Not a Fan of Clarkson, May, and Hammond, but This Era’s End Is Still Jarring

Spare a thought today for middle-aged men around the country. They’re experiencing what feels like the centrist dad equivalent of the break-up of the Beatles, the burning of Notre-Dame Cathedral, and the disappointing final season of Game of Thrones, all rolled into one. If you come across one today, please be kind. They’re bound to be devastated.

If you haven’t heard the news, it’s my sad duty to inform you: Jeremy Clarkson is rumored to have finally severed ties with long-time friends and collaborators James May and Richard Hammond.

Despite fan speculation that Clarkson’s popular Amazon series, Clarkson’s Farm, was but a brief solo interlude, the presenters have allegedly approved the dissolution of their production company. This development appears to confirm that the trio’s next special episode of The Grand Tour, filmed in Zimbabwe, will be their last.

Days like these are hard to prepare for, and the news stings nonetheless.

In all seriousness, while it’s easy to be flippant about the breakup of the Three Musketours, there is something very unsettling about it. It’s sort of like when your parents split up when you’re already an adult. You understand that nothing lasts forever, and sometimes people must separate to grow as individuals, but it still taints your view of the world in a fundamental way.

I’m certainly not the trio’s biggest fan. A few weeks ago, I wrote about how Jeremy Clarkson has done more harm to the ozone layer than refrigerators made in the fifties, with May and Hammond as his climate-denying backup dancers. Even so, I feel a bit uneasy about it.

There are some things you expect will always be there, for better or worse. Top Gear – and its various offshoots – were that for me: reliable light entertainment to stick on in the background when you’re bored. For me, and I imagine for most people, the magic came from how the three men played off each other. Clarkson’s decision to go solo seems like killing the golden goose.

I can’t really blame him, though. Clarkson is raking in the cash with Clarkson’s Farm, hailed as the greatest success of his career. He’s doing so without having to think of 30 car-related sexual innuendos per week. Being internationally famous and not pretending Richard Hammond is funny? It’s almost too good to be true.

You have to wonder how the others will fare in Clarkson’s absence. They’re keeping busy. May has a series of travel documentaries, and Hammond hosts a show where he restores old cars. But it feels like Clarkson is the Gwen Stefani of the group, and the others are… well, the guys in No Doubt whose names you don’t know.

Clarkson has even more in the pipeline, having recently purchased a pub in the Cotswolds for £1 million. The renovation will be the subject of a brand new TV series. So, not only will he have television content for years to come, but he’s also establishing new businesses that will make him boatloads of cash well into retirement. It beats almost being murdered by an angry mob in Argentina or chased out of Alabama by an angrier mob – if you’re not into that sort of thing.

But it’s still the end of an era.

Be extra delicate with the dads and uncles in your life today. Stick a couple of beers in the fridge, buy them a copy of Crocodile Dundee on Blu-ray, and pretend not to know the difference between leaded and unleaded petrol so they can spend three hours explaining it to you. It’s the least you can do after what they’ve been through.

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