Poor old Jeremy 

Jeremy Clarkson’s parents seem to have invented the toy version of Paddington bear. Now in the nadir of his public decline, their poor son is beginning to look like befuddled hung-over Paddington. The man who has made us laugh every Sunday night now appears to be spent and drawn after years of ignominy.

The Guardian set see only a big character full of braggadocio and have lain in wait until he, as he inevitably does, puts his large chukka boot firmly in to his mouth. Like Clarkson, I am an expelled public school boy, so I have empathy with his manners and lifestyle.

I admire a man who says politically incorrect bon mots, with a tongue firmly in cheek, to amuse himself and others around. I also, after a long day, like to have a bot. of wine and a rare steak; I do draw the line at punching the chap who negated to bring me said viands, but only on a matter of personal principal.

That the incident occurred in a public organisation swimming in extreme amounts of money has made it national property. Another point is that Top Gear has a vast budget and salaries beyond many people’s wildest dreams; there must inevitably be some resentment from the arts section at these bourgeois oafs clattering around with beaming smiles. The BBC prides itself on fairness though apparently to smear Clarkson by using him in the same sentence as the grim Jimmy Savile is utterly reprehensible.

Yes, Clarkson is a pompous fellow with a domineering character to boot. The interesting question yet to be raised is whether the bully has become the victim?

Just as they are on Kevin Pietersen, the British public is split on whether they want him back or not. Of course, everyone is entitled to their own opinion in this beautiful world of free speech and equality; however I think there is great a tendency to take pleasure in the decline and fall of a large than life character. The dissenting parties are dancing around the bonfires in an orgasmic stupor singing to the moonlit sky “Ding Dong the witch is dead”

Clarkson is a Shakespearian fool who clowns around the earth shooting arrows at everyone. He is a man of the world, highlighted by inveterate travelling on Top Gear. There have been times when his unique brand of humour has jumped into the pool of crude and unkind – this is mostly when he plainly not funny.

This is less a row over a producer’s split lip than one about class and virtues; because of his brazen vulgarity Clarkson is all too easy to brand as a bigot. If one looks closely at the word bigot, it means a person who is utterly intolerant of any differing creed, belief, or opinion. In the days when I wore a younger chap’s trousers, I was an art history student, and found the art world to be most snobbish and opine lot of all

With the vast middle class nowadays it is much harder to stigmatise people by their money or family. The sharp intake of breath when I say my political leaning at dinner parties in North London are matched only by those when a Labour sympathiser lauds his own in Parsons Green.

The reality is that we are all bigots – whether we be a knuckle dragging soccer yob, a hemp wearing liberal, or a pin striped conservative. The reason I admire the bombast of Clarkson is that he is happy to seen chomping on a cigarette with his grand pot belly on show shouting his views out.

This is such a contrast to the cloak and dagger dinner parties snobbishly littered with pseuds on the left. Both sets are equally selfish and greedy for money, enhancing my view that we are desperate to inflict our lifestyles on others and incredulous when they denounce it.

Liberalism is a political and social philosophy advocating the freedom of the individual designed to be wholly encompassing – surely it should find room for a man like Clarkson. In any form of Utopia man needs a scapegoat to sharpen our tongues against or else we turn on those we love.


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