01x11 - Italian Lessons: Loch Ness, Scotland, United Kingdom

[bunniefuu]

(CHEERING)

Hello, everybody!

Hello! Hello!

Hello!

(CHEERING)

Thank you so much.

Jeremy: What a welcome.

Hello. Thank you, everyone.

Welcome to The Grand Tour, which this week comes to you from the shores of Loch Ness in Scotland!

(CHEERING)

Now...

Exactly.

Now, to most people around the world, Scotland is just a bunch of scenery and Mel Gibson with some paint on his face.

But actually it's a bit more than that.

What we have here is a list of all the important things that were invented in America, OK?

This is what the Germans came up with.

Then we've got the English contribution.

And then let's have a look at what France did.

That's it. I'm not making that up.

And the pencil sharpener.

Oh, and the pencil sharpener!

Now let's have a look at the list of things that were invented by Scottish people.

Richard: It's just...!

(CHEERING)

It's unbelievable! It's everything!

Cordite. Cloning. Colour photography.

Percussion cap.

Golf, lime cordial. I mean, the list goes on and on.

Buick!

Hang on a minute.

Why is the US Navy on there?

Not joking, that was actually invented by a Scottish person.

Was it?

So was the BBC, so was the SAS.

All Special Forces, in fact. And I think I know why.

If you are from Mexico or France or Italy, you wake up in the morning, open the curtains, it's a lovely day, think, "I'll go to the beach."

In Scotland you open the curtains... it's damp and cold:

"I'll go to the shed and I'll invent something."

That's what's going on there.

I'm surprised, actually, the English, don't just say that those are British inventions.

Ah, yes, the Andy Murray syndrome.

(BOOING)

Let's be honest, this does happen a lot.

OK. Alexander Graham Bell, when he was working away with his Bakelite and his wires in his shed, he was a Scottish crackpot.

When he invented the telephone, he was a British genius!

Exactly the same sort of thing happens with sport.

Motor racing, Jackie Stewart.

Three times Formula 1 World Champion.

OK, he's British.

Jim Clark. Two times Formula 1 World Champion.

British. David Coulthard... Scottish.

That's how it works!

It is, yes.

Maybe we should explain to people in America what's going on here.

Yeah, exactly. Let me just clear this up for you.

This is how it works on this side of the pond.

This is Britain. This bit is England, where we're from.

This bit's Scotland, where we are now.

This bit's Wales, which is next to where I live.

Exactly. The rules are very simple.

If you're English and you become brilliant or do something brilliant, you remain English.

If you're Scottish or Welsh and you do something brilliant, the English decide that you are, in fact, British.

The English really are appalling, aren't they?!

Richard: They are!

(CHEERING)

I tell you what, I love being in Scotland because everyone here speaks their mind.

There's no ambiguity.

The town of Larkhall in Scotland, their welcome sign, here we go.

(CHEERING)

This is Scotland.

It's not just words, either, it's actions.

Do you remember that t*rror1st att*ck at Glasgow Airport a couple of years ago?

Somebody tried to explode... b*mb didn't go off.

He ran off and he didn't get very far because this happened.

(LAUGHTER)

The Scottish way. That is the Scottish way.

And um...

Interestingly, there have been no t*rror1st att*cks in Scotland since.

Just thinking about that for a second.

When he kicked him, he must have broken his foot on the other guy's pelvis.

Yeah.

Which means the guy's plums were in the middle of the impact.

When that t*rror1st woke up that morning, he must've thought, "Right, The worst thing that'll happen to me today is I'm gonna blow up."

It wasn't, though, was it?

Cos the only thing to explode was his knackers.

Can we get on with the show?

Yes. Good idea.

Because in tonight's car programme...

I urinate on an engine...

Richard wears an anorak... and James takes dr*gs.

But first, I want to talk about Fiat.

They're mostly known these days for the 500, which is a small retro hatchback.

But after an absence of more than a decade, they are back in the sports car game.

So I went down to the Eboladrome to check out what they've come up with.

Here it is. And as with the 500, you can tell straightaway that Fiat are playing the nostalgia card because this car is called the 124 Spider, in honour of their rear-wheel drive roadster from the '70s.

Under the skin, though, the 124 is based on the thoroughly modern Mazda MX-5.

Fiat supply some important things like the engine and the body, but both cars are built on the same production line in Japan.

On the surface, that is no bad thing.

You're gonna sleep a lot better at night knowing that your Italian car was actually put together by the Japanese.

However, it does raise a question.

Is that a sports car in its own right, or just a Mazda with a different badge on?

Well, before we find out, let's look a bit more closely at the badge.

Because you'll notice it says Abarth.

Abarth are Fiat's go- to people when they want to light a fire under one of their cars.

Not light an actual fire, but give what's already there some extra zest and zing and fire.

For starters, Abarth has tuned the 1.4 litre turbo – charged engine, so that this, the hottest 124, is faster than any MX- 5.

0- 60 takes 6.8 seconds.

And the top speed is 145mph.

But in a car like this that feels like 145 million.

Certainly bundles for me.

And it's not just performance where the 124 has the edge over its Japanese half- brother.

I have to admit, and this comes from someone who struggles to find fault with the MX- 5, the 124 does sound better.

Abarth have given it something called the Record Monza exhaust system.

What it does is make a small car produce a big- car noise.

(ENGINE ROARS)

It's like a cat in a lion suit and that's exactly the sort of panto you want.

What I'm saying here is that this car does its own thing.

It has its own personality. And that's important.

But on the next point, the 124 does take a bit of a body blow.

You see, there's a price to pay for all this Abarth- ness.

And that price is ã30.000.

ã5.000 more than the top MX- 5.

That said, the 124 does give you more under the skin, most notably in the handling department.

The thing is, Abarth have given this car a limited – slip diff... which makes sliding something you command.

(TYRES SCREECH)

The MX- 5 doesn't have that.

Neither does it have this sport button here, which relaxes the stability control.

Quite a lot.

So, what we have here is a car that's fast, sounds good and is great fun in the corners.

But there's something else very important about the 124.

I don't know that there's really a million miles of difference between this and the MX- 5.

But everything I do in this car I'm doing in an Italian sports car.

And it is impossible for that not to put you in a good mood.

It does feel so good to be in a small, Italian roadster again.

It's about time.

Everything about this little Fiat is designed to stir the emotions.

And make you smile like a child.

Right down to the retro black bonnet.

God, I love a black bonnet!

It just... Ooh!

It's just... a black bonnet.

Only cool cars have black bonnets. Fact!

I really like the MX- 5.

But the 124 has taken those Japanese foundations and added some Italian showmanship.

That's why I'd have it over the Mazda.

I don't just like it, I love it.

(CHEERING)

It's interesting that, because... as you know, I'm a sucker for an Italian sports car.

Love 'em to bits especially the Alfa.

However, I've driven an ordinary, cooking Fiat 124 and that is not as good as an MX- 5, not even close.

That's true. You'd be better off with the MX- 5.

Unless you want the fastest MX- 5, in which case buy the Abarth.

Quite.

Have we just done consumer advice?

A little bit. A little bit. Moving on quickly.

Yes, we will, move it on. And we'll find out how fast the Abarth goes round the Eboladrome.

That, of course, means handing it over to a man who thinks that beards were invented by Lenin.

Yep. It's the American.

There he is, poised and ready.

And he's off.

With a skitter of wheelspin and a fruity noise from the exhaust.

Straight onto a soaking-wet Isn't Strait.

What the hell... has happened in my life... that I'm over here driving a Fiat... in the wet in England?

He may not be enjoying it but he is very good at it.

As he carves the 124 through the standing water, making the best use of its 170 horsepower.

Really leaning on it as he approaches Your Name Here.

That is ballsy.

Now, heavy on the brakes, swoops round this fast left-hander, and exits with a skilful flurry of stylish over-steer.

Back onto the Isn't.

Hell, I don't know whether to drive this thing or use it for a spit-cup.

Charming!

Nerds will note these conditions would be better suited to a Barchetta.

If you like this car, I bet you got a lot of fancy cushions in your house.

Yeah, cos as we know, cushions are, of course, Communist.

Right, into the tight complex of Old Lady's House.

Keeping it nice and tidy through there.

And now full power for the lumpy, bumpy sprint down to Substation.

Front hazards coming on under hard braking.

All Fiats do that for some reason.

Armful of opposite lock into Field Of Sheep.

More exuberance through there and across the line.

(CHEERING)

(LOW CHATTER)

It was a ballsy entry into Your Name Here, that was.

Anyway... we must now find out where it ends up on the board.

Let's have a look.

Oh, dear. Oh, dear, Hammond.

So you've recommended what is officially the slowest car in the world.

Well... No, slowest car on our board.

Our board is the world.

It is.

All right. Look, it was wet.

That lake's wet. Someone once did 200mph on that.

And...

Then they were k*lled, I admit.

But...

Quite, quite.

Let's move on. It's time now for us to take a gentle cruise down the velvety smoothness of Conversation Street.

(MELLOW JAZZ)

(LAUGHTER)

That really hurts.

It did!

Just to be absolutely clear with you, that really, really hurt.

Yeah. It was supposed to be a pretend bottle.

Let's move it on.

I would like to converse about something important.

Why is it that we have leather seats in cars?

Because in reality it's a terrible material.

It's too shiny and slippery.

It's too hot or it's too cold. It's rubbish.

I think it's cos we got hung up on the idea that leather is somehow posh on a car seat.

But it didn't use to be like that.

In the old days, the posh people sat in the back of the car on cloth seats, and it was the chauffeur sitting at the front- they gave him leather because it's hard-wearing.

I've got a picture here of an old car.

They didn't even extend the roof to cover him!

Another three feet would have done it.

I think that's deliberate.

I think that's to remind him that he's scum!

What would you two like to have instead of leather?

There's all sorts of things you could use.

You could have cable-knit wool.

But it's nice, it's cosy. Desperately looking around.

His jumper would make quite a good car seat.

Cosy.

It's nylon! It is!

Or pleblon. One of the two.

It's a good idea.

It isn't a good idea!

Or, how's this for an idea?

Let me just throw it out there.

Why not take a cow, turn the middle of it into burgers and steaks, and then, instead of throwing the skin away, use it to cover the seats of your car?

Because it's a terrible material and it doesn't work.

That's only because you two have decided to be vegetarians.

Well, no, hang on...

They have. They actually have.

They woke up together one morning and went, "Let's not eat meat any more."

We didn't wake up together one morning.

Get clear on that.

It's a fine definition.

Mysteriously arrived at the same conclusion pretty much the same day.

Anyway, we still eat chicken.

Yep. Chicken is a vegetable.

It isn't.

It is.

Scientifically, chicken is a vegetable.

If you cut a chicken's head off it still runs around.

There you go.

Thereby proving it's not a sentient being, it's a higher-order vegetable.

Scientifically.

OK, we'll make the seats of your cars out of chicken skins. Actually, that's not a bad idea.

Wouldn't a chicken-skin seat look like a giant scrotum?

Yes, and that's your fault for not eating meat.

So now let's move on, shall we?

I've got something. Back in the 1920s, OK, a Scottish company made a car which they said was for women.

Got a picture of it here. It's called the Galloway.

What about that car makes it for women?

Well, they said it had a smaller-than-usual steering wheel and a more reliable engine.

Oh, yeah, of course, because men don't want a reliable engine, do they?

It's only women!

I hate reliable engines.

Also, you can drive it standing up, which is what women did in the 1920s.

This sort of thing is still going on today because I've got news of one here.

A car that's been launched called the Seat Mii Cosmopolitan.

We have a picture of it. There you go.

How do you spell Mii?

M-I-I.

It's Mii-iii.

It is Mii-iii.

"I've got a Mii-iii."

It's been done in collaboration with Cosmopolitan magazine.

"It's aimed at Cosmo Girl", it says.

And, are you ready?

"The headlights have an eyeliner shape."

No, they don't.

"It's easy to park."

Oh, yeah, cos...

I much prefer a car that's hard to park because I'm a man.

Can we get something clear here? OK?

This gender-splitting of cars is ridiculous.

It's like saying a woman's airline seat or a woman's matches or a woman's anything.

"Can I buy a box of women's pencils, please?"

Exactly. The only things I can think of that can be split by gender are bicycles, because of the crossbar.

Yeah.

And underwear.

Sometimes, yeah.

Overshare?

(MOUTHS)

I said that out...

I left in a hurry.

Honestly, I just can't understand why people think there's such a thing as a woman's car and a man's car.

Ridiculous.

It's not as if you drive cars with your old chap or your magic triangle.

And there's um...

Listen...

It's a little graphic.

But a few years ago, Volvo did a concept car, and they boasted very loudly that the whole thing had been designed entirely by women.

And I've got a picture of it.

It's a coupe with gull-wing doors and a massive engine.

It's what everyone would do.

I would definitely have done that. Exactly.

Men and women are exactly the same when it comes to cars. The end.

Exactly.

Right. Now...

You know Tesla?

Tesla believes it's pioneering the electric car.

But that ain't so. There was a Scottish company back in the '60s which made an electric car.

I've got a picture of it here.

Richard: Oh, God!

It's called The Scamp.

It had a top speed of 35mph, a range of 20 miles.

And I want to make it absolutely plain, that's Scottish, not British.

It is, yes! Very definitely!

That... that is Scottish.

(APPLAUSE)

We can end the conversation.

Now, all over the world, people, by and large, buy very boring cars.

I met a man yesterday who'd just spent ã8,000 on a five-year-old Ford Focus.

I thought, "Why did you do that? If you've got ã8.000 to spend, why didn't you buy a used Maserati?"

I think it's because people believe if you buy the used, exotic Italian car for ã8,000 it's going to break down all the time.

Yes, but will it? To find out, we actually put our own money on the line, and we each went out and bought a second – hand Maserati.

Yes, and then we decided that cars this glamorous and this exciting couldn't possibly be tested in Britain.

So we decided to meet up in continental Europe.

This is the race track we selected.

It's just 60 miles from Calais, and I arrived bright and early.

(DOOR CREAKING)

This... is a Maserati Biturbo.

First car in the world to be fitted with two turbo chargers.

And this particular example is the sought-after S model.

And it's only done 24.000 miles.

And yet despite that, all I paid for it was ã7.950.

So you get all this glamour, all this power, all that badge for less than you'd pay in the UK for a six-year-old Toyota "Pious".

Why has Richard Hammond arrived in a Ford Cortina?

Wait. It isn't a Ford Cortina, it's another Biturbo!

No, this is the 430.

It isn't!

It is!

Biturbo.

This isn't a Biturbo.

It is!

That's a Biturbo.

Hammond.

I'm sorry to have to tell you this.

But the Ghibli, the Racing, the Karif, the Shamal, the 222 and the 430, they were all the same car. They haven't got any money.

They just changed the name badge on the back.

These are the same car.

Yours is very ugly, but it's the same car.

I dispute that.

This is not ugly, this is elegant.

This is Italian style.

It isn't!

That is a fabulous-looking car. Let's look at this.

What have you got? It's a bit gaudy, mate.

You wanna hear this baby fire up.

(ENGINE WHINES AND SCREAMS)

Get out! Save yourself!

(REVVING)

Yes!

Feel the power of that!

Have you seen all this- there's no other word for it- oil?

Yeah, that...

Yeah.

Yeah.

Happily, before any more could flood out, James arrived.

Have you ever seen a more ungainly-looking machine?

What's the matter? Is your door broken?

No, I'm broken. Can you hold the door for me? Thank you.

Behold... the Maserati Zagato Spyder.

Biturbo, mate.

Zagato Spyder.

All Biturbos.

I think this was designed when it was owned by Citroen, which was bankrupt at the time.

Then there was some guy in America who had a bit of Maserati.

And then the Italian Government, or Fiat, they all sort of had bits of it.

They ran around going, "We made a new car. Look."

It was exactly the same, it just had a new name.

Excuse me, James. I just want to see just...

Oh, you've got two-tone leather.

But why have you got an a*t*matic?

I've bust my arm.

That's why it took a long time to get out.

Have you really broken your arm?

Which arm have you broken?

(JEREMY LAUGHS)

It has made me murderously bad-tempered and intolerant of your fatuousness.

Have you seriously broken your arm?

It's fractured quite badly.

Don't touch it.

How did you break it?

I fell over.

That's why you got an a*t*matic?

Yes.

Is that roof electric?

No.

There's a button on the front.

Oh, right. So it is manual.

Yes.

Anyway, we must get off. Come on, let's drive on.

Can you put the roof back up for me?

No! I'm not doing that.

We decided first of all to have a drag race, between our cars and a similarly-priced modern car... the Suzuki "Celery".

Tense moment.

(TYRES SQUEAL)

Sadly, however, the pit straight was too narrow for our four cars.

What are you doing?

Hammond, you idiot!

You crashed into my Maserati!

You crashed into mine!

I've got nowhere to go. There's a barrier there.

There was nowhere for me to go. I was where I was.

So, for the second attempt...

I volunteered to go down the pit lane.

Yes, this is genius!

And that didn't work, either.

Re-emerging on the track. Hammond is there.

What the hell?

Oh, sh*t!

Oh, my God!

Arg!

Why the hell can't we just do a drag race properly?

It can't be that difficult.

After this latest accident, we decided that, as Hammond's car had the biggest engine... he'd represent Maserati's honour on his own.

OK, this is it. I am the elected driver.

The chosen one. The kingpin.

I like that.

Massive amount of bleeping about...

But then...

Finally, it spools up, turbos whizzing away.

And yes! Absolutely creamed it!

(LAUGHS)

Yep, they were right to pick me.

And the car, the 430...Maserati.

Now you've established that, as a team, our twin turbo-charged Maseratis are faster than a 67-horsepower "Celery", let's get rid of the little Japanese car and find out which of our three cars is the fastest round the track.

We'll be driving Maseratis on a race track in continental Europe.

Sounds good, doesn't it?

What's the matter with you? Why do you look so miserable?

I've broken my arm.

If we're gonna drive round a track, can I at least have one of those disabled knob things?

You know.

On the steering wheel?

Yeah, like a forklift truck has.

Sounds fair enough.

So, whilst our colleague enjoyed his special breakfast, Richard and I attached his steering knob.

There you go.

And then we hit the track.

The roots of this car, they were planted during the 1957 German Grand Prix.

Fangio, at the wheel of his Maserati 250F, overcame a 48-second deficit in 22 laps to win the race.

He smashed the lap record ten times.

You don't lose a pedigree like that.

Here we go. Feel the tail kick out a little bit.

Or the front go.

There's the back. On the front.

Oh, God. I've got it.

Flying laps in a Maserati.

This is exactly what Stirling Moss did.

Not exactly. Bits of it are.

Meanwhile, in the convertible, James was very unhappy with his new steering knob.

Oh, God, it's the left-hander.

Bend the knob.

What is the matter with those two?

We're OK. We're in good shape.

No, we're not!

(TYRES SCREECH)

Despite my lucky-dip handling, I did eventually catch Hammond.

Take him! Take him on the inside!

Yes!

Yes!

No!

(CHUCKLES)

Arg!

No, I... Oh, God, strewth.

He's going surely now!

Jesus!

It just has too many horsepowers here. Come on!

Oh, sh*t.

Mr Clarkson is indisposed briefly.

Jeremy: And moments later, so was Mr Hammond.

No, no, no!

Come on!

So, having learned absolutely nothing at all... we decided to abandon the race track and embark on a 700-mile cruise to the south of France.

James was very pleased with this plan.

This is more like it, isn't it?

Not mucking around on a race track, which is always a bad idea in old cars.

We're going on a proper road trip to a lovely part of the world in very, very evocative, exotic cars-

Maserati!

In the 1970s, Maserati was naming all its cars after... exotic-sounding warm winds: Mistral, Khamsin, Bora.

When I was a kid growing up in Doncaster, I just thought, "I've no idea what a Mistral is but I want one!"

Maserati. South of France.

It just sounds right.

However, fairly soon, reality began to stick its unwelcome nose into the equation.

You get no heat in here and I can't de-mist at all.

The brakes.

It brakes one wheel very well.

But only one wheel at a time. And you never know which one.

James, are my lights dazzling you?

Yeah, a bit.

Because they seem to be on main beam, but I can't dip them.

James: If I put my headlights on full beam, nobody coming the other way flashes at me.

(RATTLING)

You hear that rattling?

That's the steering wheel.

On top of the mechanical issues, there was the problem of James tackling the toll booths in his right-hand-drive car.

(GROANS)

(GROANS)

(GROANS)

Ahh! Urgh!

We've got 700 miles to go.

It's going to take us for ever at this speed.

Jeremy: And then, to cap it all...

Jeremy, there are sparks coming from under your car.

I think you probably need to stop.

Oh, look.

Something's on fire.

Fire!

Right. Might have to piss on it.

Oh, no!

Go round there!

He's going to claim to be an emergency service now.

Jeremy: Annoyingly, our road trip wasn't proving to be as stylish as we'd hoped.

So, at the next petrol stop, with James failing to appreciate a present we'd bought for him...

You used to have a good sense of humour.

I do have a good sense of humour when you're being funny.

Which you are sometimes.

...I suggested a new idea.

Listen, listen. I've had a thought.

South of France is a long way away.

So why don't we go to the north of France instead?

Yes!

That is a good idea.

And there's much more to see and do in the north than there is in the south of France.

What is there to see and do in the north of France?

Well, there's the immigrant camp in Calais.

There's that square where they set fire to a woman.

Yes.

There'll be other stuff. There will be other stuff.

(CHEERING)

OK. Thank you very much.

Thank you so much. Thank you.

We'll pick that up later on, but now it's time to play Celebrity Brain Crash!

(CHEERING)

Yeah, it's still terrible.

Awful!

OK, now what can we say about our guest this week?

He's Scottish, but he won a gold medal at the Olympics.

So of course he's British.

(LAUGHTER)

He started out in cycling, then very wisely took up motor racing.

He actually competed at Le Mans.

But today he's in a boat.

Ladies and gentlemen, Sir Chris Hoy!

(CHEERING)

There he is!

There he is.

He's gonna be all right.

He's rowing it the wrong way round.

The great thing is, everyone, the great thing is... that Loch Ness is a peaceful, inland lake with no hazards at all.

We may finally get a guest to the studio.

Yeah, that would be great. Get him in unharmed.

Come on, Sir Hoy!

Come on.

Come on, you can do it!

(expl*si*n) - Oh, my...

(AUDIENCE GASPS)

(APPLAUSE)

What happened? How...? What...?

Ladies and gentlemen... you've just applauded the tragic death of Sir Hoy.

Um...

No idea. I think he must have hit a mine.

And there was a terrific expl*si*n, you may have seen it.

And he's now...

Well, he's gone, hasn't he?

Does that mean he's not coming on, then?

Well, James, he's exploded and been reduced to chops and offal.

So that is a no.

It's OK. I've got a backup plan.

You know voice activation systems in cars?

They don't really work, particularly they don't work in Scotland.

As we shall now demonstrate with a short clip of a man trying to pair his telephone with his Vauxhall.

Man: Pair. VOICE SYSTEM: You can say "pair".

Select device. For feedback, help or cancel...

Pair.

You can say "pair".

I just (BLEEP) said pair!

...or cancel.

Pair!

You can say "pair". Select device.

For feedback, help or cancel...

(EXAGGERATED) Pa-a-a-ir.

Pardon.

What I really love about this guy is how long he perseveres for.

Watch this.

Pa-a-a-a-ir.

Do you want to add or delete a device?

Yes! Add a device.

Pardon?

Add a device.

Using the pair function and the external device...

Yah!

He was brilliant. Anyway...

That is the problem. That is the problem, but, Hammond, I have a solution. OK?

No, don't scoff. Don't scoff.

This is a system that is cheap, works anywhere in the world, and you can fit it to any car, no matter how old it is.

Let me show you how it works, OK? Step in.

Ready? Voice activation.

Engage wipers.

It's just a man!

It's Gavril from Bulgaria.

He can do anything. Right, select drive.

There you go. Call Bell-end.

Now, he picks up the phone, he does all the dialling.

My hands are on the wheel, I'm safe.

He holds it next to my ear so it's hands-free.

(MOBILE RINGS)

Who's Bell-end?

What?

I don't want to talk to you.

End call!

All right, then.

Punch driver.

Punch... It doesn't work.

He won't respond to you, only me. That's the genius.

And it gets better. Get out, OK.

He locks the doors.

And then he opens them when I get back so I don't have to have any keys with me, which would spoil the line of my jean trouser.

Let me just re-cap this, OK.

So in Whitby you turned a Romanian man into a self-driving car.

Yes, I did.

You turned me into a parking sensor.

And now you've turned a Bulgarian man into a voice-control system.

Yes.

There's a theme establishing itself here, with your inventions, and it is that you're a moron.

A-ha. OK. Watch this.

You know, in a modern BMW 7 Series, you have back seats that massage you as you drive along, yeah?

Yes.

What I've done in here... is just genius.

I have scooped out the middle of that back seat, OK?

And then you can fit it with a Dwan Fen.

What's a Dwan Fen?

She's here.

She's from Thailand.

(LAUGHTER)

I don't know why people are laughing at this.

She now blends perfectly with the seat, OK?

She is the seat.

So I step in... like so.

And then...I get a massage as I drive along.

Ooh!

James, James... he's sitting on a Thai woman now.

I know. Come back over here, and we'll move it on.

We'll go back to the Maserati film.

Now, so far we have established that I've broken my arm, but that the cars are working really rather well.

Yes! And we rejoin the action after a night in a town called Deauville, where Jeremy had, for reasons known only to himself, decided to re-enact the famous VW Golf advert from the '80s.

Jeremy: This is the man who put a million on black and it came up red.

This is the man who married a sex kitten, just as she turned into a cat.

This is the man who moved into gold, just as the clever money moved out.

This is the man who drives a Maserati.

(ENGINE FAILS TO START)

(ENGINE FAILS TO START)

Start, you vicious bastard!

Of course, being a Maserati, it did eventually begin.

So we then fitted James's wheel with a new knob... and decided to go and play on the beach.

Ha-ha!

You really would have trouble doing this on a beach in the south of France because the whole thing would be covered in people turning their plastic surgery brown.

Ow-ow-ow-ow, ow-ow-ow-ow, ow-ow-ow-ow-ow.

In the sea!

Whoa!

You can take a Maserati in the sea... because the rust-proofing is so good.

After that, we enjoyed a picturesque walk and a philosophical debate.

Jeremy: Is there anything on earth which is worse than having another man put sun cream on your back?

James: I've never experienced that.

And then we played some sport.

Penalty sh**t-out in Maseratis on a beach in northern France.

(POP)

With our ball gone, we continued on our tour of Normandy, with our badly-built colleague moaning constantly.

(JAMES GROANS)

Has he been swapped for an old lady?

Jeremy: He's always been an old lady.

He was born an old lady!

"Congratulations, Mrs May. It's an old lady!"

As darkness fell, we reached the ancient town of Honfleur, where we decided to spend the night.

Unfortunately, to reach our hotel, we had to navigate through a maze of tiny, medieval streets.

Jeremy: Pardon. Sorry.

Richard: This is narrow. Isn't it narrow?

No.

How did people manage in this town in the olden days when nobody had power steering?

Oh, no.

I do that how?

(CRUNCH)

Oh, my God.

I'm totally stuck.

Ow, ow, ow, ow. Cobbles.

God almighty.

I'm not sure that's possible.

Oh, for... Is that...?

You're in the way.

It's a one-way street my way.

It's a one-way street, yes.

That's why me and the other cars are all coming this way.

Please don't make me back up with this steering.

Come on, it's a workout.

Hammond, I am gonna k*ll you.

(HORN BEEPS)

Moment, s'il vous plaît.

Mon ami...

Il a conduit-ay son voiture comme la gorilla.

Vous devrez... le jambon prenez la rue à gauche et nous sommes les champignons!

With Jeremy out of the way, I could move on.

But then...

James: Hammond, is that you with yellow lights coming up here?

Oh, my God.

That's a bit of bad luck.

You're going to have to reverse up there, aren't you?

I can't back up because it's preposterously narrow and I can't swivel my head round to look behind me.

So now what?

Well, I'm going the right way down the one-way street, so I have right of way.

Urgh!

Sorry, Hammond, you'll have to direct me a bit.

Right a bit.

My right or your right?

Well, my right. Which is your left but you're steering in reverse.

Hold it there and I'll go left.

Your left or my left?

Your right, my left as I'm looking.

And your right as you're looking, i. e. your right.

Jeremy: I had found the hotel, but clearly my colleagues were going to be a while.

James: When you say my left, do you mean my left if I'm facing the way I'm going or facing the way I'm facing?

Richard: Good point.

Your left is still my right.

But you're going backwards. Just drive backwards!

I'm going to the hotel now but I'll leave this on so you can stay in tune with what they're doing.

James: I don't believe I've come the wrong way down a one-way street. I know.

Richard: Are you making your situation better or worse?

Better? Worse? Better? Worse?

(BELL CHIMES)

When Richard and James did finally join me, we reflected over dinner about our time in the north of France.

It's been just a tremendous journey.

We've had three Maseratis out here for three days and we've only had one minor fire.

Can I just say, and I'm being absolutely honest here, I love my Maserati.

I've totally fallen for it.

Yes.

I really like mine.

No car makes a better noise.

No two-litre car makes a better noise than that.

I love it more now than when I started.

I definitely want to keep mine.

I want to know what it's like to drive with two arms.

Because we all loved our cars so much, I decided we should end our road trip with a spicy climax.

Why don't we race back to England, OK?

First thing in the morning. Last one back there... has to sell their car.

Ooh, that's cruel.

That's harsh.

It's not entirely fair on me, is it?

Hello. Why not?

You chose to come equipped with one arm.

It's your issue, not ours.

So we set off from here, all at the same time.

Any route you like. Last one... back on English soil, has to sell their car.

I'm up for it. I'll risk it cos that'll make the trip home exciting.

I'll do it. Last one home...

As dawn broke, we lined up outside the hotel, ready for the off.

Jeremy: Gentlemen, it's ten to four in the morning.

Let's do this.

In three, two, one... Begin!

(JEREMY'S ENGINE FAILS TO START)

(HORN TOOTS)

(ENGINE FINALLY STARTS THEN STALLS)

Blast!

(ENGINE STARTS)

Come on!

No! No!

At all costs, I am winning this.

(GROANS)

(FROG SQUEAKS)

This is typical. Typical of Italian cars.

They wait until you really need them, and then they go wrong.

"Oh, darling, darling, I'm in labour! Quickly!"

"Yes, I'm on my way in my Maserati."

(CROAKS)

Right. Up here.

Some of this is familiar, which is bad.

Oh, no, not lost now.

Jeremy: Once again, I'd managed to coax my car into some kind of life and I was on my way.

So, straight out of town.

(DEEP RATTLING)

Sounding healthy.

With a top speed of about 12, I was headed for the ferry port of Le Havre.

The trouble is that logically, the others would be doing the same thing.

Car, clear your throat, please.

I'm out!

Right, England, here I come.

Clear your throat, car! Clear it!

Or we shall be last.

And then I shall have to sell you, and not to someone nice.

You know that man who has sex with his cars and then puts pictures of it on the internet?

I'm going to sell you to him unless you get going. Now, come on!

Hang on a minute.

No!

No, no, no, no!

Big road. Yes!

Richard: James, meanwhile, was dawdling along at the back.

Yet he seemed strangely unconcerned about this.

On the face of it, viewers, this isn't much of a race, because I've got the slowest car, we know that.

I only have the use of one arm and I'm steering with a squeaky frog bolted to the wheel.

However, it's not that simple.

(SQUEAK)

In fact, I believe I will be first.

Because he who is last shall be first.

As we know.

Coming up now to the motorway.

(EXHAUST SPLUTTERS)

Come on, car. Please!

It's made it up the slip road.

Have you ever known a car with more spirit than this magnificent Maserati?

However, the gradient on the slip road was nothing compared to what lay ahead.

Oh, my giddy aunt.

Port, where is it?

If I get there first, I've got to wait for the ferry.

They could catch up, but I'll be ahead in the queue.

Whoever gets on the boat first gets off the boat first, and you can't change that.

First on the boat is first off the boat.

They win.

(EXHAUST SPLUTTERS)

Right, calm, Jeremy, calm.

You're on a motorway.

On an enormous bridge, surrounded by many heavy lorries.

(EXHAUST SPLUTTERS)

(BANG)

Oh, no.

I can hear the exhaust spluttering.

Smoke. A lot of smoke now.

Please! Please work!

Mercifully, I reach the top of the bridge.

But then...

(SPLUTTERS AND STALLS)

It's dead.

sh*t, I've lost braking. I have lost braking.

Bloody hell. Handbrake not working, either.

I've lost all brakes.

There was only one thing for it.

I have no brakes!

You've just hit our car!

I haven't got any brakes!

They're not pleased about being used as a brake.

This is totally illegal, by the way, on a French motorway.

Right, so I've no brakes and no engine.

Think, Jeremy, think.

Port. Yes, hello.

Unaware of Jeremy's problems, I was keeping the hammer down.

Holiday-makers!

I hate holiday-makers!

(HORN BLARES)

Trucks.

I'm going to get caught up with all the trucks.

Meanwhile, back in the land of Captain Cryptic...

(JAMES HUMS TO HIMSELF)

Do you know, I'm so relaxed about this, I think, in a short while, I might stop for a pleasant coffee and a read of the newspaper.

Not got time for you, mate. I'm sorry.

Car! Car!

Oh, God. Another roundabout.

It's like I'm in the middle of bloody town.

I need to find my own route.

There must be sneaky ways through.

This could be good. This could be good.

Down there.

Oh!

Dead end. Not that way. Bloody hell.

My shortcut wasn't going well.

Where are they and more importantly where am I?

This was a mistake. This is making things worse.

It's just costing time.

And, as it turned out, time was something I didn't have.

I am now down to one turbo charger, but I'm back in the race.

Yes, I'm at the wheel of a Renault DCI 120 tow truck.

And what's more, I've decided to head for the port as the crow flies.

Oh, yes!

Oh, God, no!

This looks good.

Yes. Ferry terminal.

This is all correct.

That is Jeremy!

There's Hammond!

What is he doing?

k*ll him!

I have to win. I have to win.

A roundabout. Oh, bloody hell. Really?

The problem was that the port of Le Havre is so vast and so complex, it was very easy to get lost.

This was still anyone's race.

Where is Hammond? Where is May?

Where is the boat?

Come on, come on, come on.

(SQUEAK)

(HUMS)

This is wrong. This is wrong.

It's got to be down here.

Yes!

Did I have some carpet stuck under the throttle?

Cos my DCI 120's going like a bastard!

Yes! This looks good. This is the place.

Good van. Good van. The boat is there.

There is Richard Hammond. Is James May here?

No, he is not!

He is not.

Yes!

Ha-ha! No May?

James: No, and there wouldn't be, because I was in another part of the port with my own travel plans.

Last night, after the other two had gone to bed, I arranged for our company yacht to be waiting for me in the harbour.

And there it is!

I simply drive up, hop aboard, and then we'll be on our way.

(JAMES GROANS)

(CHEERING)

He lived, annoyingly.

Hold on, hold on.

Hold on. Hammond.

I need to ask you about this.

Why did you stick "Deshabille" on my car?

Because you were disabled.

Déshabillé means undressed, you moron!

Let's not get bogged down with "Ooh, can't speak French."

Let's get to the point which is, James May, you lost and you broke the company yacht.

You did.

Hang on a minute.

My car got closer to England than yours did.

Yes, but the other thing it got closest to was the bottom of the sea.

All of that is irrelevant because my car was the best, cos it didn't go wrong at all.

Mine was perfectly reliable.

Mm-hm. Mine was as reliable as James's arms.

And the extraordinary thing is, no-one can work out what was wrong with it.

It fell off the back of a lorry.

No- one can work out what fault it had that caused it to be on the lorry in the first place.

And even nine months down the line, two trained Maserati mechanics are totally stumped.

It is an unfathomable fault.

Yeah, so what we can conclude from our exhaustive testing in the north of France is that if you buy a used Maserati, you have a 66% chance of it working.

They're not bad odds.

You wouldn't say that if you were having an eye operation.

Exactly. And on that terrible disappointment, it's time to end.

Thank you so much for watching. Good night!

(CHEERING)