Anyone with two brain cells to rub together stopped taking Clarkson's car reviews seriously nearly a decade ago (maybe sooner). So when his review of the C7 Corvette Stingray popped up, I didn't even bother. And then I read it. And then I re-read it. And then I checked to make sure I wasn't inhabiting an alternate universe.
The review in the Sunday Times starts off as you'd expect. Clarkson takes a crack at all the American softballs: Iraq war, automatic weapons, President Obama as communist. And then, after his usual assemblage of pandering and meandering, he gets to the point:
I really don't know how to say this but, um, it's excellent.
He draws parallels to the Ferrari 458, the Lamborghini Aventador, and even Britain's blessed F-Type. He uses the word "beautiful". There's not a single complaint about the interior. And, oh my God, he says, "It can go round corners. Both kinds — left and right."
The issues were tiny. Over speed humps — which are communist — the nose graunches even if you are going slowly. And no matter what setting you select, the ride is always on the wrong side of firm. But then I guess that being a bit uncomfortable puts you closer to Jesus. Also, the steering wheel is on the wrong side of the car.
But I didn't mind because I was having too much fun. With all eight cylinders engaged, the bellow when you accelerate is intoxicating, and this is a car that behaves like a Mercedes SLS. It's happy only when there's 40 degrees of opposite lock up front, a grinning driver in the middle and enough smoke pouring off the rear tyres to hide a battleship.
Read it here, just to confirm I'm still occupying the same time/space as the rest of you.