All language subtitles for The.Grand.Tour.S01E11.WEBRip.X264-DEFLATE[ettv]

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Hello, everybody!

Hello! Hello!

Hello!

Thank you so much.

What a welcome.

Hello. Thank you, everyone.

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in Scotland!

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.

It's just...!

It's unbelievable!
It's everything!

Cordite. Cloning.
Colour photography.

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

- Buick!
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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.

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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.

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

Ok. Alexander Graham �ell,

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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
�ngland, 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.

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aren't they?!

They are!

I tell you what,
i love being in Scotland

because everyone here
speaks their mind.

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The town of larkhall in
Scotland, their welcome sign,

here we go.

This is Scotland.

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

Do you remember that terrorist
attack at Glasgow airport

a couple of years ago?

Somebody tried to explode...
Bomb didn't go off.

He ran off and he
didn't get very far

because this happened.

The Scottish way.
That is the Scottish way.

And um...

Interestingly, there have been no
terrorist attacks in Scotland since.

Just thinking about that
for a second.

When he kicked him,
he must have broken his foot

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- Yeah.
- Which means the guy's plums

were in the middle
of the impact.

When that terrorist
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 ������ ���������...

And James takes drugs.

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 �boladrome

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

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For starters, Abarth has tuned the
1.4 litre turbo-charged engine,

so that this, the hottest
124, is faster than any mx-5.

0-100 takes 6.8 seconds.

And the top speed is 233 ���.

But in a car like this
that feels like 233 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.

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 £30,000.

£5,000 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.

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.

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.

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 killed, 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.

- 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.

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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?

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.
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.

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 9.200 �.

on a five-year-old
Ford focus.

I thought, "why did you do that?"

If you've got 9.200 Euros 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 £8,000

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.

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 £7,950.

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.

Get out! Save yourself!

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 automatic?

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?

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 automatic?

- 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.

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, shit!

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!

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!

Despite my
lucky-dip handling,

I did eventually catch Hammond.

Take him!
Take him on the inside!

Yes!

Yes!

No!

Arg!

No, I... oh, god, strewth.

He's going surely now!

Jesus!

It just has too many
horsepowers here. Come on!

Oh, shit.

Mr clarkson
is indisposed briefly.

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.

If I put my
headlights on full beam,

nobody coming the other
way flashes at me.

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.

Ahh! Urgh!

We've got 700 miles to go.

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

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.

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.

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!

- 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.

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!

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!
- Oh, my...

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
explosion,

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.

Pair.
You can say "pair".

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

Pair.

You can say "pair".

I just said pair!

Or cancel.

Pair!

You can say "pair".
Select device.

For feedback, help or cancel...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Is there anything
on earth which is worse

than having another man
put sun cream on your back?

I've never experienced that.

And then we played some sport.

Penalty shoot-out

in maseratis on a beach
in northern France.

With our ball gone,

we continued on
our tour of normandy,

with our badly-built
colleague moaning constantly.

Has he been swapped
for an old lady?

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.

Pardon. Sorry.

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?

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 kill you.

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...

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.

I had found the hotel,

but clearly my colleagues
were going to be a while.

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?

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.

I don't believe
I've come the wrong way

down a one-way street.
I know.

Are you making your
situation better or worse?

Better? Worse? Better? Worse?

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.

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

Let's do this.

In three, two, one... begin!

Blast!

Come on!

No! No!

At all costs, I am winning this.

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."

Right. Up here.

Some of this is familiar,
which is bad.

Oh, no, not lost now.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

Right, calm, Jeremy, calm.

You're on a motorway.

On an enormous bridge,

surrounded by many
heavy lorries.

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...

It's dead.

Shit, 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!

Trucks.

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

Meanwhile, back in the land
of captain cryptic...

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?

Kill 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.

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?

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.

- 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!