shortrootand scarecrow
Jun 09, 2007, 8:51 PM
I have just had a look at JC's latest review on Times Online and thought it was absolutely hilarious. Mainly because the way he describes how he shops is pretty much identical to the way I shop for clothes, or anything else for that matter. I HATE having to buy things, not because I am tight, I just hate shopping, particularly for clothes. I do exactly what he (JC) does, I go straight in one shop and buy whatever happens to be available in one 'hit' and then leave hoping I won't have to return for a long time. Does anyone feel the same way? I thought this article was absolutely hilarious.
Here is the link: http://driving.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/driving/jeremy_clarkson/article1903692.ece
For those who don't like clicking on links, here is the entire article, copied and pasted below.
From The Sunday Times: June 10, 2007
Volkswagen Eos Sport
Jeremy Clarkson
It was announced recently that this year in Britain three pairs of jeans will be sold every second. Immediately, Her Majesty’s Daily Telegraph launched an attack on the nation’s middle-aged men for continuing to believe they look good in denim trousers.
We were told – again – that once you reach the age of 45 you should never, even if nobody’s looking, wear jeans. It was all right when you were 20 and at a Status Quo gig. But they do not sit well on a body swollen by age and one or two too many sherbets. Blah blah blah.
Now look. It’s all very well for women to say this kind of thing, because women have a great deal of choice when it comes to getting dressed in the morning. They can wear a long skirt, a short skirt, a dress, a pair of tracksuit bottoms, leggings, jeans, trousers, shorts or – if they feel like it – a coat with nothing on underneath.
Men, even if they care about their grooming, do not have anything like that range of possibilities. A skirt is right out, unless you are Scottish, and Scotsmen, as a general rule, don’t give a stuff about what they wear. Just so long as the sick washes off easily.
Shorts are only possible if you are an Australian. Tracksuit bottoms are unsuitable unless you are a professional footballer with a training engagement. Leggings are right out. And in the whole of human history, no man has ever thought for a moment that his wife will become aroused if he meets her for a cup of coffee wearing nothing but a gabardine raincoat and a pair of PVC boots.
Suits are largely for work, so if we are not allowed to wear jeans, that leaves us with trousers. But what sort?
Flat front? Pleated front? Corduroy? Cotton? Linen? The choice is plentiful, but how are we supposed to know what shop sells which. And how – even if by some miracle we happen upon a retail establishment that offers a wide range of differing styles – do we know what looks good without spending hours and hours in a cubicle trying the damn things on?
This – and I’ll take no argument on the matter – is the most miserable thing a man can do. Given the choice of trying on a pair of trousers in a shop, or being beaten to death by an African tribe that wants to eat my genitals, I would take the tribe.
The first pair you try never fit. Not even close. You wheeze and you pant and you suck your stomach in until bits of it are pushing against your cerebral cortex and your eyes are 5in in front of your face, but it’s no good. So, in a space the size of Alec Guinness’s box, you take them off again, put your own strides back on and paddle across the shop in stockinged feet to get a bigger pair. Which aren’t in stock. So you go bigger still and end up with something that has a waistline broadly similar in circumference to the rings of Saturn.
Eventually, after you’ve tried all the options from five different brands and you’re bathed in sweat, and the only ones that fit are see-through and egg-yellow, you give up and decide to try another shop. So you trudge back to the car, retrieve the parking ticket, drive round a bit, find another parking space, go into the next place and find it’s a chemist’s.
Get this straight, ladies. This. Is. Not. Fun. Any man who tells you he enjoys trying on clothes – and you can trust me on this – is not the sort of man who finds you sexually attractive. Even if you are Uma Thurman.
What’s more, if I see a man looking good in a pair of trousers, I know what hell he’s been through to find them. This can only mean his life is empty, shallow, pointless, and that he’s vain and possibly homosexual.
This is why I only wear jeans. They’re easy to buy. You walk into a shop and say: “Can I have three pairs of 36in boot-fit 501s?” Two minutes later you walk out and your shopping for the year is done, which means you have more time to see films, work, play with the children and generally have a nice time.
I don’t care how they look because I can’t see them – they’re hidden from view beneath the veranda that is my stomach. And it doesn’t matter anyway because as I’ve said before, if people can’t see your penis, you can consider yourself to be properly dressed. The end.
On this basis, it would be sensible to suggest that if a car has four wheels and a seat, it will do. But no. A chap – even the most straight, jeans, blazer and Boden sort of bloke – will spend hours poring over brochures, colour charts and price lists. Some, I’m told, will even read Autocar magazine. A few, apparently, can understand it.
Choosing what car to buy next is probably more fun than actually buying it. And on that basis, one of the most fun sectors of the market right now is the small convertible with the folding metal roof. What’s it to be? The Renault, the Peugeot, the Ford, the Vauxhall, or the subject of this morning’s review, the Volkswagen Eos?
I’d been looking forward to this car because I like convertibles and I like the Golf GTI, and when all is said and done, the Eos is a convertible Golf GTI. Better still, the model they sent round was the 3.2 V6. So actually it was a convertible Golf R32. Yum.
It certainly looks good, mainly because the roof breaks down into five sections rather than the usual two. This means the boot doesn’t have to be the size of the Boeing factory to accommodate it. It also means you get more space in the cabin. Most cars of this type bill themselves as four-seaters but they’re nothing of the sort. In the Eos, there really is space in the back for two adults. Though obviously they won’t want to sit there when the roof’s down because, as I’ve explained many times, the only person who ever looked good in the back of a convertible was Hitler. Everyone else just looks windswept.
Other good things. Well, there’s a sliding glass sunroof for when you don’t want the entire roof folded away. There are two rollover bars that spring from the rear headrests if sensors think you’ve overcooked it. You get the brilliant DSG gearbox as standard. And with 247 horsepowers on tap, it’s pretty sprightly.
Then things start to go a bit wrong. First of all, the car I tested is a whopping £28,427 and even if you go for the 2 litre turbo, it’s still a mildly stratospheric £23,667. This might, just, be all right if you felt like you were sitting in a car with noticeably better quality than, say, the Ford. But you aren’t. Everything you touch – the window switches, the gearlever and the plastic around the key slot – feels cheap. And you get scuttle-shake.
VW says the Eos was designed to be a convertible from the ground up, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like that when the roof is down. It feels like the front and the rear ends are connected by Plasticine. But worse still is the handling. Utterly devoid of any sense of flair, it feels rubbery and disconnected and completely uninterested in providing the driver with anything that might remotely be called “a thrill”. This would be fine, I suppose, if it were a refined and comfortable cruiser, but it isn’t – the ride is far too harsh.
Sadly then, the Eos doesn’t really cut the mustard. It’s clever and it looks good but the Ford Focus convertible is nicer to drive and much cheaper. Go ahead and have a test drive in both. It’ll be fun, since neither Ford nor VW will make you do it in a superheated phone box while being pounded by music you don’t like.
And no matter what shape you are, I guarantee they will have one in your size.
Vital statistics
Model Volkswagen Eos Sport 3.2 V6 FSI
Engine 3189cc, six cylinders
Power 247bhp @ 6300rpm
Torque 244 lb ft @ 2750rpm
Transmission Six-speed DSG automatic
Fuel 30.7mpg (combined cycle)
CO2 219g/km
Acceleration 0-62mph: 7.3sec
Top speed 153mph
Price £28,427
Rating
Verdict Nice engine, but overall, so-so
Here is the link: http://driving.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/driving/jeremy_clarkson/article1903692.ece
For those who don't like clicking on links, here is the entire article, copied and pasted below.
From The Sunday Times: June 10, 2007
Volkswagen Eos Sport
Jeremy Clarkson
It was announced recently that this year in Britain three pairs of jeans will be sold every second. Immediately, Her Majesty’s Daily Telegraph launched an attack on the nation’s middle-aged men for continuing to believe they look good in denim trousers.
We were told – again – that once you reach the age of 45 you should never, even if nobody’s looking, wear jeans. It was all right when you were 20 and at a Status Quo gig. But they do not sit well on a body swollen by age and one or two too many sherbets. Blah blah blah.
Now look. It’s all very well for women to say this kind of thing, because women have a great deal of choice when it comes to getting dressed in the morning. They can wear a long skirt, a short skirt, a dress, a pair of tracksuit bottoms, leggings, jeans, trousers, shorts or – if they feel like it – a coat with nothing on underneath.
Men, even if they care about their grooming, do not have anything like that range of possibilities. A skirt is right out, unless you are Scottish, and Scotsmen, as a general rule, don’t give a stuff about what they wear. Just so long as the sick washes off easily.
Shorts are only possible if you are an Australian. Tracksuit bottoms are unsuitable unless you are a professional footballer with a training engagement. Leggings are right out. And in the whole of human history, no man has ever thought for a moment that his wife will become aroused if he meets her for a cup of coffee wearing nothing but a gabardine raincoat and a pair of PVC boots.
Suits are largely for work, so if we are not allowed to wear jeans, that leaves us with trousers. But what sort?
Flat front? Pleated front? Corduroy? Cotton? Linen? The choice is plentiful, but how are we supposed to know what shop sells which. And how – even if by some miracle we happen upon a retail establishment that offers a wide range of differing styles – do we know what looks good without spending hours and hours in a cubicle trying the damn things on?
This – and I’ll take no argument on the matter – is the most miserable thing a man can do. Given the choice of trying on a pair of trousers in a shop, or being beaten to death by an African tribe that wants to eat my genitals, I would take the tribe.
The first pair you try never fit. Not even close. You wheeze and you pant and you suck your stomach in until bits of it are pushing against your cerebral cortex and your eyes are 5in in front of your face, but it’s no good. So, in a space the size of Alec Guinness’s box, you take them off again, put your own strides back on and paddle across the shop in stockinged feet to get a bigger pair. Which aren’t in stock. So you go bigger still and end up with something that has a waistline broadly similar in circumference to the rings of Saturn.
Eventually, after you’ve tried all the options from five different brands and you’re bathed in sweat, and the only ones that fit are see-through and egg-yellow, you give up and decide to try another shop. So you trudge back to the car, retrieve the parking ticket, drive round a bit, find another parking space, go into the next place and find it’s a chemist’s.
Get this straight, ladies. This. Is. Not. Fun. Any man who tells you he enjoys trying on clothes – and you can trust me on this – is not the sort of man who finds you sexually attractive. Even if you are Uma Thurman.
What’s more, if I see a man looking good in a pair of trousers, I know what hell he’s been through to find them. This can only mean his life is empty, shallow, pointless, and that he’s vain and possibly homosexual.
This is why I only wear jeans. They’re easy to buy. You walk into a shop and say: “Can I have three pairs of 36in boot-fit 501s?” Two minutes later you walk out and your shopping for the year is done, which means you have more time to see films, work, play with the children and generally have a nice time.
I don’t care how they look because I can’t see them – they’re hidden from view beneath the veranda that is my stomach. And it doesn’t matter anyway because as I’ve said before, if people can’t see your penis, you can consider yourself to be properly dressed. The end.
On this basis, it would be sensible to suggest that if a car has four wheels and a seat, it will do. But no. A chap – even the most straight, jeans, blazer and Boden sort of bloke – will spend hours poring over brochures, colour charts and price lists. Some, I’m told, will even read Autocar magazine. A few, apparently, can understand it.
Choosing what car to buy next is probably more fun than actually buying it. And on that basis, one of the most fun sectors of the market right now is the small convertible with the folding metal roof. What’s it to be? The Renault, the Peugeot, the Ford, the Vauxhall, or the subject of this morning’s review, the Volkswagen Eos?
I’d been looking forward to this car because I like convertibles and I like the Golf GTI, and when all is said and done, the Eos is a convertible Golf GTI. Better still, the model they sent round was the 3.2 V6. So actually it was a convertible Golf R32. Yum.
It certainly looks good, mainly because the roof breaks down into five sections rather than the usual two. This means the boot doesn’t have to be the size of the Boeing factory to accommodate it. It also means you get more space in the cabin. Most cars of this type bill themselves as four-seaters but they’re nothing of the sort. In the Eos, there really is space in the back for two adults. Though obviously they won’t want to sit there when the roof’s down because, as I’ve explained many times, the only person who ever looked good in the back of a convertible was Hitler. Everyone else just looks windswept.
Other good things. Well, there’s a sliding glass sunroof for when you don’t want the entire roof folded away. There are two rollover bars that spring from the rear headrests if sensors think you’ve overcooked it. You get the brilliant DSG gearbox as standard. And with 247 horsepowers on tap, it’s pretty sprightly.
Then things start to go a bit wrong. First of all, the car I tested is a whopping £28,427 and even if you go for the 2 litre turbo, it’s still a mildly stratospheric £23,667. This might, just, be all right if you felt like you were sitting in a car with noticeably better quality than, say, the Ford. But you aren’t. Everything you touch – the window switches, the gearlever and the plastic around the key slot – feels cheap. And you get scuttle-shake.
VW says the Eos was designed to be a convertible from the ground up, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like that when the roof is down. It feels like the front and the rear ends are connected by Plasticine. But worse still is the handling. Utterly devoid of any sense of flair, it feels rubbery and disconnected and completely uninterested in providing the driver with anything that might remotely be called “a thrill”. This would be fine, I suppose, if it were a refined and comfortable cruiser, but it isn’t – the ride is far too harsh.
Sadly then, the Eos doesn’t really cut the mustard. It’s clever and it looks good but the Ford Focus convertible is nicer to drive and much cheaper. Go ahead and have a test drive in both. It’ll be fun, since neither Ford nor VW will make you do it in a superheated phone box while being pounded by music you don’t like.
And no matter what shape you are, I guarantee they will have one in your size.
Vital statistics
Model Volkswagen Eos Sport 3.2 V6 FSI
Engine 3189cc, six cylinders
Power 247bhp @ 6300rpm
Torque 244 lb ft @ 2750rpm
Transmission Six-speed DSG automatic
Fuel 30.7mpg (combined cycle)
CO2 219g/km
Acceleration 0-62mph: 7.3sec
Top speed 153mph
Price £28,427
Rating
Verdict Nice engine, but overall, so-so