From the wonderful Mr Clarkson...
"It’s hard to understand why so many people watch Top Gear. Some say it’s the cinematography. Some reckon there’s a chemistry between the three presenters. Most think it’s because there’s nothing else on at that time on a Sunday evening.
I think, however, that its main appeal is this: when something goes wrong for one of us, the others don’t rush over with furrowed brows, concerned tones and a silver post-car-crash blanket. Instead, we point and laugh. “Ha ha ha. Look. James’s head has exploded.” And that makes a refreshing change in a world full of counsellors and sobbing footballers.
Of course, you might imagine that this is all done for the cameras; and that after they’ve all been turned off we put our arms round one another and behave like women. ’Fraid not. In fact, when the cameras are turned off, we’re even worse.
Just last week, the three of us were waiting for a delayed plane in Belgium. Or it could have been Holland. Or Japan. Whatever, we found a copy of what is basically Asian Babes for petrolheads. It’s called Top Marques and is stuffed full of classified ads for cars you can nearly afford.
Naturally, we decided to see what our own cars are fetching in these times of rising fuel prices and eco-mentalism. This turned out to be a rich comedy gold mine because two-year-old, ultra-low-mileage Porsche 911s, just like Richard Hammond’s, are going for 75p.
His little face was destroyed. He sat there working out how many crappy awards ceremonies he’d hosted to buy that car and how it had all been for nothing. He may as well have simply lobbed his money on a bonfire. Christ, it was funny. James May and I laughed that dangerous life-threatening laughter; the sort where your brain starts to run out of oxygen. At one point, I coughed up my own liver.
Eventually, after about two hours, we’d calmed down enough to see how much James’s Boxster might fetch. And this, unbelievably, was even funnier. Not because of the drop, which was mighty, but because most of the enormous depreciation was not as a result of market forces or events beyond James’s control. No. He’d brought the massive hit on himself by being an idiot.
It hurts, I know, to tick all the options boxes when buying a car. But the simple fact of the matter is this: if you don’t, it is going to be worthless when the time comes to sell.
Think about it. A combination of events in the Middle East, sub-prime mortgages in California, Northern Rock and a galactically stupid government has caused all Boxsters to lose half their value in 10 minutes. So the only way you can make a car with wind-down windows and unicycle tyres appeal in the pages of Top Marques is to sell it for even less than the going rate.
And boy did James scrimp. He didn’t even fit satellite navigation and who wants a Porsche with no sat nav? No one. Not unless they deliberately live in a house with an outside bog.
What’s more, James – as we know from his hooped jumpers – likes an unusual colour combination, which is why his steel-wheeled, understudy Porsche, with its gramophone and no guidance system, has a brown roof and a brown interior.
There is simply no call for a car like this. It could only be part-exchanged for some used butter. Plainly, James was very hurt by this. He’d worked hard for his car and now it was worthless. If Richard and I were girls, we’d have put our arms around him and hugged some sympathy into his system. Instead, Richard fell off his chair and my kidneys came out of my nose.
There is a serious message hidden in all of this. When buying an expensive new car, accept, like a man, that it will plummet in value in the manner of a fat man plummeting from the top of a tower block. Accept, too, that unless you spec it up with every conceivable extra there will be nothing to cushion the fall. And most important of all, avoid bonkers colour combinations. You may think that a brown roof makes you look sultry and interesting but in the long term it will make you look more sort of bankrupt."
