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I drive a Lexus - a 4x4 Lexus in fact. It's not a hybrid, but I find it essential kit for coping with the peaks and valleys of Islington.

I remember one day almost losing it on the steep descent toward Angel, but fortunately I had the presence of mind to slip her into overdrive, preventing what I'm sure would have been a pretty nasty scratch to the left (heated) wing mirror.

I have to say she (because she is, indeed, a she) is a dream to drive. Smooth, robust and silent (rather like myself) and well stacked with a raft of hidden delights (again ...).

So I recognise well the Lexus that is portrayed in the marque's latest spot. I recognise the lovely juxtaposition between the incessant noise of the outside world and the beautiful tranquillity of the on-board experience, the constant drum beat of background nonsense against the calm, nay luxurious, texture of stillness. Quiet. Lovely quiet. Beautiful quiet.

It might seem a small benefit to derive from something of such high cost, but if, like me, you have two kids under the age of three and face an army of bleating creatives daily, then quiet is worth twice the price.

Of course, quiet is a catch-all for so many other quality features too. There seems to be a bit of an untidy gear crunch (sorry) into the hybrid story, but let's forgive it that. It's insightful, premium, distinctive, unstuffy, unpretentious (or just pretentious enough) and it makes me proud(ish) to be a Lexus driver. So, 'Join the quiet revolution'? OK.

Then there's Kylie. Driving. Smiling. Seductive. Small. (I'm sure that from that driving position her feet wouldn't reach the pedals.) It seems incongruous that Kylie is the face of this new Lexus, but incongruous can be good. Incongruous, sprinkled sparingly, can mean surprising, drive reappraisal and stimulate an intense response, which is what all good communications should do. It's a bit of a blunt tool, but Lexus just got sexier in my mind and that's no bad thing.

Kylie's forehead, though, is a different matter. I just can't take my eyes off it. It just does not move. Not a jot. In fact, her face barely moves. The more I watch it, the more I'm led to believe that Kylie is no longer the pocket-size popette of gold hot pants, but is in fact a Thunderbird - Thunderbird 7, perhaps - and what I had initially assumed to be a cutaway to the speed dial, I'm now thinking may well be a Botox pump.

It's not Kylie at all. It's some kind of Kylie-hybrid. Oh, hang on - hybrid?

Genius.