There are many ways to judge a car.

Some people talk about fuel economy, others about safety ratings. Others want speed.

However, a few deeply suspicious individuals bang on about panel gaps and build quality. These are the sort of people who alphabetise their sock drawer and think excitement comes from buying a new kettle. But occasionally, a car comes along that makes such considerations utterly irrelevant. A car that exists not because the world needed it, but because the world needed reminding that cars are sometimes meant to be glorious.

The ghost of Jaguars past

To understand the F-Type, you must first travel back to 1961, when the British motor industry briefly lost its mind and created what was allegedly “the most beautiful car ever made”. I think this is probably subjective because the car in question, the Jaguar E-Type, never really floated my particular boat.

Anyway, they say that even people who don't like cars loved the E-Type Jag, with its curving bonnet and somewhat elegant rear flanks. It looked like it had been sculpted by someone who’d spent an entire weekend staring at Sophia Loren. It was fast, too. Properly fast. When it debuted at the Geneva Motor Show, journalists reportedly lost their minds and their composure just trying to get a sample. You see, this wasn’t just a car launch; it was hailed as a national event, which meant that Jaguar spent the next fifty years trying to recreate lightning in a bottle whilst producing a series of saloons beloved by bank managers, retired Colonels, and villains alike.

Then in 2013, after decades of teasing, hinting and delivering a series of concept cars that looked amazing but never made it into production, Jaguar finally succumbed. Thus, the F-Type was born.

The return of a sporty Jaguar

The F-Type is what happens when engineers are locked in a room with a sketch of an E-Type and several decades of pent-up British design acumen. Back came the long bonnet and the bijou rear end. But unlike the E-Type, which by now felt vaguely agricultural in that charming British sense, the F-Type arrived with a host of modern weaponry, including aluminium construction, modern electronics and engines that seemed designed primarily to terrify your neighbour’s cat.

At launch, there were two flavours. A supercharged V6 and, for the slightly deranged, a thunderous 500-bhp supercharged V8 resided in the spectacular Jaguar F-Type R. This is roughly equivalent to strapping a rocket booster to a leather sofa. As for noise? Good grief! When you start an F-Type R, nearby dogs look genuinely offended, windows rattle, and pensioners clutch their teacups in sheer astonishment.

The noise came because Jaguar engineers fitted something called an active exhaust system, which is an engineering term meaning a machine specifically designed to make children giggle and infuriate your neighbours all at once. Lift off the throttle, and the car crackles and pops like a blaze at a fireworks factory. It’s utterly magnificent.

The convertible that was made for the downright reckless

Initially, the F-Type arrived as a convertible. Now, convertibles are wonderful things, in theory, but frequently dreadful in reality. You imagine yourself cruising along the Côte d’Azur looking like a film star. What actually happens is your hair resembles a startled hedgehog whilst a stray crisp packet whipped up by a passing juggernaut lodges itself firmly in your lughole. But the F-Type convertible somehow makes it all worthwhile. Roof down, engine snarling, the long bonnet stretching far ahead. This wasn’t just transport, it was theatre.

The coupé that fixed everything

Then Jaguar made a discovery. They found that whilst the F-type convertible was brilliant, adding an actual roof made it something else entirely. It became utterly magnificent. Enter the glorious Jaguar F-Type coupé, which somehow managed to look even better than the convertible, which was extremely annoying for convertible owners. But, the sweeping roofline gave the coupé a shape reminiscent of the old E-Type. Suddenly, the F-Type didn’t just nod to Jaguar heritage; it practically wore Sir William Lyons’ old tweed jacket. Better still, the coupé was stiffer, sharper and therefore much better around corners. Suddenly, the F-Type wasn’t just a pretty noise machine,

It became a genuine British sports car in its own right.

Then, it all went completely bonkers

Of course, Jaguar couldn’t just leave things alone. So, they created the utterly mad Jaguar F-Type SVR.

This was developed by Jaguar’s Special Vehicle Operations division, which was essentially a group of engineers whose job description appears to be “make it even louder and even faster.” So, they did.

The SVR had 575 horsepower, four-wheel drive and a top speed of around 200 mph. In a Jaguar, this is the sort of speed that causes small songbirds to experience existential crises, especially when they find themselves attached to your front bumper. When I went on a Jaguar drive day, a very good friend of mine flatly refused to come along to experience the SVR. He told me that my sensible Tattersall shirt and conservative jacket merely concealed an absolute maniac. He was only half right. It was the cars that turned me into a maniac. Simple as that. These things simply demand to be driven.

The slightly sensible one

Then, in a rare moment of British practicality, Jaguar introduced a four-cylinder version: the Jaguar F-Type P300. Of course, purists fainted immediately. “A four-cylinder Jaguar sports car?” they cried, spilling their gin. But here’s the thing. It was actually rather good. Lighter at the front, sharper in corners and still insanely handsome. Sure, it may not have had the thunderous soundtrack of the V8, but it still possessed that essential Jaguar ingredient. Drama.

The last roar of a British breed

And that, really, is the point of the F-Type. In an age where cars are becoming silent electric appliances designed to be efficient, clever and about as emotionally engaging as a dishwasher, the F-Type was gloriously old-fashioned. It shouted, it snarled, and it occasionally behaved as if it had just been insulted. Above all, it reminded people that Jaguar once built machines that made the world gasp. From the elegance of the E-Type to the modern madness of the F-Type R, the lineage is clear. Long bonnets, big engines and questionable restraint.

The tragedy is that cars like this are disappearing.

Regulations, emission controls and electrification apparently mean progress. Which means the F-Type may well be remembered as the last truly outrageous petrol-powered Jaguar sports car.

And that’s rather fitting. Because when historians look back at the early 21st century and ask what the final roar of the traditional British sports car sounded like; it will probably sound exactly like the note of a supercharged V8 F-Type echoing off a stone wall in a quiet English village at six in the morning, followed immediately by someone shouting from an upstairs window, “FOR GOD’S SAKE, KEEP IT DOWN.” Which, if you ask me, is the highest compliment that a proper sports car could ever receive.