There was an unspoken rule when I started doing this job back in the 90s – as a British journalist you were supposed to be kind in your reviews of British cars. The editor didn't follow you home one night and threaten you with a terrible death if you did happen to tell the audience that the latest Jaguar S-Type was in fact a bucket of poo, but you were subtly nudged in the direction of positivity. And if you weren't amenable, your raw copy was.
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