Stop being a baby. Now what is it with you… I cannot go and peacefully mind my clients, or you and my beloved Top Gear run knee-deep into very smelly trouble. Common Clarkson, get a grip. So this Collins guy writes a book claiming he is the Stig. Honestly, what is new? Your camera crew knew. Some of my friends knew. Heck, I knew. So the Stig is Ben Collins. You sacked him. That’s the play of life. Move on. Let lawyers take care of the pathetics.
Seriously, Jeremy: Collins? Half of the world (the intellectual half that watches Top Gear) was deeply disappointed. Not in the Stig being revealed (again), but in the sad fact that the Stig is only Ben Collins. Honestly, the real world never heard about him. The world does not give a rat’s ass. The world wanted to believe the Stig was Michael Schumacher, or Alain Prost, or … Elvis is not dead: he’s whopping cars around the Hammerhead on Top Gear. Collins. Seriously Jeremy, what were you thinking?
Time to turn the page. Find a real Stig. One who can drive and drift with soul. Let people dream up big names again. Time for Red Stig. Give him a voice synthesizer (Hawking has some good suppliers) so he can voice some thoughts. Heck, why not a girl Stig.
Internally, your options are limited. You need to play the grumpy droopy eyed racing dad with a hang-over and an eternal midlife crisis. You were right in claiming Richard Hammond cannot drive, and that James May drives slower than his shadow.
Here is a thought: while you go out to find a nice girl Stig that can keep the pedal to the metal (try Kelly Jamers!) I volunteer to play Stig for a couple of months. I am about as notorious as Collins, I have a nicer, more mature silhouette, nobody will ever believe it’s me… and when push comes to shove, I’ll write a much funnier book than that Collins chap. I might even tweet about it…
What do you think?