At passport control in Portsmouth they asked for our documents. Boris, who was busy licking the window, got huffy and muttered a gravelly imprecation. He’s a fully integrated Schengen hound and had never before been asked for dogumentation. “Get used to it, Boris,” I said. “You’re in Britain now.” 

There was freezing sleet. This was no night to hang around, and in a couple of hours the Volvo V60 Polestar had whooshed us to our first pitstop. Over the previous couple of days we’d driven due west from Cannes across France, all the way to the surf haven of Biarritz, before hanging a left into Spain for the Brittany Ferries crossing to the UK from Santander.

I was transporting a noble Pyrenean mountain dog from a failed career as a guard dog on the Côte d’Azur to future career tending sheep in Scotland, as I chronicled here three weeks ago.

We’d had a splendid crossing and the drive had been a doddle. We had set off in a different Volvo, the XC90 Cross Country T6, a powerful bruiser-cruiser of a hybrid grand touring off-roader. The motorway had blurred pleasingly by, come rain or shine, and the fiddly winding bits had been sheer fun for me, though I suspect less so for my big passenger.

But at Portsmouth we had changed car, to the aforementioned Polestar. 
We’d whooped it up in Toulouse and the Pyrenees in great style and comfort, but now we were in something else altogether – the fastest production car Volvo has made to date. The dazzling Polestar, with its “twincharged” (turbo and supercharged) had us up to 60 in 4.5 seconds, and ploughed through the mucky December conditions effortlessly, all the way to the West Midlands. 

The Herald:

The coastal town of Portpatrick at sunset, above. 

In Walsall that night, my young American nephews Albert and Jonny were waiting to ambush us with Christmas cake and party balloons. Dogs tend to either love kids or hate them. Fortunately for my nephews, Boris, who is the size of a small fridge turned on its side, loved them.

Alas, we had to tear ourselves away the following morning for the drive up to Scotland because I had been invited to take a look at the South West Coastal 300, a new circular drive that aims to do for south west

Scotland what the North Coast 500 has done for some of the most remote outposts of the Highlands. It takes in the Solway Firth, the Mull of Galloway, which boasts the largest forest park in Britain, and some rugged and remote interiors, including Scotland’s highest village, Wanlockhead. 

We blasted down through Dumfries and Castle Douglas and followed the coastal road through that artists’ haven of Kirkudbright, then Creetown and up past Stranraer, Auchencrosh and Ballantrae, before arriving, in the fading light, at our stylish destination, Glenapp Castle. We made our faltering way up the castle’s long drive through some thick and rather scary foliage, for it lies in splendid isolation in a forest estate with giant redwoods. 

But before describing the splendours of staying in an empty Downton Abbey, just down the coast from Glasgow, let me say a little about the car.

The Polestar does not look like a speed machine. Its design is admirably restrained.  A sculpted and low-slung grille gives a hint of the grunt under the bonnet and the racy wheels and prominent braking discs suggest that a rapid deceleration facility is an imperative rather than an option. But other than that, there is little idea that this family estate will run neck and neck with all but the fastest supercars that cost tens of u thousands more. Critics say the cabin is antiquated. I found it reassuring and easy to use. But I prefer tellies with buttons rather than remote controls. 

Boris said the back was smaller but he preferred the harder ride, though he approved of the plusher padding in the XC90, especially when the Polestar’ s  mid-range power kicks in. I fancied I heard him utter something about the combined forced induction strategies of the turbo and supercharger giving the newer Polestar model slightly faster reflexes and more torque than the older 3 litre model, but I quite possibly imagined this. Or maybe it was the rumbling talk of the 20-inch tyres as they made mince of the Lowland miles. 

Anyway, back to Downton Abbey, sorry, Glenapp Castle. What a splendid location! No wonder Churchill chose this swagger house for his top-secret discussions for the D-Day landings with Eisenhower. The hound and I were outnumbered by staff by a ratio of around 50-1 owing to it being the quietest week of the year (whoever goes on holiday the week before Christmas? Try it, it’s great!)

We were met at the gate by two members of the staff who led us to the dog-friendly suite, a ground-floor bedroom with four-poster and adjoining living room. There was also a bathroom big enough for the entire Scottish rugby team. 

Boris seemed keen to play so we went into the garden with a toy. I threw it and waited for the giant ball of fur to hurtle in pursuit. But of Boris, there was no sign. The instant I turned my back he crept off into the shadows. Had I been duped again, so that he could make a run for the Pyrenees, as he had done near Pau? I searched high and low. 

The kind doorman came with a torch. We rooted in the vegetable garden and were forced to return dogless, only to find the chambermaid standing at the bedroom door with Boris beside her. He had simply loped back to the room and had been found lying on the 4-poster chewing his favourite chewing rope.

I popped him in the back of the Polestar while I went to dinner with Jill Chalmers, the hotel’s charming PR lady. This is a Relais Chateaux hotel so rightly prides itself on its cuisine. We sat down to a nicely balanced six-course dinner, much of it reared in the enormous vegetable garden.

Cauliflower, for instance, combined with cheddar and turned into a velvety velouté, then Shetland scallops with a dill and butter sauce followed by a fillet of turbot fresh from the bay. It was a memorable dinner and the highlight of a long day.

I was not surprised to hear than many come here to hire a boat and sail out to Ailsa Craig, a pudding shaped volcanic marvel that rises out of the sea nearby. It is a favourite spot for tying the knot.
Before leaving I had to pay for some renovation work to the staircase after I foolishly left Boris in charge of the suite at breakfast time. Whilst I was tucking into kippers he was chomping on some excellent antique oak.

The drive back was divine, taking in the coast to Girvan then cross-country through Sanquhar and Elvanjohn. How the Polestar howled when I switched to Sport mode and hammered it. And how those wheels stayed glued to the roads. It was an utter delight. We took the route past Moffat and the Devil’s Beef Tub then St Mary’s Loch and Selkirk before I came to one of the worst moments in recent memory: handing over Boris. 

But five months down the line I can report back that he is thriving in a new life, having found contentment with a flock of sheep with new and loving owners.

DRIVE FACTS

Make: Volvo
Model: V60 Polestar
How much: £50k
How fast? 155mph
0-60: 4.5 seconds
Emmissions: 186
Economy: 34.6mpg (claimed).

Mark travelled with Brittany Ferries (www.brittany-ferries.co.uk)
He stayed at Glenapp Castle Hotel, Ballantrae, Ayrshire KA26 0NZ. www.glenapp.com