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I had high hopes for this diplomatic incident masquerading as a TV travelogue through Scotland.
In the resulting unpleasantness, the three presenters took a helicopter to safety, like the last chopper out of Saigon, leaving the crew to defend that oxymoron, British honour. As soon as the convoy passed the border, the scripted bants began. Presumably, normal rules of the road were waived for this Amazon production, which is not something I imagine the first minister ing off on. If Donald Trump can build golf resorts in Aberdeenshire and Clarkson can roll through the majestic Highlands babbling anti-Scottish slurs and manifold fatuities, clearly her powers to stymie toxic middle-aged man-babies realising their unedifying dreams need enhancing.
PG Wodehouse once claimed it was not hard to tell the difference between a Scotsman with a grievance and a sunbeam. To be fair, the permadrizzle was unrelenting. And then there were the meals, prepared by May, in which every item from kipper to carrot was battered.
That said, Clarkson cleared his plate and Hammond hailed Scottish culinary genius for congealing peas, so tricky to eat with a fork, into battered clumps. None of the trio spoke to a Scottish person on screen, demonstrating, once again, how tourism narrows the English mind. But what would have narked me most of all if I were Scottish was that my country was here busted down to an away venue for a proxy war between the US and the Soviet Union.
Which of these two polities was responsible for manufacturing the worst car known to humankind, Clarkson asked.
Oh, obviously the Soviets, you reply. Have you ever tried to put a Lada through hairpin?
In truth, Clarkson was right about one thing in his life: the worst car in the world is American. In a field, six cars including two Chryslers and a Pontiac Aztek raced in circles in a kind of ground-based balloon race cum demolition derby.
The loser would be the first car to crash out. Its success will be measured not by ratings, but by a spike in support for Scottish independence. Watching this, Sturgeon must be laughing harder than she did during the England-Italy penalty shootout. Way to break up the union, you McPlums. Unrelenting drizzle The Grand Tour: Lochdown.
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