|St Jeremy of Dunsfold|
Journalist, TV presenter, critic extraordinaire and author of several hilarious works. In one word... God! St. Jeremy is the curly-haired fan of all things drivable. Loathed by the Gaurdianisti and green lobby, Clarkson has the amazing ability to get up the noses of the chattering classes without even breaking in to a sweat.
He was vilified by the anti-smoking brigade for lighting up a pipe (albeit the wrong way 'round) in a packed studio, and was also censured by the homosexual 'community' for describing a car as 'a bit gay' (which it was). His irascible and irreverent attitude is a breath of fresh air in today's overbearing politically-correct climate. He is, by far, one of the finest television presenters in the UK, or even... the world!
If you're ever at a loss what to do in a given situation; ask yourself: 'WWJCD?' What would Jeremy Clarkson Do?
Along with Brucie and William Hague, Clarkson was - and is - one of the more memorable presenters of Have I got News For You. Very pro-Forces, Clarkson was shot at by Royal Irish's Recce Section in one memorable Top Gear segment - using lasers - though some say it was an opportunity missed. Link here
He was also shot at by a Challenger 2 whilst racing around in the new Range Rover Sport... and again shot at by an AAC Apache whilst in a Lotus Exige. [You'll have to Google for clips of these. Hot-linking from here to a site with ripped clips is very naughty and will get us all spanked, and not in a nice way.]
Top Gear recently come under fire from someone or other as it transpired that over fifteen thousand man hours had been expended on providing the show with fast jets, landing craft, helicopters, tanks and free curry nights in Guildford for our gallant troops... not. As the filming coincided with scheduled excersises anyway, it's all a storm in a teacup... probably - unless someone in Whitehall really is getting free test drives in Aston Martins and Ferraris?
Clarkson did a very good series of programmes about Inventions That Changed The World. In the one about the gun, he takes part in some Fish and Chips at Imber Village. Also an excellent programme about the VC, including naturally enough, his father-in-law, a recipient thereof. Marvellous.
Mong Puncher General
The very finest hour for Clarkson was, of course, punching arch-mong Piers Morgan in the face for some disparaging remark and being a cnut in general. But even more entertaining are the specials, like racing an Aston Martin DB9 to the South of France against a train. Link here. This has since been eclipsed by a compendium of bizarre and hilarious stunts - like racing a plane to Scandinavia, driving across the English Channel to France in a 4x4 pick-up and (most memorably) launching a Reliant Robin in to space.
The Sky's the Limit
Poor old Jezza decided to take a ride in a Spam USAF F-15 and dearly regretted it in his 1998 show: Jeremy Clarkson's Extreme Machines and put himself in the doghouse badly with Mrs C after parking an ex-RAF Lightning on the lawn, all 28,000lbs of it. The lawn lost... badly.
Clarkson's quotes are legion, and there are entire websites dedicated to his musings. In November 2008, Clarkson (allegedly) outraged lorry drivers whilst hurtling around a racetrack in a HGV: "Change gear, change gear, murder a prostitute, mirror, change gear, murder a prostitute..." Most found the quote hilarious, but, as ever, there's always one - who wasn't even a trucker.
Clarkson - and the rest of the Top Gear team rounded off the 2008 season with a challenge to their German TV counterparts. Under strict instructions not to 'mention the war' the trio arrived at the airfield... in three Spitfires. They then proceeded to mention the war, and kept on mentioning it until close of play. A classic episode.
He again caused uproar in February 2009 when he called Gordon Brown a "One eyed, Scottish Idiot". Outrageously he was made apologise - but in cunning Jezzer fashion only apologised for mocking Broon's 'disability'... he stood by the 'Scottish Idiot' comment. Read the story here.
However his finest on tv 'hour' was the making of a 30 second commercial to sell a VW Scirocco. View his genius and extremely non-pc advert here.
Dans la Merde
In one of his finest polemics - originally published in the Sunday Telegraph, instantly pulled and re-published by The Times, JC says what millions in the UK think day in, day out:
Get me a rope before Mandelson wipes us all out
Jeremy Clarkson writes:-
I've given the matter a great deal of thought all week, and I'm afraid I've decided that it's no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. I'm afraid he will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round the country until he isn't alive any more.
He announced last week that middle-class children will simply not be allowed into the country's top universities even if they have 4,000 A Levels, because all the places will be taken by Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid bandwagon the conniving idiot has leapt upon.
I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue jeans and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the days when he didn't bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism. I hate the way he quite literally lords it over us even though he's resigned in disgrace twice, and now holds an important decision-making job for which he was not elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his one-man war on the bright and the witty and the successful means that half my friends now seem to be taking leave of their senses.
There's talk of emigration in the air. It's everywhere I go. Parties. Work. In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death to get good grades at GCSE and can't see the point because she won't be going to university, because she doesn't have a beak or flippers or a qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often, why we don't live in America.
Then you have the chaps and chapesses who can't stand the constant raids on their wallets and their privacy. They can't understand why they are taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the nation's capital. They can't understand what happened to the hunt for the weapons of mass destruction. They can't understand anything. They see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4x4s that they paid for, and they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because it's racist.
And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not sort out the banking crisis that he doesn't understand because he's a small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever, and they think, "I've had enough of this. I'm off."
It's a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained, Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral, trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual, mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and set up shop somewhere else. But where?
You can't go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you can't go to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the police and subsequently shot in the head if you don't sweep your lawn properly, and you can't go to Italy because you'll soon tire of waking up in the morning to find a horse's head in your bed because you forgot to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for "organising" a plumber.
You can't go to Australia because it's full of things that will eat you. You can't go to New Zealand because they don't accept anyone who is more than 40 and you can't go to Monte Carlo because they don't accept anyone who has less than 40 mill. And you can't go to Spain because you're not called Del and you weren't involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you can't go to Germany... because you just can't.
The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that one day, whether you like it or not, you'll end up like all the other expats, with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if it's okay to have a small sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining to my daughter, we can't go to America because if you catch a cold over there, the health system is designed in such a way that you end up without a house. Or dead.
Canada's full of people pretending to be French, South Africa's too risky. Russia's worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full of flies or too full of people who want to cut your head off on the internet. So you can dream all you like about upping sticks and moving to a country that doesn't help itself to half of everything you earn and then spend the money it gets on bus lanes and advertisements about the dangers of salt. But wherever you go you'll wind up an alcoholic or dead or bored or in a cellar, in an orange jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself on the web. All of these things are worse than being persecuted for eating a sandwich at the wheel.
I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than it's been for decades, but the lunatics who've made it so ghastly are on their way out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South African nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by a bloke whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a twerp in Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him £15m on the lecture circuit.
So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think it's a good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel and barbaric and inhumane. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit in the meantime.
Sublime, and (as usual) bang on the noddle.