Sorry folks: that’s it for penises and Jews for me for a while. I thought I’d pay brief homage to one of the century’s greatest philosophers, connoisseurs, insanely fast drivers and all-round bon vivants.
Every Monday evening, the house stops for an hour as Ozboy Jr. drags me to the TV set in my bedroom and we switch on the latest episode of Top Gear. It really doesn’t matter to him what’s the week’s subject; as far as he’s concerned, it’s the same every week: Jeremy, Richard, James and The Stig driving very, very fast.
Look, I believe in road safety. And I’m fairly sure Clarkson does, too. What I love about him is that he refuses to bow to convention, and cringe before the altar of political correctness. In short, he doesn’t give a rat’s. He’s prepared to speak his mind, in no uncertain terms. He’s magnificently incorrect.
This means, of course, that he comes in for his fair share of criticism. Some of it might be deserved (banging on about lazy Mexicans, for example, drew protests from that country’s ambassador to the UK himself), but most of it is just shrill whining from the usual PC suspects. I wonder what our GE thinks of him. Last night, he was comparing a BMW and a Mercedes somewhere in Bavaria. He was driving around a Bavarian oom-pah band, complete with lederhosen and regalia. Conspicuous on the dashboard was a copy of Roy Jenkins’ biopic Churchill. You get the picture.
He’s not afraid to bag the cars Top Gear reviews, either. Just go to the quotes section of his website and you’ll see what I mean. Some of my favourites are:
The Ferrari 355 is like a quail’s egg dipped in celery salt and served in Julia Roberts’ belly button.
I do apologise, we have wasted your evening, there are no good Korean or Malaysian cars.
Supercars are supposed to run over Arthur Scargill and then run over him again for good measure. They are designed to melt ice caps, kill the poor, poison the water table, destroy the ozone layer, decimate indigenous wildlife, recapture the Falkland Islands and turn the entire third world into a huge uninhabitable desert, all that before they nicked all the oil in the world.
Racing cars which have been converted for road use never really work. It’s like making a hard core adult film, and then editing it so that it can be shown in British hotels. You’d just end up with a sort of half hour close up of some bloke’s sweaty face.
Jeremy, you will not be surprised to learn, does not have much time for Global Warming. Dave Edinburgh over at DT posted this article Jeremy wrote regarding the imminent deafness of the clown fish. Who’s the greater clown, then?
Of course, he’s doing it deliberately. Pushing everyone’s buttons for effect. I find him very, very funny. And a breath of fresh air.