Last week as I was thumbing through the EBooks at the local library, I came across this one...and, unlike most of the others I might want, it was available. Clarkson is an English journalist who is the main part of three who participate in the English version of Top Gear, the TV show. Like most British TV, (of which I am inordinately fond,) I can seldom figure if it is being produced at the present time, several years ago or even, in the case of some comedies, over ten years ago. For some reason or other, someone really doesn't, 1) want us to know and, 2) want us to have very much of it, especially the best British stuff. I suppose it would take us away from our (ugh!) American "reality" shows. If anyone wonders why I put that word in quotes, please don't ask. It pains me to believe that anyone in my country believes that the Kardashians are in any way fascinating (although Kim's perfume is quite lovely.) By the way, there is an American version of Top Gear, but it is devoid of any of the charm, wit and fun of the British version, in my opinion.
I became interested in cars and motorcycles because of my older brother. Hating babysitting and everything that entailed, I would often compete with the others kids in the neighborhood for lawn mowing services in the summer...and I thus learned how to take care of an internal combustion engine. My brother got me interested in motorcycles, much to my parents' displeasure and on two occasions which I recall, he let me take his beloved old Triumph out for a spin. The looks I received were between bewilderment, amusement and lust, kind of like going out to a club but with quicker ways to excuse oneself. After that I wasn't much for waiting for someone to ask me out on a date to go somewhere: I had tasted the glorious western delight of personal transportation...and I wanted to drive myself. My poor mother, I am sure, suffered silently for years of anguish that, because of my interest in cars, that I was a lesbian. There was no way of breaking it to her that I was only a control freak, although she would have probably found that equally distasteful. When I first chose my own car, I insisted on something interesting...and reasonably fast. Hence, even in college, my mind's eye was always thinking about getting out and driving someplace just to clear my head. It was a great purge of the cobwebs and it still is.
Fast forward to the present age: In any case, Clarkson waxes poetic on all things automotive and his use of description is unequaled. When I watch (the) old programs on my BBC channel, I always enjoy their road tests and antics...like racing snowboarders down a mountain in a Range Rover or driving a Bugatti Veyron flat out on VW's secret test track. I always find myself wanting one of the vehicles, especially the Bugatti with over 1000 hp, to drive to work. Heck, I visualize myself being able to have an affair, spending the odd night out with my lover and then driving so fast that I was home before hubby knew I was gone: such are the comic delights of this book.
The book consists in road tests of cars, one right after another. In fact, this being British, I don't even recognize what some of the cars are. I mean I know what a Citroen is and a Peugeot and a Lotus and even a Vauxhall, but we don't get them here so, you may ask, why read about them? The answer is that Clarkson's prose is poetic, occasionally bordering on the majestic. He's also pretty funny at times. When you can laugh out loud while reading a book, that's pretty good stuff! Still he is very hard on American cars, but I really don't care. It is Clarkson's delightful sense of description which makes this book so much fun to read. I was a little disappointed that this was published in 2007 and the reviews cover cars between 2003-2006, but it was still fun to read. Heck, I can't afford a new car anyway, but he has me looking at maybe a used Mercedes CLS55. Truthfully, I really can't afford a good bicycle these days, but this is the kind of thing which lets me dream...and, as Martha would say, that's a very good thing.