Take The Jeremy Clarkson Test
Go!
That’s for any of you who have already read this and having decided to test out my theory are reading it for a second time. But trying what out, do I hear you cry? Well, it’s my Jeremy Clarkson test, which I’m hoping to get approved by the great man as soon as I work out how to contact him.
I formed this theory when I noticed that Clarkson's books are hard avoid. They are in every shop, given away free with every bottle of Old Spice you buy from Boots, and you can’t have your breakfast without one falling out of a packet of ‘Oats Are A Bit Simple’. He is the nation’s most popular writer of non-fiction, unless you include Bill Bryson. But we don’t need to include Bill Bryson because we know that, all things being equal, it would come down to a fist fight and Clarkson wouldn’t play fair. Bryson would barely have time to strip off his comfortably warm woolly jumper before Clarkson would shoot him with an RPG he’s smuggled in from Afghanistan. Bryson would go the way of a Soviet helicopter high in the Hindu Kush.
It would leave Clarkson the winner and I could get on with explaining why I think he’s so popular. And it’s this:
Jeremy Clarkson is popular because it takes the same length of time to read one of his columns as it does to have a good bowel movement.
This is true. I encourage you to try is for yourself. This piece you're reading now is the perfect Clarkson length. The next time you feel yourself sliding towards a little relief, take this or any one of Clarkson’s witty rants about the French with you. You’ll find that from beginning to end, the column takes the same length of time to internalise as it does for you to, well, externalise.
Clarkson has mastered the lavatory read. He’s also adapted well to the unique requirements of this much misunderstood form of literature. Alfred Lord Tennyson was once the preferred choice of reading, with his long and slow moving poems the perfect thing for those low-fibre Victorians with fifty seven layers of britches and drawers. Have you not wondered why the nation has grown less intelligent as our dietary habits have improved? It is because we don’t spend as much time reading on the toilet. As everybody knows: it’s not what we learn in the classroom that improves us but what we read while we would otherwise be contemplating our knees.
Clarkson is the writer of the age. Humour is a proven relaxant, so his book, full of hair-brained schemes and slightly jingoistic looks at foreigners, are perfect for getting your insides moving. It’s certainly better than bouncing up and down for five minutes on the seat. He should really be prescribed on the national health instead of prunes, which as everybody knows, really are bad for you.
Okay. Now, I believe my time is up and those of you who have tried my little experiment will be wanting to pull up your trousers or skirts and be getting back to what you were doing. Those of you who haven’t finished, I really don’t know what to say. You’ve had all the time you needed…
Have you thought about eating more prunes?
15 comments:
If Clarkson is the writer of the age, I am going book burning.
Mopsa, I stand by what I said. He's the writer of this fiber-fueled age.
Edwina, I don't write this blog just so you can come here and get your jollies off leaving increasingly offensive coments. I like a joke as much as anybody but there's a point at which it goes too far and this it it. I've deleted your posts. I'm sick of the foul language and increasingly personal nature of your attacks.
Comment moderation is now enabled. I never thought I'd do that but this is just too much.
No need to continue with comment mod; I've seen the error of my ways. Should I ever post again, the worst one can expect to see is the word Flip.
Okay Edwina. At least you have the grace to apologise and I'm happy to do the same if I over reacted. We'll blame it on a bad day and say no more about it.
That's a flipping relief. I'm tough on the outside-some would say too tough-but I'm a fraction less tough on the inside.
Me too, Edwina. Me too...
Oh, some take Edwina out and give her a good flip.
In some part of the world, Elberry, that probably makes some sense.
And watch it with the f words. You're warned too. Another use of 'flip' and Gabby gets the green light. She's already done the recon. I'm not saying you should be worried but look for something Romanian and lethal currently sitting in your shrubbery.
So fl.. is also a no no. How about plop, as in "to plop on someone's head"?
I fear that even that last comment hints at the frightening forces of vilent vulgarity that threaten to burst forth from my Edwina mind, and with that in mind, it is perhaps best that I retire my forceful being from the virtual universe. For one, should I- like a raging alcoholic- let myself loose, then God help those on the receiving end. On the other hand(for argument sake, the left), I fear I could do terrible psychological damage to my self by the herculean efforts required to restrain my character within what seem to be acceptable bounds. I spit on your acceptable bounds....I apologise, that's an example of it.
And so, I hand in my virtual resignation for the good of all, but most of all for the good of the Conservative Party which will one day rise again.
If you want, as a personal favour and last hurrah, I could go over and rip into Richard Madeley at whose hands I know you to have suffered great calumny.
As tempted as I am (and a few weeks ago I'd have been very tempted) I wouldn't wish you on the poor man. From what I can see, he has enough troubles.
Good luck in your retirement. Perhaps in a different life, you'll return to us in a slightly less pungent form.
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