There are no Tesla showrooms. Instead, its retail outlets mimic Tim Kobe’s revolutionary work on Apple’s stores. The Tesla also turns heads. More than anything I’ve driven in ages, in fact. And that’s just on the outside, where former Mazda concept design man Franz von Holzhausen elected not to go self-consciously Blade Runner on us, in favour of encoding the Model S with Callum-esque stance and proportion. Keep the Tesla-shaped key lozenge in your pocket, and the recessed doorhandles glide out to meet you with a vaguely Star Trek “shhhuckkk”. The sills are high, the driving position and seats actually one of the few conspicuous weak spots inside. It’s far from Audi-impregnable in here, and the Ghibli has more character, but the Tesla still impresses.

Not least because, liberated from conventional packaging constraints, it instantly feels like the future. The central 17in touchscreen interface is effectively an enlarged iPad, and houses the controls for almost everything - from the air-conditioning, audio and satnav, to the calibration of the car’s steering, suspension and the amount of brake regeneration you prefer. The Model S is a model of minimised cabin real estate and, beyond the Mercedes-sourced drive controller, there is simply no switchgear. It’s extremely refreshing. It also has 1,795 litres of luggage space, and there’s so much room you can order an extra row of seats, bizarrely.