Dear James May,
I meant to write this love letter much sooner but I have been on the edge of my seat these last few weeks waiting to hear about the future of ‘Top Gear’ and thus had to put my pen and paper aside so I could scroll through Google News. It has been quite the rocky ride made bearable only by your continued dry wit and lovely face.
I love you, Captain Slow, with all my heart (or at least a fair chunk of it). You are a true delight and obviously my undisputed favourite host of ‘Top Gear’.
When Kevin first introduced me to ‘Top Gear’ I’ll admit I was skeptical. To be perfectly frank I have zero interest in cars and don’t even have a driver’s license.
But you won me over, you cheeky Brit.
I still remember it so clearly. We were watching the Bolivia Special and though I spent the first fifteen minutes playing on my phone I quickly tossed it aside to watch.
(In the interest of full disclosure, my phone battery was dead so I could no longer surf Pinterest, but please do not let that distract from the genuine interest I felt watching you grumpily travel through the rainforest, machete in hand.)
Your fear of heights and penchant for grouchiness stirred a fire in me that has been going strong ever since. From that first moment you yelled “Oh Cock!” I have been hooked.
You, sir, are a true gentleman.
Since that rainy afternoon of watching you travel through South America I have watched dozens more episodes of ‘Top Gear’ and have truly become a fan.
I mean, I still obviously don’t give a flying *expletive* about cars but the show (and you) are hilarious.
And though I have only ever watched clips of your other BBC Specials that segment where you were in a house built of Lego was pretty darn cool.
You, sir, are awesome.
I honestly hope to run into you one day while I am wearing my black Helly Hansen shirt, the very same one you wore on that episode that one time which may or may not have been why I chose that particular style of shirt.
(You have the same one! I know you do, despite my failed Google Search – apparently you can’t find everything on the internet. Thanks, Google.)
You will politely say “Hello” and compliment me on my excellent taste in clothing.
I will coyly tell you how much I love you then stammer and blush and attempt to correct myself by saying “I mean, not like in a creepy way or anything” before staring intensely which will of course make everything even weirder.
Then I will gaze longingly into your eyes.
It will be magic.
Until then, my love, farewell!