I think I’ve just been eyeballed by Jeremy Clarkson. Assuming, that is, he drives a two door Bentley Continental like the one in the photo. Here’s how it went.
I stopped at a petrol station somewhere in the Cotswolds for a coffee. While I was buying my harsh tasting Wild Bean Americano dose of caffeine, a Bentley pulled up and parked next to me.
As I sat in my car I glanced at the Bentley. I would say it’s a nice looking, sleek car but who on Earth would have the nerve to drive something like that? I mean, you drive that and you’re being a tad flash, ostentatious and flaunting your wealth, aren’t you? It’s a bit brash, isn’t it? Definitely ‘new money’ types.
Then the driver appeared from the shop. A grey haired middle aged man, perhaps a year or two older than me and quite a bit taller. He looked like he had a little bit of weight to spare with his shirt buttons straining. He wore blue jeans, just like mine, so all is not lost. He looked awkward and stiff as he eased himself into the car, perhaps he’d hurt his back.
Our eyes met and he smiled at me; a subtle smile, a kind of unspoken acknowledgement. Maybe he clocked my 15 year old Toyota and felt sorry for me, wondering if I was either poverty stricken or perhaps a prudent spendthrift. Or perhaps he secretly thought, in the grand scheme of things, I had made the right choice instead of forever chasing after the best car out there. My Toyota might well be old and boring but it is a solid and thrifty car.
Then he drove off and somehow he looked familiar. Yes, the penny dropped and I knew. I felt pretty sure it was Jeremy Clarkson. Perhaps he got back to Diddly Squat Farm and remarked how the area is going down hill with old Toyotas chugging around.
Either way, it was nice simply clocking each other; sometimes you don’t have to say any more to have that unspoken acknowledgement, or even respect for each other.