Volvo says safety is not the most important thing — it’s everything. So what they’re saying is that performance, economy, value, durability, style, comfort, handling, spaciousness and sexiness don’t matter at all. And certainly, if we look back through Volvo’s recent history, we find plenty of evidence to support this theory.

My father once had a Volvo. It was a 265GLE and we called it Claudia after one of my mum’s maiden aunts who disapproved of everything and never moved from her Shackleton wingback headboard due to the size of her ankles.

Nobody bought that car for its performance. The six-cylinder engine used all its power to move itself around, so there was none left over for the rest of the car or the people inside it. And nobody bought this car for its looks or the sumptuousness of its seating. This, then, was a car for people who weren’t interested in cars or driving; they bought it because they knew they were going to crash.

Yet it was the only car my dad didn’t crash. He’d smashed up his Anglia and an endless succession of Cortinas. He lost both his knees in a Corsair and all his Audis were taken away in Hoover bags. But he never got the chance to ram that sticky-out Volvo bumper into an Armco.

This gave him the impression that Volvos were marvellous cars and that’s why he gave one to my sister when she went off to Leeds University. This was at a time when Peter Sutcliffe was rampaging around West Yorkshire with his screwdriver and it was felt she needed some wheels for safety.

Sadly, the wheels in question were fastened to a Volvo 340, which was propelled by a series of rubber bands, all of which kept snapping. And that meant she spent most of her university life walking through dismal parts of Leeds in the middle of the night looking for a phone box. Safe? Bait, more like.

Long after the 340 was swept away, the awful cars kept on coming. There was the 480 “sports coupé”, which was supposed to hark back to the Saint’s P1800ES but apart from a natty trip computer and pop-up headlamps certainly didn’t.

And who can forget the 700-series cars which, with their squared-off bodies, appeared to have been styled on an Etch-a-Sketch? The 700 eventually transmogrified into the 800, which gave rise to the fearsome T5. At last we had a Volvo with a bit of poke, but Volvo had thought about this and to ensure that nobody would actually drive it quickly, the front wheels were designed to spin like Catherine wheels every time you went near the accelerator. You could get through a set of tyres while trying to pull smartly away from a T-junction.

Other cock-ups? Well, they entered the British Touring Car Championship with an estate, which was jolly funny but not terribly competitive. They teamed up with Mitsubishi to make a small saloon that turned out to be as interesting as mud, and recently they made a sports saloon with Dale Winton-coloured orange seats.

Even when they got it right, they got it wrong. For years they resisted the temptation to make a large 4x4 — Volvo is Latin for “I roll”, and they felt a big off-roader would take the name too seriously — but they eventually capitulated and came up with the XC90.

This is an excellent car, the new uniform for middle England, but they completely misjudged demand, saying that 50,000 a year would satisfy the world. Rubbish. This was a Volvo with seven seats and four-wheel drive, and that’s the Holy Trinity. In manspeak, it’s the girl who’s good looking, good in bed and also has a good brain.

Even a jar of pickled fruit could have told them 50,000 a year wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the borough of Guildford, let alone the whole globe. And sure enough, they’ve just announced that production is to be upped by 80%. Whatever, despite the litany of mistakes, misjudgments and unsuitable partners, Volvo kept on going, endlessly selling its cars to people like my dad, people who didn’t care what sort of car they had, just so long as they could walk away from an accident with their knees intact.

Today Volvo is a cog in the Ford empire and some of its cars are really not at all bad, with dynamics improved beyond recognition.

There’s the XC90, obviously, and the V70, which is not only good in accidents, but now is also good at avoiding them. It’s nice to drive, as practical as ever, and not just inoffensive but actually — dare I say it — pretty. If you had one of these you’d still call it Claudia, but this time you’d be naming it after Ms Schiffer.

Sadly, though, the only really good thing about the new, smallish Volvo V50 is its centre console, which is a stylish, wafer-thin sheet that cascades from the dash to the floor. On it are the controls for pretty well everything. For a while I was so absorbed by its Philippe Starck-iness that I didn’t realise how bad the rest of the car is.

Volvo may be part of Ford but the V50 hasn’t been given the same diesel engine that you’ll find in a Mondeo or the X-type Jag. Instead they have to use one that came out of a cement mixer. The result is 0-60mph in around two years and a top speed that only just counts as movement.

Looks? Well it’s got a slightly puffy front end because the nose has been designed to make life comfortable for cyclists, and the bonnet is raised to give it springiness should it come into contact with a pedestrian’s head.

Practicality? Nope. You get more space in the back of the new Jag estate and more, too, in the rear of the Audi A4 and BMW 3-series. Yes, at £17,363 for the 1.8 the Volvo’s a little cheaper, but what’s the point of saving £2,000 when you end up with something in which your mountain bike won’t fit? You may as well save £17,363 and not bother with a car at all.

I didn’t much like the driving experience either. Like the Mazda3 I tested a few weeks ago, it’s sort of based on the next-generation Ford Focus, and again like the Mazda3, there’s noticeable cheapness to the feel of the suspension and steering.

Quite honestly, the mystery of Dalaro is not why 32 people bought the same car on the same day, but why 32 people bought a Volvo V50. Maybe it’s a safety thing. Maybe the Swedes think it’s a God-given right to die by committing suicide and don’t want to die by accident in their car.

In which case the V50 makes a deal of sense. The crumple zones are divided up using different grades of high-strength steel, the ignition key has been moved to the dash so it won’t hurt your knees in an impact, the car is wide to provide better side protection . . . and get this: an on-board computer won’t allow the hands-free phone to ring if you’re braking hard or steering violently — it will first wait for calm.

And there’s more: the radiator is coated with a chemical that converts ozone into oxygen to clear up the mess left by dirty cars in front. And the air-conditioning system removes nasty smells in order to deliver pine-fresh air to your nose.

They’ve even made the seats and carpets from hypoallergenic materials that won’t give you asthma, eczema or a heart attack. No peanuts in the upholstery, then.

So behind the scenes this car is an astonishing demonstration of attention to detail.

Great, but isn’t that akin to going to see a play because the theatre’s lavatories are ever so clean?

VITAL STATISTICS

Model: Volvo V50 2.4
Engine type: Five-cylinder, 2435cc
Power: 170bhp @ 6000rpm
Torque: 170 lb ft @ 4400rpm
Transmission: Five-speed manual, rear-wheel drive
Suspension: (front) independent MacPherson strut (rear) multilink
Fuel/CO2: 32.8mpg (combined) / 204g/km
Acceleration: 0-62mph: 8.3sec
Top speed: 138mph
Weight: 1,425kg
Tyres: 205/55 R16
Price: £19,838
Verdict: Safe as houses and about as fun to drive

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