As we approach my mums anniversary, I can’t help but think more about the random things she loved. One of these odd things was Jeremy Clarkson.
When I was younger, my Dad would work away from home quite a lot. This was pretty crap when we were growing up, because we only saw him at the weekends. But after a few years of him working in Chester, we loved it when he started getting jobs in places like Little Rock, Bilbao and Belfast (exotic locations, I’m sure you’ll agree) because it meant that Mum didn’t have to make proper dinners every night and my sister and I could have chips-ding, curry-ding* or anything else-ding we could find in the freezer.
My mum would video certain shows for my dad, like all the soaps he claimed to dislike (but would always watch, and still does…) and of course, Top Gear.
Back in the day, Top Gear wasn’t the cool, amusing show it is now. There was no Hamster, no Captain Slow and definitely no Stig.
Instead we had Tiff Needell and Quentin Wilson. Who are much less eye-candyish. (Believe me, I do not find any of the Top Gear presenters attractive [besides the Stig of course] but I know some people do. Ew.)
We would watch the show, because you couldn’t watch a different channel to the one you were taping (We were such a technological house. We only had 4 channels until we bought a Freeview box in 2005.) And Mum would sit there with us and inform my sister and I that Jeremy Clarkson was our new Dad.
* For those not in the know, anything with the suffix “-ding” in the Constantine household means a microwave meal, since the microwave would go ding…well, I’m sure you get the idea.