Whimpulsive

Love him or loathe him, it’s hard to ignore him. Jeremy Clarkson is a vocal man on many subjects – some of which he quite openly says he knows nothing about but has opinions on anyway! Personally, I’m firmly in the love-him camp. While I don’t have a huge passion for cars (I don’t even have a driving licence) I love watching Top Gear for the things he, Richard Hammon and James May get up to and they make the cars interesting to hear about too.

Because of this and after reading a few of his rants in the Times online, I decided to pick up some of his books. The World According to Clarkson (so far 3 volumes) are full of his weekly colum from the Times spanning the last few years up to Dec 2007. You’d think, seeing as he’s known mainly for cars, that every chapter would revolve around them, but they don’t. Clarkson shares his views on everything… and I really do mean everything. You’ll hear what he thinks of numerous races and countries, airports, occupations, food, drink, music, technology, animals, politics… the list is endless. And, disturbingly, I have to admit to agreeing with a lot of what he says – as well as laughing out loud on many occasions at his dry wit.

There is an excerpt below from Volume 3 – For Crying Out loud – to give you an example of his work. I assure you, you won’t be disappointed should you pick up these books.

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You can’t kill me, I’m the drummer

When the BBC asked if I’d become involved in the Comic Relief extravaganza, obviously my initial resonse was ‘no’. I saw no reason to give up my time so a couple of african dictators could buy bigger Mercs.

But then I was told that Comic Relief money doesn’t actually buy cars or bigger power tools which Mr Mugabe can drill into his opponents’ heads. It buys useful stuff such s ambulances and help for the mentally ill of Britain.

And anyway, saying no to the Comic Relief team is a bit like saying no to the man at the Tube station with the stack of Big Issues. In fact, it’s even harder because you can’t smile and say: ‘It’s all right, I’ve already got one.’

So what did they want me to ? Wear a leotard and flail about on an ice rink? Stand in a school playground while chidren rubbed lumps of elephant dung into my ahir?

It turned out the offer was even worse. Would the three Top Gear presenters like to appear on a humorous celebrity version of A Question of Sport?

As I’d rather have spent the afternoon sitting on a ham slicer, I came up with another idea. What about Top Gear of the Pops? It’d be like Top Gear, only instead of cars we’d have music. And then, I said jovially, we could finish with a tune from the Top Gear band.

The Comic Relief people loved this, and commissioned it immediately. And that was great, except for one teeny-weeny detail. There was no s thing as the band.

Yes, Richard Hammond used to play bass with a band 20 years ago but gave up when, in a fit of temper, he broke his guitar over the singer’s head. And sure, James May is an accomplished harpsichord player with a degree in the science of music. But while he’d be good at Brahms and Chopin, he’s not so good when it comes to what he calls ‘pop’.

And that leaves me. I took up the drums about six months ago and have had seven lessons. I practice infrequently and have become to the world of stickmanship what Germany is to the world of Cricket.

In my heart, I fondly imagined that one day, many years from now, when I’d become more proficient, I might team up with some like-minded souls and perhaps play a small gig to a few close friends in a pub. But here I was, volunteering to make my debut, in a week’s time, in a studio full of 700 people, to a television audience of maybe fie million.

There’ s no medical term for what I was going through. Doctors call it simply ‘shitting yourself’.

To hear how he got on, you’re going to have to buy the book!

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For a weekly dose of Clarkson, visit his column on the Times website – link