Whether I am in, or whether I am out appears to have become a hot topic lately and whilst the thrust of the in/out discussion is heavily slanted towards Europe, for me, there is a far more pressing take it or leave it area of jibber-jabber to masticate upon.
New Top Gear.
Not really Top Gear.
Now it may well be that not having Jeremy Clarkson on the payroll was a decision that the BBC felt was unavoidable after the ‘incident’ and it may well be true that, whatever the blur and the blah of the whole fracas, that a message had to be sent to the public generale that armed combat is never the solution to supper related disagreements.
It may well be that hands were tied and corners were well and truly backed into.
But that’s not the issue here at all.
What I’m really grinding on is that the BBC think it’s okay to try and replicate their cavalier disregard for character continuity (a la Eastenders) and are hoping we won’t notice that the show created by the genius of Clarkson, May and Hammond is continuing as if nothing ever happened.
Perhaps the BBC had one of their vveerrryyy long meetings in one of their strangely named meeting rooms and decided that slaying the Top-Gear-Goose would constitute a financially related dick move of epic proportions. Perhaps they figured that the format inspired by the three amigos’ unique creativity, talent and industry knowledge was just too golden-ticketish to shelve.
Perhaps they thought they’d just try and turn Clarkson into lemonade.
Perhaps they thought it was more environmentally friendly to keep the money rolling in whilst dumping the brains-ziz behind the show.
Well, not if the environment is my bloody sitting room.
I haven’t watched it.
I cover my eyes when the trailers come on.
Shall not. Will not. No. No. No. Ain’t gonna happen.
I don’t care what Chris Evans thinks about cars, I don’t know why his opinion on cars would be of any interest to anybody, I mean, what’s his pedigree here?
I know the show’s about cars and I know that he does indeed have some but, to be fair, so does my Aunty June.
I wouldn’t seek out her opinion on one of the largest purchases I’m ever likely to make either.
The woman makes a mean cheese omelette, and it sure does make me giggle when she insists that people who work in car-park ticket booths do so because they have tails, but her depth of knowledge on anything four-wheeled is limited to switching it on and switching it back off again.
I really don’t want to see the japes and scrapes synonymous with Real-Top-Gear frantically recreated with uncomfortable desperation in order to drum up some humour and laughs.
And The Stig? Well he belongs with JC, it really is that simple.
I have to be a little careful here because I love Matt LeBlanc, I mean he’s Joey, it would be sacrilege to malign but dude, dump this gig like toxic waste, concentrate on Episodes (which is fab by the way) the British public love you but very soon Real-Top-Gear will be returning and the novelty of Flop-Gear will wane.
No, as far as I’m concerned; when it comes to the matter of Flop-Gear, I’m most definitely out.
Interestingly when it comes to the matter of Great Britain remaining in the EU, I’m also out.
Maybe I’m alone in this, maybe I’m all kinds of wrong, maybe my mood-ring is just a filthy shade of muddy-brown today, but I’m a believer in the fact that what’s good and what’s original should be left intact and unmolested.
Admittedly the BBC don’t have the best track record when it comes to identifying when things are in danger of being molested, but you’d’a thought they’d’ve become a bit clued in by now.
And while we’re at it, let’s get Europe’s hand out of our underwear too.
So, to summarise, mystery unmysteried.
All the way out.