It won't be for everyone. Indeed, if it doesn't fare significantly better than its dismally performing predecessor, the DS 9, I might never see another one on the road.

But that would be a great shame. Because while the oddly named DS No8 is hardly the most adventurously conceived of cars, it is wilfully individualistic to the point of esotericism, and what would the car world be without those heroic left-fielders valiantly championing the value of doing things differently?

And, as a little bonus, it drives really nicely.

Not especially quick, far less cushioned than its 1950s Citroën namesake and some way short of fun in the corners but decently composed and refined, with the added bonus of having a colossal 466-mile maximum range to bolster its cross-continental cruising credentials.

People don't buy big executive saloons without a German badge any more. So rather than build a doomed me-too BMW 5 Series-chaser, DS has gone its own way and created something that carves its own path-and, in this era of box-checking identikit design, it's heartening to see that some companies are still willing to experiment.

Residual values be damned.