If we don't count doing everything automotive, getting drunk, listening to Oasis and laughing unkindly, I'd never been much for hobbies. A hobby, as it seems to me, is nothing but an elaborate way to fill the time between whisky and death. Hobbies are probably a form of decorative torture that replace perfectly functional brains and, yes, they burn a colossal pile of money.

As it turns out, I was terribly right. About everything as a hobby - except laughing unkindly - isn't cheap. But when I finally acquired a hobby - or more correctly, when the hobby finally acquired me - I felt a sense of unfamiliar freedom. A hobby isn't as bad as I'd expected. Instead of being a form of imprisonment, it is an escape hatch.

This brings me to the Mercedes-Benz G-Class. It's pretty obvious that the average owner of this vehicle loves spending his time on trails and beaches instead of mainstream public roads. And let's be honest, the average John Doe who owns a G-Class is already likely to own a stable of luxury cars.

Unlike average earners like you and me who dare say doing everything automotive is a hobby, these owners’ hobbies are probably collecting cars and going over terrain that are impassable to typical street cars.

When it comes to this German brute machine, the healthy helping of genuine off-road ability of the car is probably just an opening statement to a conversation at the pub. The bragging rights will come later. At this level, it's really not about the specs. Being such a niche favourite, objectivity no longer comes into play and it becomes more about intangible qualities and endearing charisma to say the least.

So is it worth getting the G-Class if you have spare moolah?
When I test drove this gargantuan, it got pretty boring. It's not the car. Instead, it's the wait between traffic lights. The other drivers in their minute cars looked so grey out there that you get the sense that your life was leaking out into space. And I was there with them. But where else could I go? Off-roading at the reservoir? Drive through gravel areas and imagined myself as a racer at the Dakar Rally?

I remember this tan and muscular guy who used to come by East Coast Park. Buttons off his shirt, muscles so big it could tear his top apart if he flexed and Red Wing boots with undone shoelaces. And he had this cool looking Defender with dry mud all over its fenders and mud guard. That signalled he was some off-road junkie. His driving? Well, forget it...

Despite all the different makes and models that I've tried and tested, it just didn't matter to me. Well, I did find the Suzuki Swift Sport and the Volkswagen Up! special. They were the slice above the senselessness of other cars.

But the G-Class here - it's like a creature from outer space. I couldn't relate to it and it was strange. I felt nothing. I just saw large round headlamps, flared fenders and a gigantic body that would make even the driver in the H3 pee in his pants.

Merc had its mind made up about the car. I, on the other hand, wasn't looking for justice and logic. I don't usually bother. Maybe that's why I never wrote any senseless stuff about any other cars. To me, the entire structure won't make sense no matter the car you drove. You simply can't write something good out of something that isn't there.

Now, I'm heading downstairs to the carpark to take another long stare at the car and consider if I should delete this story. I'll just be musing around with the G tonight. I guess we should never push or force the love for a particular car.

Hell, there's no contest and certainly very little competition when it comes to the G-Class. Very little.