There isn't much you can say about Jeremy Clarkson that he hasn't said himself. I have never been sure about whether I like him or not, he's strong coffee. This book of essays from the Sunday Times is a follow up to a book I've not read, presumably of previous essays.

What you can say of Clarkson is that he is talented and prolific and has a distinct voice. These are superficial essays, aimed at cheering you up, provoking a little reaction, he's a professional contrarian. He's a clever, witty man, and I suspect, one of those must have guests for the fictional dinner party. But I don't like cars. Thankfully, cars are not the focus of these pieces. Every other subject is. There is a daft essay on multi-culturism and a funny one about the Airbus 380. He is pro engineering and anti-environmentalists (not anti-environmental); he hates health and safety nazis. He is often the butt of his own joke, such as the lovely essay about charity auctions in which he accidentally spends £25,000 buying a boat he didn't need and could not afford to run: 'Then it got worse, because my wife, whose face had turned the colour of tracing paper, was busy reading some small print in the catalogue about what the price didn't include.'

An essay is about all the time it takes to exhaust Clarkson's knowledge on any subject other than himself or a car, but that's fine as he says more or less nothing with great flair. I'ts elegantly served top of the range beans on toast, with the occasional fit of passion and vented spleen. Easily digested and very deceptively crafted with great journalistic skill.