Jeremy Clarkson bursts through the doors of his mansion on a Segway, because he’s got something to tell you. He’s got an Amazon Fire TV Stick, you see, which means he can watch things like Netflix and that Channel 5 app you never knew existed whenever he wants. Having informed us of this, he slumps back into his sofa, satisfied. But there’s something sinister about this set-up.
Throughout the entire ad, we never see another person. Or even a hint that anyone else has ever lived here. This is the dream home that Clarkson bought with all that Amazon money, but he’s got nobody to share it with. He’s alienated everyone he’s ever loved, forced away all the remaining well-wishers willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. And now he’s alone. This is Clarkson as Daniel Plainview at the climax of There Will Be Blood. He’s gained the world, but at a price. Now, he has nothing to do but pile up his furniture in the middle of his house and shoot it, or binge-watch six weeks’ worth of The Wright Stuff on catch-up, which is the modern-day equivalent. That explains the Segway, at least. It saves his bloated carcass from exertion, allowing his big sad eyes to scan the place for someone – anyone – he can talk to.
Into the kitchen. “Those bloody Mexicans, eh?” he booms. Silence. The hallway. “Women are rubbish, aren’t they?”. Nothing. Upstairs to the en-suite. “Peugeot?” he bleats, meekly. His voice echoes back from the tiling, mocking him. Clarkson trundles back to the TV and forlornly settles in for another four hours of Eddie Stobart documentaries. “Bloody Oisin”, he mutters. Nobody hears.
