Being brought up around a car-loving dad (sitting in the freezing cold and dark, in the front seat of the car, pumping the brake pedal to get bubbles out of the fluid in the brake-line was a highlight of my childhood) it was inevitable that what's bred in the bone will, no matter how much you fight it, be a part of you. If the car goes- I'm happy. Cleaning it- can't be bothered. Watching 3 guys giggling as they turn cars into boats, play car football, race across America's southern states and even (as politically incorrect as it was, it had me squirming in my seat) race in 4 wheel drives and sled to the North Pole, I'm as happy as can be. Never has car photography been so beautiful (at this point I have to admit I was 'romantically' entangled with a photographer, who took picture of cars, for some years..... bad photos at the Summer Nats..... but that has absolutely no bearing on this confession......), never has celebrity bad driving been so entertaining, never has the arbitrary rating of cars as 'cool' or 'uncool' been so very, very silly.
If I'm tired and worn out from an overfilled week Captain Slow, Clarkson and the Hamster (aren't the pictures below just hilarious?!) fill my Saturday evening with their infectious joy. You'd never think there could be so much poetry and joy in the language used to describe automobiles. (Of course we mustn't forget The Stig- but then as he never actually speaks, his is poetry in motion.)
p.s. I've even been known to read Jeremy Clarkson's articles in The Australian, not actually to read about cars, just to revel in his prose.