BBC’s action on Jeremy Clarkson is a lesson in how not to treat great talent
What you need to know:
- But if you could go beyond the boorishness and meanness and rudeness, Clarkson is an absolutely funny guy. He knows more about cars and is more passionate about them than any man alive. He gives to charity, both his time and money, and he is just a 54-year-old boy who never grew up.
- His prejudice against people with beards, whom he insults relentlessly, is hilarious, particularly if you do not sport one. And his regular statement that he would rather have rickets than drive this or do that is also funny, so long as you are fine.
- I do not know the proper thing to do in England but where I come from, it was Clarkson’s duty to beat the guy who served him cold cuts.
I am afraid this is about Jeremy Clarkson. I do not know why men like machines. Perhaps it is the toys of boyhood that we never got over. Maybe it is the symmetry and logical operation of machines which mirror our own rather simple thinking.
If I had not become a journalist, I would have been a mechanic of some sort or a driver. It is that bad. A treat I am really looking forward to is a visit to the airport with my daughter to ogle the planes and see the take-offs, the landings, the loadings, the repairing, and all the other stuff we never get to see as passengers. If I am honest, I am not quite sure who between us is going to have more fun.
It is no big confession to also place on the record that I like cars. Which man does not? I am particularly fond of old, well-made, mechanical cars. They are not particularly comfortable and their performance, fuel economy, and safety leaves a lot to be desired.
One of my all-time favourites is a 1977 Mercedes 123 automatic. The gearbox is one of the most primitive and annoying imaginable; it has three gears and kicks down when speed is down to zero.
But I find the chuk-chuk-chuk of the old carburettor absolutely delightful. I can listen to it the whole day, and the smell of kerosene (where does it come from?) wafting from the plain aluminium engine familiar and reassuring.
Never mind that every so often the engine runs rough and you have to do something about that ancient carburettor.
The huge steering wheel, the eccentric location of everything on the dashboard, the beautiful body, the whole machine is one of the best cars I have ever entered. And it only costs Sh300,000 to buy and nothing to run (assuming you own an oil well).
So, you would imagine that I know Jeremy Clarkson, the sacked presenter of "Top Gear", the most famous and best motoring show on this good earth. Indeed, I have heard of the man, possibly read many of his books as well as his two columns in the Sunday Times every week.
FUNNY GUY
Clarkson is not a good egg. For the thinking, non-British man, he is an acquired taste. His almost effortless racism, rudeness, and sheer meanness is absolutely offensive. When Piers Morgan lost his job at CNN, Clarkson was over the moon and made fun of him in the most crude way possible.
Yet when Clarkson was sacked, Morgan was forgiving and generous in the article he wrote for the Daily Mail.
But if you could go beyond the boorishness and meanness and rudeness, Clarkson is an absolutely funny guy. He knows more about cars and is more passionate about them than any man alive. He gives to charity, both his time and money, and he is just a 54-year-old boy who never grew up.
I remember his description in one column of classic car owners as those folks you will see on lay-bys with steam pouring out of open bonnets, knitting fan belts from pubic hair, which made me howl with laughter in the middle of an African night.
It is funny, but it is the kind of thing that would annoy serious, arty collector-type motorists. His prejudice against people with beards, whom he insults relentlessly, is hilarious, particularly if you do not sport one. And his regular statement that he would rather have rickets than drive this or do that is also funny, so long as you are fine.
Clarkson is, by African standards, an old man. He works incredibly hard and is one of the world’s best broadcasters. On the day he punched his producer, he had been working a long time in the English cold and when he returned to his hotel, he had every right to expect, at the very least, some hot soup.
I do not know the proper thing to do in England but where I come from, it was Clarkson’s duty to beat the guy who served him cold cuts.
Also, the BBC — which has lost a pile of money and lots of viewers across the world — should be ashamed of treating its best talent in such a shabby manner. In Hollywood they know how to treat talent.
