Premature Midlife Crisis (without the balding)

I don't do cars, they're dull and all the same. They're boxes on wheels that are convenient means of movement when not in London - I haven't had my own car since I left Catchup Ketchup, my little red Fiesta that was almost as old as I was, in one place for too long (Matt could only come out to jump start it so many times a week) and the neighbours complained and had it towed. Bastards.

Imagine my surprise when I followed the advice of dearest sis WillowZ (who has been rightly bragging about her find here) and watched an episode of Top Gear. I thought all that babycare had finally driven her round the bend but, as she does tend to point one in good televisual directions and is an entertaining TV buddy, I obliged and turned to Dave.

(Aside: Dave is the new name for one of our cable channels, so called because apparently it's friendly and welcoming. I have not the words.)

It turns out that Top Gear is probably the most amusing, entertaining and brilliant programme ever made. What it basically is, at heart, is three blokes having a laugh and letting us watch, and the added bonus is that they're all hilarious.

Grumpy Jeremy Clarkson, dithering James May and perky Richard Hammond - we love them all. There are plenty of clips on YouTube (the Polar special is so funny there are no words for that either) for non-Brits and there's Dave for those who must suffer it.

It's making me like cars, heaven help me. I'd quite like an Aston Martin, if anyone's amenable. Or an MX5...uhhhhh...yes ok, still a beginner, if I carry on I'll sound like a nan trying to be knowledgeable about heavy metal.

Mostly as a tribute to the GENIUS who introduced me to Top Gear, who I know will appreciate these, I will end with some quotes from the show:

James: Can I make it absolutely clear, here, now, that I'm only here because the producers said I had to be. I don't like snow, I hate being cold, I hate outdoor pursuits, I hate the idea that I've got to "push my body to find the limit," I can't stand this stupid clothing that makes this rustling noise when you move all the time, and I hate the zips, and the toggles, and all the pockets, and that and I hate your stupid truck.
Jeremy: [shushing James] Listen. If we make it, look at it this way: you will be the first person ever to go to the North Pole who didn't really want to be there.

Jeremy: It feels soft and flobbery, like a big woolly bison.

Jeremy: Speed has never killed anyone. Suddenly becoming stationary, that's what gets you, that's the killer.

James: The interesting thing about the French nation, I think, because they are essentially peasants and Communists, is that they are quite good at the fairly small and fairly simple car.

Richard: Oh, dear, I fear Jeremy may be heading this way with an opinion.

Jeremy: (On the Daihatsu Copen) It's not so much a car as a shoe.

Jeremy: This is the Renault Espace, probably the best of the people carriers. Not that that's much to shout about. That's like saying "Ooh good I've got syphilis, the BEST of the sexually transmitted diseases".

James: I'm sorry, I'm gonna have to stop you there, I hate to interrupt, but this is quite honestly the biggest load of limp-wristed twaddle I've ever heard in all my five weeks in television. These two... these two are not men, okay? This one, Richard Hammond, every morning, sticks his head in a bucket of hair product, right, he's got a dog, but it's a poodle. I don't know what you're laughing about, Clarkson, because you won't drink brown beer. And this is the man that says flatulence, 'Ooh, it's not funny,' when clearly it is! I am actually the only proper bloke on this programme.

Jeremy: (After seeing May's Audi 80)You really can't believe that's a hundred quid car. I mean, I was ready to go, 'Oh no, James has bought a hen house'.

Jeremy: (about the Exige S, a few seconds later) And he's lined up alongside a plastic car that was made by some Norfolk turnip farmers, which is being driven by a fat bloke with a dicky hip.

Jeremy: (On the BMW X3) And if you are clinically insane, by which I mean you wake up in the morning and think you are an onion, here's your car.