Free Born to Be Riled by Jeremy Clarkson Page B

promised not to spin off on the warm-up lap anymore, or run into the pit wall when coming in for tyres, and Mika Hakkinen is fit once more after his awful crash in Adelaide. Indeed, he smashed the lap record while testing at Estoril only last week.
    This means he is more deranged than ever. He has an awesome reputation in Grand Prix as a madman and there is now talk that his head injury has made him even nuttier. I like the guy hugely, but don’t think he’ll win.
    First, he will continue to crash a lot as he ekes out levels of grip which are not available; and second, while the new Mercedes engine goes like a bomb, it will also go off like one fairly often.
    That will be mildly entertaining but it won’t really compensate for the tedium that will result from a newrule in 1996. No car is allowed to qualify unless it can get within 107 per cent of the poleman’s qualifying time. Thus, there will be no Fortis and Minardis cruising round to get in everyone’s way.
    Being held up by a dawdling backmarker added some spice to the race, and gave Murray Walker something to shout about. But now it has gone, and next year Murray will go too.
    There is some good news though, because when ITV takes over the reins in 1997, the BBC will have to concentrate its resources on the British Touring Car Championship.
    This is 26,000 times better than Formula One, with more overtaking in one lap than you get in the whole Grand Prix Championship.
    The Touring Car season begins on Easter Monday. You want to know who’ll win? Haven’t a clue. You want to know who’ll crash? Most of them. Can’t wait.

Commercial cobblers
    Have you seen that hideous man in the Boots commercial on television? The one who spices up his tedious life by choosing a designer pair of spectacles. So that I can’t poke him in the eye should we ever meet in a lift, or on a railway station. ‘He’ll take care of that. And it’s good to know…’
    Oh for God’s sake man, please shut up. We’ve got the message. Boots do designer glasses. If things get so bad that I can’t read a newspaper without being in anotherroom, I’ll feel my way straight down there in my blazer and slacks.
    This is the point, surely, of television advertising. In the tiny timeframe available it’s only possible to give the audience one little nugget. The product may be a dodecahedron, but in the ad slots, we only get an atom.
    Unless the subject matter is cars, in which case the trick is to hand over absolutely no information whatsoever.
    In a Volvo, it is possible to drive across the Corinth canal on railway lines should the more conventional bridge be blocked for some reason.
    How much does a T5 cost? How fast does it go? Can you get a chest of drawers in the boot? Dunno, but if anyone ever starts to throw packing cases at me out of a DC3, I’ll wish I had one.
    The point, of course, is that the advertising agency is trying to create an image. If you have a Volvo T5, you are the sort of person who is likely to be chasing Dakotas. And while your next-door neighbours are doing the garden, you’re out in the eye of the hurricane.
    Buy a T5 and you’ll be at every dinner party in town, being anecdotal and getting laid.
    Unless someone turns up with a Peugeot 406. This guy gets raped in a restaurant, just after he’s pulled a little girl from under the wheels of a truck. He plays rugby, is a mercenary and wears a sharp suit.
    There’s no such thing as an average person. Absolutely. But there is such a thing as an average car, and the 406 is it. I’d rather have a Mondeo, but in the knicker-elastic snapping stakes, the 406 is streets ahead.
    Today, the most important man in the car design process is the advertising copywriter. All cars in themid-ranges are basically the same, so the only way people can choose is by selecting an image.
    The 406 is an endearing and well-priced family saloon with the usual features, the usual economy and the usual performance. There are the usual mistakes