Discussion: Top Gear

On parle de moi, j'arrive!!!!!

Alors, c'est quoi le problème Top Gear ?????

Alors je peux voir Top Gear, sur BBC world car j'ai le sat, ensuite est ce la version raccourcie ou la version longue, moi j'en sais rien du tout!!!

Débrouillez vous avec cela

si ca dure que 20 minutes c'est la version caca castrée...

Cela dure environ 30 minutes, alors c'est la version eunuque ou la version Rocky Siffredi??????????,

y'a des chances pour que ce soit l'eunuque

Argh, la 535D aussi rapide qu'une 350Z et une RX-8!

Et JC dégouté de voir la Béhème plus rapide que la Focus RS, en disant qu'il allait se flinguer trop bon

mastercar a écrit:

Argh, la 535D aussi rapide qu'une 350Z et une RX-8!

Enfin bon, quand tu regardes le comportement de la caisse en virage, ca ressemble plus a un chalutier qu'une RX8 :D

Et la RX8 a 2x moins de couple que la BM, donc y a pas de quoi se rouler par terrer non plus

La BM essence lui met quand meme une sacree branlee sur un tour ....

ibutcher a écrit:

mastercar a écrit:

Argh, la 535D aussi rapide qu'une 350Z et une RX-8!

Enfin bon, quand tu regardes le comportement de la caisse en virage, ca ressemble plus a un chalutier qu'une RX8 :D

Et la RX8 a 2x moins de couple que la BM, donc y a pas de quoi se rouler par terrer non plus

La BM essence lui met quand meme une sacree branlee sur un tour ....

T'en fais pas, ce n'est pas pour autant que j'achèterai une Béhème Diesel à la place d'une RX-8
Déjà, j'ai du mal à me sortir de la tête, BMW=racailles

on est bien d'accord

dommage qu'ils aient une si mauvaise image depuis quelques temps ...

Je veux ce t-shirt

Ça y est je viens de voir la course jusqu'à Oslo

Excellent

Je me suis aussi régalé avec l'essai de la Ferrari F430 et les typiques commentaires de JC...

Quand il explique ce que CST veut dire sur le Manetino :

"Commit Suicide Training"

Quand il explique que le prix est abordable :

"sell the children for medical experiments"

Ou quand il parle du prix des options :

"...although as there are only two pedals you could raise the money selling one of your legs"

Essais de Mercedes chez TopGear

La qualité est assez mauvaise mais c'est mieux que rien

J'adore la conclusion de JC lors de l'essai de la Maybach

sympa ce site

y'en a que je connaissais pas

Ouiiiin top Gear c'est fini pour cette saison, les prochains episodes arrivent a l'automne

Je ne sais plus si je l'ai déjà dit mais vous pouvez lire les essais que Jeremy Clarkson fait pour The Times.

C'est à mourir de rire

Take splat ... green demonstrator 'pies'

MOTORMOUTH Sun man Jeremy Clarkson got slapped in the face yesterday — with a BANANA PIE.

Our 6ft 4ins columnist was splattered by a female environment campaigner.

She and other “greens” tackled Jeremy as he was being awarded an honorary doctorate at Oxford Brookes University in Oxford.

They blasted him for raving about gas-guzzling motors on TV’s Top Gear.

But the 45-year-old took the pasting in his stride.



And last night he went into overdrive to dismiss the flan-flinging fanatics. He said:

I was at Oxford Brookes University getting an honorary engineering doctorate, which means I am now Dr Clarkson.

So I am dressed up like Henry VIII.

There had been a lot of talk beforehand about a protest being staged — and ten of them turn up.

The protest was something about the environment. One of them got in and lobbed a custard pie.

It was a delicious pie, I ate it all. It saved me a trip to the baker’s shop.

I am very grateful that I didn’t have to make any lunch.



And at least they didn’t dig my granny up.

You have no idea how much I am going to re-double my efforts in the next series of Top Gear. There will be no more Mr Nice Guy.

There will be no tree, leaf, cloud, lawn, peat bog or environmental precious place that I won’t drive over.

If they do it again I will start on the foxes.



Millions of people enjoy Top Gear and they are more important than some bird with a pre-menstrual problem.

The pie definitely wasn’t organic. And just think how much jet fuel was used flying the banana over here.

The protester was just some angry bird. But she should be allowed to go lobbing custard pies in the faces of people she doesn’t like.

I behaved better than John Prescott did when a protester threw an egg at him.

I told her it was a great shot and then I told her she had used too much sugar in the mix.

I knew it was going to happen. I even put an old suit on because I knew I was going to get covered in food.

It wasn’t that bad. It was just a little bit of custard around my face. Nothing a flannel couldn’t put right.

Citation :

There will be no tree, leaf, cloud, lawn, peat bog or environmental precious place that I won’t drive over.

If they do it again I will start on the foxes.

excellent!

La saison 7 de Top Gear reprendra le 13 novembre 2005.

Par contre, pour 6 épisodes seulement

Décidément on lui en veut

The TV presenter – star of motoring show Top Gear – is visiting the troubled country to research a newspaper article. His journey began on Saturday when the Hercules transport plane he was traveling on on a flight from Basra to Baghdad was shot at with rockets by insurgents south of the capital. The plane was able to take evasive action and to release flares to shake off the attack.
While in the capital the US army Black Hawk helicopter he was traveling in came under fire again. Later in the day, his return flight to Basra also came under attack. Finally, within hours of arriving back at base at the city’s airport the camp came under mortar-fire by, it is believed, Shia tribesmen.
Clarkson, who was not hurt in the incidents, told the Daily Mirror: "I knew this would happen - this sort of thing always happens to me."
One British soldier said: "We've never seen anything like this occur to one person, especially not a civilian." The TV star has been called "Target Practice" by squaddies following the incidents. One joked: "People are saying he's saved lives because the Iraqis have used so much ammo trying to kill him."
Clarkson has said previously that the US invading Iraq after 911 would have resembled the US attacking China after Pearl Harbour, and has regularly questioned the purpose and wisdom of the invasion.

Et voici son comparatif BA vs Virgin Atlantic

Jeremy Clarkson: I've been seduced by Beardy Airways
The job of a newspaper columnist is to find something wrong with everything. To find discord where there is harmony. To sprinkle a little bit of hay fever dust all over the perfect summer’s day.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to find fault with something you love. And, strangely, one of the things I’ve loved most of all over the years is club class on British Airways. I love the way that when you’ve finished working in some godforsaken Third World fleapit you’re welcomed on board by a homosexual in grey flannel trousers and you think: “Aaaah. We haven’t even taken off but I’m home already.”

I love their scones and clotted cream. I love the way they have back-up planes for when yours goes wrong. And I love the calmness of their pilots, all of whom have abbreviated Christian names and reassuring three-syllable surnames. “Welcome on board, ladies and gentlemen. Mike Richardson here on the flight deck . . .”

Oh, they’ve done their best over the years to shoo me away, ditching the elegant grey and blue livery in favour of that terrible pre-Tony multiworld design on the tailfins, and then by buying the tedious and slothful 777 to replace the brilliant jumbos.

Even when I stopped flying quite so much and they demoted me from a card that entitled me to sit on the captain’s lap to a card that didn’t even get me into the economy class bogs, I still stayed loyal. And what happened when they ditched Concorde? Did I work myself into a frenzy of righteous indignation. Did I rant and rave? No. I blamed the French.

I chose to fly BA the other day even though I knew the catering staff were on a roundabout in Slough and there’d be no scones. To give you an idea of how devoted I am, the only request I made when negotiating my BBC contract was that I should fly BA whenever possible.

Last week, however, it wasn’t possible and I was sent upper-class tickets for a flight to San Francisco with the enemy. Virgin.

I’d flown once before with Beardy Airways and, having been told to put on the “funky phones” so I could hear the safety demonstration, I seriously considered opening the door and jumping out. It’s an airline, for crying out loud, not a playgroup.

Still, this time they offered to send a car to pick me up, which is something BA has never done. Of course it wasn’t the limo in which Helen Mirren luxuriates in the television commercials; it was more a sort of Volvo, in fact.

But even so, it took me to a check-in zone at Heathrow where, without even getting out of the car, my bag was checked in and my boarding card issued. That was impressive. And then I was escorted by a pretty, slim girl, which is what airline employees should be like, to the Virgin lounge.

My God. It was like walking into the Design Museum. The whole place was dripping with the sort of style that means you can neither open nor close the lavatory doors, and the wine’s Norwegian. It was fabulous.

In the BA lounge you get a cup of coffee and a biscuit and you help yourself. Here, there was a restaurant, bar staff, a smoking area that wasn’t just a glass box like you get at a zoo, a hairdresser’s, several massage parlours, some steam rooms, and a businessman on a mobile phone in a Jacuzzi.

He was unusual. When you fly with BA everyone has a laptop and models themselves on those idiots you see in airport poster advertisements for American banks. But with Virgin most of the passengers looked like the sort of people you might have round for dinner. One was the lighting director for the Eagles. Several were women.

I had a massage, which the girl said was like trying to ease the tension in a fridge door — this is because I’d been unable to get into the lavatory and was in agony — and then I rang the office to find out how much it was all costing. “Oh,” said the girl, “it’s about the same as BA business.”

That’s weird. Normally two similarly priced products designed to do the same sort of thing are roughly the same. A Ford is much the same as a Vauxhall. Evian is pretty much the same as what comes out of your tap. But the gap between Virgin and BA is planetary. And we hadn’t even got on the plane yet.

Superficially, it was the same as BA. They even had a homosexual man to welcome us on board, and scones, and seats that move around electrically. But on Virgin you have a girl in stockings and a suspender belt to give you another massage, and there’s a bar. And I mean a proper bar, on which you can loll.

What’s more, on BA you watch the films when they come on. On Virgin you are the master of your own destiny, thanks to technology that’s bound to break all the time. It certainly did on the way home, but because we were on a 747 the flight took less than nine hours. I therefore didn’t really mind.

So there we are. Finally I’ve found something wrong with British Airways. They’re not good enough. And now it’s time to put a superbug in Beardy’s omelette with a question. If you can make your airline even better than the best airline in the world, how come your trains are such rubbish?

excellent

Citation :

They even had a homosexual man to welcome us on board

Jeremy Clarkson: Enough to make you feel suicidal
You might have thought that life for a Norwegian lesbian would be tickety-boo. The right-on Scandi-style government is on hand to ensure there’s no discrimination. The internet provides plenty of employment opportunities. And they don’t have to sleep with any of those hairy trawlermen.

But no. It turns out that one in five lesbians up there in the frozen north has tried to commit suicide at least once. And the figure’s not much lower for homosexual men.

Now we know that committing suicide is virtually a national sport in Scandinavian countries. In some places it’s even more popular than knitting. But this self-inflicted cull of gay people is truly shocking. And such a waste. I make this vow now. If you are a Norwegian lesbian, and life seems unbearable, you can bring your girlfriend round to my house any time.

In America suicide is not perceived to be much of a problem, whether you’re a lesbian or not. Perhaps this is because there are so many other interesting ways of going to meet your maker: having one too many puddings and then bursting, being sent to Iraq or, if you live in coastal Louisiana, being hit on the head by an oil rig.

Or you could be murdered. In America you can be killed for driving badly, not respecting someone’s jewellery or having the wrong shaped trousers. Someone once tried to kill me in Detroit for looking at him in a funny way.

And yet, despite this, experts say that for every two homicides in the US there are three suicides. Things are especially bad in Arizona, it seems, possibly because there are many Red Indians there who have nothing to do now all the cowboys have gone. Perhaps you might like to give some of them room at your house. I would, but I anticipate being up to here in Norwegian lesbians.

So what about Canada? Just last week Vancouver was named by the London-based Economist Intelligence Unit as the best city in the world in which to live. It’s even better than Zurich and Melbourne, apparently, thanks to low crime, a good infrastructure and a minimal risk of terrorism.

And it’s not just Vancouver. Two other Canadian cities made it into the top 10 as well, making the place sound like some kind of paradise. But where do you suppose you find the highest suicide rate in the world? Well it’s a town in Ontario, actually, where so far this year it’s 470 deaths per 100,000. And to put that in perspective, it would be like 4,700 people a year committing suicide in a city the size of Birmingham.

Meanwhile, across the rest of Canada things are only slightly less grim. Bored perhaps by the lack of crime and the punctuality of the trains, more Canadians top themselves than die in car crashes.

I’m having this canter round the world’s suicide blackspots because an alarming statistic landed on my desk. In Britain the people who take their own life more than anyone else are . . . wait for it . . . vets. Their suicide rate is double that for doctors and four times the national average.

At first this may seem weird. Vets are not stuck in an office all day. They get out, they meet people, they mend horses. It’s not like they have to sit on a reservation all day drinking meths. So why are they all hurling themselves off tall buildings and injecting themselves with eight gallons of horse sedative?

Could it be, I wonder, because behind the bright and breezy aura projected into your sitting room by Rolf Harris, the vet’s life is actually quite bleak. They spend longer at college than doctors, get paid less, and then go through life with their hand up a cow. Worse, the only time they pull it out is to murder some poor child’s sickly pet.

How much fun can that be? Driving up hill and down dale, hitting much loved hamsters and guinea pigs over the head. Dealing with a child’s hysteria as you kill its dog. Everyone is expecting James Herriot to turn up, but instead they get Dr Mengele. The Angel of Death.

My six-year-old daughter announced the other day she’d like to be a vet because she loves animals. She keeps spiders and flies. She even has a collection of what she calls her “dead pets”. These are various mice and rabbits that she finds in the garden. She cried the other day when Geoff, her favourite woodlouse, died.

So how’s she going to feel if she achieves her dream and finds that she’s spending her days murdering more wildlife than an entire Spanish fishing fleet. Suicidal I should imagine.

This brings me on to the important question of television vet Trude Mostue. The attractive blonde shot to fame as a host on Vets in Practice but has disappeared from our screens. I do hope she’s okay and not parked at the top of Beachy Head trying to find the right words for her note.

I worry especially because she’s not only a vet but also a Norwegian. She’s not a lesbian as far as I know and that’s good because it would make her one of the most high-risk individuals in the civilised world.

Don’t worry though, Trude. If you were a scissor sister I couldn’t promise that I had a cure for your misery. But if you came round to my house you could at least make a middle-aged man very happy.

c'est vraiment excellent

j'aime particulierement le "She cried the other day when Geoff, her favourite woodlouse, died."

Quelques news sur la nouvelle saison de TG :



Entre autres une nouvelle version de leur fameuse course.

Après la DB9 contre le TGV, la Scaglietti contre l'avion et la SLR contre le bateau, Clarkson conduit une Bugatti Veyron contre un avion piloté par May