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Richard Hammond column - Richard’s middle-age sped - 2010

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Richard Hammond column - Richard’s middle-age sped - 2010 | Top Gear

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Richard Hammond column - Richard’s middle-age sped - 2010

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Richard Hammond column - Richard’s middle-age sped - 2010

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Richard Hammond column - Richard’s middle-age sped - 2010

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Richard Hammond column - Richard’s middle-age sped - 2010

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When a friend suggested that my custom-built Harley might be indicative of a mid-life crisis, I was ready for him. This, in fact, wasn't the first time a vehicle of mine has been the subject of cruel mockery.

At around the time I landed my dream job on TopGear I was scooting about in a red 911. It was a left-hand-drive, aged, rusty and ruined example of the type, but it was the best I could afford, it was a 911 and I loved it more than life itself. A bystander at a crossing, upon seeing me draw up at the red lights, looked at me with furious eyes and hissed that my car was just a penis extension.

Feeling hurt and angry, I stuck my head out of the window and snarled loudly that I would rather have a nice car than a large penis any day. I was pleased with my speedy response. It felt good; the put-down had actually arrived at the moment it was needed, rather than the usual routine of it pitching up several days later when recounting such an incident in the pub.

And then I realised what I had said and its implications concerning the contents of my trousers and rolled the window up quickly, praying for a green light while the girl laughed until I feared she might fall into the path of my penis extension.

This time I was ready though. Fully aware that a black Harley with chrome wheels and a custom-built saddle modelled on the toe of my favourite cowboy boots might possibly generate comments concerning my middle-ness of age, I had taken the precaution of fitting the bike with an accessory for just such a circumstance as this.

Painted across the custom-built rear fender in elegant white italics is the legend Micris Fidelis which, if you're not familiar with Latin, means ‘faithful to small things' - more or less.  This though, was not the full reason for my having commissioned a bewildered motorcycle painter to put it there.

Micris Fidelis is also a letter perfect anagram of ‘Mid-life Crisis', a fact I pointed out with barely suppressed glee to my mate before settling back to wait for the full effect of my irony-powered insult deflector to work its magic.  And it did indeed work. My mate smiled, I smiled, the bike gleamed and all was well.

"Why can’t a fat-ish, balding-ish 40-ish bloke drive a drop-top without the world assuming he’s bought it to impress his blonde secretary"

Somehow though, it does seem a bit wrong, this critical attitude of ours that states that any vehicle bought by a man between the ages of 39 and 49 is the product only of laughable insecurities fostered in an age-addled brain and is as inevitable and pitiable as the dark coin of shame that will one day adorn the front of his beige slacks as he traipses back from the lavatory to the TV room.

Yes, blokes do often have a bit of a wobble around about middle age, and yes, it's often referred to as a crisis. And, yes, they will often seek to lessen some of the symptoms of this difficult period, funds permitting, with the purchase of perhaps a motorcycle to reconnect them with what they feel is a rapidly fading youth, or a sports car to bolster their virility and potency.

Why is society so hard on these poor creatures? Why can't a fat-ish, balding-ish 40-ish bloke drive a drop-top sports car without the world assuming he's bought it to impress the blonde secretary with whom he is conducting a needy and desperate affair?

This cynical, sneering attitude is not brought to bear on punters elsewhere across the age range. All teenagers like hot hatches with extra bits of carbon fibre stuck on them and exhaust pipes wide enough to park another car in.

We might snigger at the cars, but we don't mock the drivers for being teenagers. We don't laugh at them as though their choice of car alone has betrayed the otherwise deeply guarded and shameful secret of their stage in life.

Equally, while it is annoying to be stuck behind a Honda driven by an old man with ears like hairyhang-gliders and a pork-pie hat on the parcel shelf, we wouldn't actually mock the driver for revealing himself as old by buying a car that fits his age. Why then this cruel mockery of the mid-lifer?

I figured that by actually painting the legend ‘Mid-life Crisis' across the tail of my beautiful, customised bike I would burst this particular bubble and somehow make a stand for blokes everywhere, tell them that everything is OK as they tread nervously towards mid life. If it does feel like a bit of a crisis, and if a Harley, a sports car or an inappropriate pair of jeans makes you feel better, then get on with it.

With these thoughts still percolating my mind, we went for a ride, my mate and I. I let him take the Harley and, following him, was admiring the legend, Micris Fidelis on its sculpted tail fender when, with astonishing suddenness and violence, he crashed and utterly destroyed it and his right shoulder. When the insurance money arrives, I'm going to spend it on stuff for the garden and some high-waisted jeans.

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When a friend suggested that my custom-built Harley might be indicative of a mid-life crisis, I was ready for him. This, in fact, wasn't the first time a vehicle of mine has been the subject of cruel mockery.

At around the time I landed my dream job on TopGear I was scooting about in a red 911. It was a left-hand-drive, aged, rusty and ruined example of the type, but it was the best I could afford, it was a 911 and I loved it more than life itself. A bystander at a crossing, upon seeing me draw up at the red lights, looked at me with furious eyes and hissed that my car was just a penis extension.

Feeling hurt and angry, I stuck my head out of the window and snarled loudly that I would rather have a nice car than a large penis any day. I was pleased with my speedy response. It felt good; the put-down had actually arrived at the moment it was needed, rather than the usual routine of it pitching up several days later when recounting such an incident in the pub.

And then I realised what I had said and its implications concerning the contents of my trousers and rolled the window up quickly, praying for a green light while the girl laughed until I feared she might fall into the path of my penis extension.

This time I was ready though. Fully aware that a black Harley with chrome wheels and a custom-built saddle modelled on the toe of my favourite cowboy boots might possibly generate comments concerning my middle-ness of age, I had taken the precaution of fitting the bike with an accessory for just such a circumstance as this.

Painted across the custom-built rear fender in elegant white italics is the legend Micris Fidelis which, if you're not familiar with Latin, means ‘faithful to small things' - more or less.  This though, was not the full reason for my having commissioned a bewildered motorcycle painter to put it there.

Micris Fidelis is also a letter perfect anagram of ‘Mid-life Crisis', a fact I pointed out with barely suppressed glee to my mate before settling back to wait for the full effect of my irony-powered insult deflector to work its magic.  And it did indeed work. My mate smiled, I smiled, the bike gleamed and all was well.

"Why can’t a fat-ish, balding-ish 40-ish bloke drive a drop-top without the world assuming he’s bought it to impress his blonde secretary"

Somehow though, it does seem a bit wrong, this critical attitude of ours that states that any vehicle bought by a man between the ages of 39 and 49 is the product only of laughable insecurities fostered in an age-addled brain and is as inevitable and pitiable as the dark coin of shame that will one day adorn the front of his beige slacks as he traipses back from the lavatory to the TV room.

Yes, blokes do often have a bit of a wobble around about middle age, and yes, it's often referred to as a crisis. And, yes, they will often seek to lessen some of the symptoms of this difficult period, funds permitting, with the purchase of perhaps a motorcycle to reconnect them with what they feel is a rapidly fading youth, or a sports car to bolster their virility and potency.

Why is society so hard on these poor creatures? Why can't a fat-ish, balding-ish 40-ish bloke drive a drop-top sports car without the world assuming he's bought it to impress the blonde secretary with whom he is conducting a needy and desperate affair?

This cynical, sneering attitude is not brought to bear on punters elsewhere across the age range. All teenagers like hot hatches with extra bits of carbon fibre stuck on them and exhaust pipes wide enough to park another car in.

We might snigger at the cars, but we don't mock the drivers for being teenagers. We don't laugh at them as though their choice of car alone has betrayed the otherwise deeply guarded and shameful secret of their stage in life.

Equally, while it is annoying to be stuck behind a Honda driven by an old man with ears like hairyhang-gliders and a pork-pie hat on the parcel shelf, we wouldn't actually mock the driver for revealing himself as old by buying a car that fits his age. Why then this cruel mockery of the mid-lifer?

I figured that by actually painting the legend ‘Mid-life Crisis' across the tail of my beautiful, customised bike I would burst this particular bubble and somehow make a stand for blokes everywhere, tell them that everything is OK as they tread nervously towards mid life. If it does feel like a bit of a crisis, and if a Harley, a sports car or an inappropriate pair of jeans makes you feel better, then get on with it.

With these thoughts still percolating my mind, we went for a ride, my mate and I. I let him take the Harley and, following him, was admiring the legend, Micris Fidelis on its sculpted tail fender when, with astonishing suddenness and violence, he crashed and utterly destroyed it and his right shoulder. When the insurance money arrives, I'm going to spend it on stuff for the garden and some high-waisted jeans.

# data.attributes.body.summary
“Why can’t a 40-ish bloke drive a drop-top without people assuming he’s bought it to impress his secretary"