Read Online Clarkson on Cars by Jeremy Clarkson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jeremy Clarkson
Tags: TRAVEL / General, Television Journalists, English wit and humor, Automobile driving, Transportation / Automotive / General, Automobiles, Language Arts & Disciplines / Journalism
Ads: Link
Chinese haven’t mastered.
The Daihatsu PR man who sat in the back of my car to explain how I should get about in what is the world’s worst-signposted country epitomised this. Whereas in England, you or I would shout, ‘Take the next left’, he would lean forward, apologise for blocking the view in my rear-view mirror and say, ‘Excuse me, Mr Crarkson, would you mind taking the next turning you find to the reft.’ By which time I’d gone past it.
The Daihatsu factories and offices were bedecked with Union Jacks to mark our visit, receptionists bowed so low that they disappeared behind their desks and everywhere there were signs saying things like ‘Welcome respectful journalists from UK’. I am not respectful. I have a criminal record in France and I pick my nose.
Whereas at European press functions, a PR person and a couple of directors will play host to upwards of 50 journalists, Daihatsu wheeled out their president, Mr Tomonaru Eguchi, and enough hierarchy to make up six rugby teams. The result was that I felt sorry for them if something went wrong with their arrangements.
At an Audi press launch recently, one errant driver finished the slalom by smashing his Quattro into the electronic timing gear. It was hugely funny to watch the stony faced Germans trying to cope with this unexpected hiccough.
In Japan, the test route Daihatsu had chosen for us to evaluate their new four-wheel-drive Charade was plagued with an eight-mile traffic jam which wrecked their schedule. I nearly cried. If this had happened in Germany where they tried just as hard to be organised, you’d have heard me laughing in Aberdeen.
Similarly, when a lift at the company headquarters refused to leave the basement, thus forcing some of my colleagues to use the stairs, you could see they were close to tears. Some had to be helped from the building when they heard the lift operator plunge a sword into her belly.
I think we ate her that night for supper. And the liftmaker. And his wife.
Not only are they more polite than any Westerner I’ve ever met, they’re also more weird. Their tables and chairs don’t have legs which, if you ask me, is a bit silly.
Also, one of the things that didn’t feature in my hotel room was a bed. Some of the things it did feature were five pairs of slippers, one for the hallway, one for the bedroom, one for the loo, one for the washroom, and one for the bathroom.
I just wore my brogues all the time.
This though was not allowed at supper time when a geisha girl spent the entire meal cooking each mouthful of lift operator individually and dropping it between my ever-ready lips. She even dabbed my battered, time-worn face with a warm flannel in between chews.
Now, you might imagine that I’ve returned from my visit a fully converted Japophile but I haven’t, because I simply can’t work out what makes them tick. Trying to fathom them out is like trying to contemplate the infinity of space or how Seat sell any cars. It just can’t be done.
I’ve had business dealings with Japan in the past and have emerged from every meeting staggered at their intransigence. They simply will not take no for an answer and will, if needs be, scheme and connive way into the night until their opponent is a pulsating wreck beyond argument.
This feature was evident in various conversations I had with Daihatsu’s engineers. ‘Why don’t you buy SCS brakes from Lucas?’ ‘Because we’re making our own.’ ‘Wouldn’t it be cheaper to buy them now?’ ‘We’d rather develop our own.’ ‘Don’t you think it would help create a favourable impression of Daihatsu in Europe if you bought some European equipment?’ ‘We’ve got some Pirelli tyres and anyway we can do better than SCS.’ End of story.
Language was always a stumbling block but the stock answer to everything was always, ‘We’re working on it’ and they probably are.
It’s easy to be working on lots of things when 1500 members of your 11,000 strong
The Daihatsu PR man who sat in the back of my car to explain how I should get about in what is the world’s worst-signposted country epitomised this. Whereas in England, you or I would shout, ‘Take the next left’, he would lean forward, apologise for blocking the view in my rear-view mirror and say, ‘Excuse me, Mr Crarkson, would you mind taking the next turning you find to the reft.’ By which time I’d gone past it.
The Daihatsu factories and offices were bedecked with Union Jacks to mark our visit, receptionists bowed so low that they disappeared behind their desks and everywhere there were signs saying things like ‘Welcome respectful journalists from UK’. I am not respectful. I have a criminal record in France and I pick my nose.
Whereas at European press functions, a PR person and a couple of directors will play host to upwards of 50 journalists, Daihatsu wheeled out their president, Mr Tomonaru Eguchi, and enough hierarchy to make up six rugby teams. The result was that I felt sorry for them if something went wrong with their arrangements.
At an Audi press launch recently, one errant driver finished the slalom by smashing his Quattro into the electronic timing gear. It was hugely funny to watch the stony faced Germans trying to cope with this unexpected hiccough.
In Japan, the test route Daihatsu had chosen for us to evaluate their new four-wheel-drive Charade was plagued with an eight-mile traffic jam which wrecked their schedule. I nearly cried. If this had happened in Germany where they tried just as hard to be organised, you’d have heard me laughing in Aberdeen.
Similarly, when a lift at the company headquarters refused to leave the basement, thus forcing some of my colleagues to use the stairs, you could see they were close to tears. Some had to be helped from the building when they heard the lift operator plunge a sword into her belly.
I think we ate her that night for supper. And the liftmaker. And his wife.
Not only are they more polite than any Westerner I’ve ever met, they’re also more weird. Their tables and chairs don’t have legs which, if you ask me, is a bit silly.
Also, one of the things that didn’t feature in my hotel room was a bed. Some of the things it did feature were five pairs of slippers, one for the hallway, one for the bedroom, one for the loo, one for the washroom, and one for the bathroom.
I just wore my brogues all the time.
This though was not allowed at supper time when a geisha girl spent the entire meal cooking each mouthful of lift operator individually and dropping it between my ever-ready lips. She even dabbed my battered, time-worn face with a warm flannel in between chews.
Now, you might imagine that I’ve returned from my visit a fully converted Japophile but I haven’t, because I simply can’t work out what makes them tick. Trying to fathom them out is like trying to contemplate the infinity of space or how Seat sell any cars. It just can’t be done.
I’ve had business dealings with Japan in the past and have emerged from every meeting staggered at their intransigence. They simply will not take no for an answer and will, if needs be, scheme and connive way into the night until their opponent is a pulsating wreck beyond argument.
This feature was evident in various conversations I had with Daihatsu’s engineers. ‘Why don’t you buy SCS brakes from Lucas?’ ‘Because we’re making our own.’ ‘Wouldn’t it be cheaper to buy them now?’ ‘We’d rather develop our own.’ ‘Don’t you think it would help create a favourable impression of Daihatsu in Europe if you bought some European equipment?’ ‘We’ve got some Pirelli tyres and anyway we can do better than SCS.’ End of story.
Language was always a stumbling block but the stock answer to everything was always, ‘We’re working on it’ and they probably are.
It’s easy to be working on lots of things when 1500 members of your 11,000 strong
Similar Books
