Jeremy Clarkson has dreamed of partying like a rock star since he was a teenager.
I’d hear tales of Keith Moon fire-axeing his way into Peter Frampton’s bathroom so that he could cut old Goldilocks’s hair with a pair of garden shears. Or of Joe Walsh buying an electric chain saw so that no one would know he was coming until he arrived through their bedroom wall. Or of one notable drummer snorting cocaine off a famous guitarist’s dog.
It seemed he would finally get his chance.
Last year, however, someone came up with the bright idea of making a Top Gear stage show and taking it round the world. We’d have to charter 747s for all the props. There would be roadies. Special effects. An endless parade of hotel rooms. Maybe even some groupies. It would be rock’n’roll, except I didn’t need any talent. I signed up like a shot.
....we arrived on Waiheke Island midway through the tour.....we were taking a couple of days off in a rented house.
It didn't go quite as anticipated.
.....we decided to see who could throw a girl the furthest down the swimming pool. I picked the lightest but sadly, on my first attempt, I felt my back go. So I left the others to it and went to bed with some class A cocoa. The next day I was stung by a wasp.
He was forced to a draw a depressing conclusion.
When you are 48 you just don’t have the stamina to push the outside of the envelope.