard Beardface to say that you’re a sinner and a heretic and that you should be placed in a wicker man and burnt while Britt Ekland prances around a nearby hotel room naked as a jaybird.

So what’s to be done? Well, at last there’s an answer in the rather beguiling shape of the car you see pictured this morning. The Ford S-Max. It’s a people carrier but they’ve named it after a slang word for heroin. And that sums it up rather well.

You look at the exterior styling, the 18in alloy wheels, the raked windscreen, the low roofline, and you think, yes, it might well have seven seats in there but who could possibly fit on them? Richard Hammond? You’re in for a shock. There’s tons of space for me behind the wheel and tons of space in the middle row too, which is made up of three individual seats, all of which slide and tilt independently of one another.

In the boot there are two more seats that rise — easily — from the floor and behind them you have a boot that is big enough for a medium-sized dog. And under this there’s another boot that is big enough for a small overnight bag.

Or you can fold all the seats in the back away and end up with a cargo area that’s big enough for a standard house door.

So then you stand back and think, how in the name of all that’s holy (not poofs, in other words) did they get all that in there? The answer is to be found when you try to park. The S-Max may appear to be compact and sporty but it’s only a whisker shorter than the Volvo XC90.

It is, however, much better looking, and much cheaper. The range starts at just under £17,000 and is still only at £22,000 when you get to the five-cylinder turbocharged 143mph 2.5 Titanium.

Which is what I drove. I was expecting a characterless unibox but I was wrong. It was great to look at and cheap and more versatile than a decathlete’s trusty Leatherman. I’m not saying it’s a sporty car in any way, but it goes, handles, steers, stops and most importantly rides way, way better than you could hope for. And on top of this, it did 30mpg, felt very well screwed together and came as standard with air-conditioning, electric everything and automatic headlamps. Which were second world war searchlight bright, incidentally.

This, then, is the holy grail. It’s an MPV you buy because you like it. Not because you need it. And because it appears to be small and has no four-wheel-drive system, you’ll be able to park it outside church, knowing the vicar won’t come along and chop it up with his special nine-bladed eco-sword.

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