Sometimes I wonder if we’re little more than the sum total of all our likes and dislikes. If that’s the case, it would explain why we doggedly hang onto our preferences even if we no longer prefer them. For instance, it took me years to realise that I don’t actually like wine. I’ve been drinking it all my adult life (and some of my adolescent life too), but it dawned on me only recently that it tasted a bit like battery acid. Not that I’ve ever tried battery acid, but I’m convinced I know how it would taste. And I wouldn’t like it.
I think the problem is that I want to be the sort of person who likes wine. You know, those elegant people enjoying fine dining and intelligent conversation, preferably in France or Italy. They’re sitting outside on a balmy evening at a chic local restaurant, looking out over the sea. Obviously I’m a victim of lifestyle brainwashing because much of the wine I’ve drunk has in fact taken place around a kitchen table in a chilly, damp country, overlooking a patio that really needs weeding. But still the fantasy persists.
My enjoyment of the Netflix series Call My Agent ticked every box because not only did I genuinely love it, but I also loved the idea of myself as the sort of person who watches a series about chic French people living a glamorous and racy life in Paris. While sipping a glass of Chablis, naturally.
Sometimes I decide I don’t like things on principle, just because everyone else does, and I feel a pointless need to distance myself from the common herd. Breaking Bad? No, I haven’t watched it – naturally I’m far too busy to commit all those hours to watching a man making crystal meth. James Bond films? I think I might be the only person in the world who’s never seen one and I can’t give in now because I’ve grown so used to thinking of myself as a James-Bond refusenik. A modest claim to fame, but it’s the only one I have.
On the other hand, there are some things I really don’t want to like, but I just can’t help myself. Which brings me to Jeremy Clarkson. I’m not a fan. I’ve seen clips of Top Gear and The Grand Tour and I know they’re not aimed at people like me: I really have no interest in fast cars, schoolboy pranks or rampant aggression. To make things worse, it seems such a waste when he and his cronies visit amazing places and then do nothing but drive about (without due care and attention), seemingly insulting locals as they go. Surely they could have done all that in Wales? Perhaps they have. Anyway, the whole thing is a mystery to me.
Sometimes, however, you just have to branch out. I’d seen trailers for Clarkson’s Farm and had to reluctantly admit that it did look quite entertaining. Setting any series in the English countryside is a pretty good place to start, even if you have Jeremy Clarkson obstructing the view. He does spend a lot of time revelling in farm machinery, but it’s his complete inability to run his own farm and the disdain that the locals show for his efforts that make it all very watchable. I have no doubt that much of it is staged, as reality shows are, but the joy I feel when 21-year-old Kaleb tells Jeremy Clarkson off for his sheer incompetence is completely genuine.
Really? A Bond abstainer? Even Daniel Craig? Surely not Sean Connery! Roger Moore? David Niven? George Lazenby shouldn’t really count. You dodged a bullet with Timothy Dalton. But honestly, you even avoided Pierce Brosnan? Wait until there’s no one home. Binge watch them all. Tell no one; and make sure you erase your browser history as if you were watching porn. Your secret will be safe with me!
I’ll keep you posted.
You would be surprised how closely the enjoyable bits from Clarkson’s Farm are to the best bits of old Top Gear tour episodes. They really made sure to highlight the unique wonders of the places they were visiting, and the humour heavily relied on “the presenters are useless at various skills and have to be aided by much more competent locals”
Oh dear, I’m not sure I’m ready to branch out that much!