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Richard Hammond column: Richard’s revelation

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Richard Hammond column: Richard’s revelation | Top Gear

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Richard Hammond column: Richard’s revelation

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Richard Hammond column: Richard’s revelation

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Richard Hammond column: Richard’s revelation

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Richard Hammond column: Richard’s revelation

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I am a very lucky boy, I know this. Not in every way - I mean I wasn't at the front of the queue for chiselled jaw-lines and manly stature. And I think I must have been somewhere else when they were dishing out hand-eye co-ordination and patience with other people's kids, but I do believe I kind of lucked-out in whatever department it was that led to me spending my working life driving other people's supercars and talking about the experience on the telly.

Nevertheless, luck isn't everything. When I read a piece in the newspapers about how winning 50 million pounds might not make a couple from Cirencester happy, I kind of saw the point - we all know that money and happiness do not always go hand-in-hand. Lots of stuff unfolded about how, should they opt for the ‘it's not going to change me and I'll still live in the same street' route, they might struggle for popularity at their current domicile when they park their Phantom among the Vectras and Lagunas. And I kind of saw the point, because a day or so earlier, I had undergone a bit of an epiphany about what makes me happy.

In a moment of utter and inexplicable madness, I had committed to cooking a Valentine's Day supper for my wife. As a result, I found myself having to slip into town to buy the necessary ingredients as laid out in the plainest of English by Nigella Lawson for the enlightenment of precisely the sort of chump who now dithered about in front of his garage wondering just what might be the most appropriate set of wheels for a jaunt to the shops.

In the end, I chose my Jaguar E-Type - I didn't anticipate returning with a cargo requiring the capacity of a bigger vehicle and the day was not yet rainy, so it fitted the bill perfectly. This though, was not the epiphany; that happened as I left the supermarket an hour or so later.

I parked between a Nissan Almera and a slinky Merc CLS and wandered into the store. As the Jag leaks wind and rain quite badly, I was wearing a hat and a scarf. The hat, I should clarify, is a flat cap - a brown leather one and rather natty I think. The scarf is an unnecessarily floral affair and quite my favourite thing in the world, though not, as it has turned out on a number of occasions, to everyone's taste.

"Because the Jag leaks wind and rain, I wore a flat cap and a scarf - an unnecessarily floral affair and quite my favourite thing in the world"

I entered the store and set about ranging around to gather up the required articles and carry them home to my cave a proud Valentine's Day hunter-gatherer. I spoke to a couple of members of staff. I asked where to find fish sauce and they laughed as I outlined my plans to cook for my wife that evening and the inevitable failure in which my culinary endeavours would culminate.

I spoke to a charming man about his VW Golf and I spoke to another about his young son who enjoys TopGear so much that he felt compelled to rush from the store immediately and collect him, imploring me to stay where I was - by the canned sweetcorn and pasta - until his return. In other circumstances, this would have been a whirlwind trip, a covert charge through the supermarket like a contestant on a trolley dash.

But not today. Today I enjoyed the chatting, I enjoyed the attention and I enjoyed the jokes. I strode out to the car park with a song in my heart and a smile on my lips. The Jag fired up on the button as I thought about things and backed out. And suddenly it all fell into place - this was the moment of my epiphany.

Had I turned up in a Lamborghini I would have gone into every subsequent encounter in the supermarket as a man with a Lamborghini in the car park. People might not have seen it, or seen me parking it, but I would have known and it would, in some subtle way, have informed my every movement and word - and not in a good way. As it was, I had pitched up in a quirky, old, English sports car, wearing a slightly daft hat necessitated by the poor fitment of the car's soft top and gone about my business a happy, contented man with a ready smile and a light heart.

And so, when I read that a lottery-winning millionaire couple might not be happy, even with all their new money, I kind of saw the point, because I kind of won the lottery when I joined TopGear. Like anyone who's come into money (or luck in my case), I could have cruised to the supermarket in a brand-spankers Lambo or a Ferrari - albeit borrowed.

And I would have gone into every encounter as a man with a hundred and fifty grand's worth of Italian splendour waiting outside. But I went in a stupid old Jag and a bad hat, so I was happy to be myself and wander about the place looking for chicken thigh fillets and smiling when people spoke to me.

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I am a very lucky boy, I know this. Not in every way - I mean I wasn't at the front of the queue for chiselled jaw-lines and manly stature. And I think I must have been somewhere else when they were dishing out hand-eye co-ordination and patience with other people's kids, but I do believe I kind of lucked-out in whatever department it was that led to me spending my working life driving other people's supercars and talking about the experience on the telly.

Nevertheless, luck isn't everything. When I read a piece in the newspapers about how winning 50 million pounds might not make a couple from Cirencester happy, I kind of saw the point - we all know that money and happiness do not always go hand-in-hand. Lots of stuff unfolded about how, should they opt for the ‘it's not going to change me and I'll still live in the same street' route, they might struggle for popularity at their current domicile when they park their Phantom among the Vectras and Lagunas. And I kind of saw the point, because a day or so earlier, I had undergone a bit of an epiphany about what makes me happy.

In a moment of utter and inexplicable madness, I had committed to cooking a Valentine's Day supper for my wife. As a result, I found myself having to slip into town to buy the necessary ingredients as laid out in the plainest of English by Nigella Lawson for the enlightenment of precisely the sort of chump who now dithered about in front of his garage wondering just what might be the most appropriate set of wheels for a jaunt to the shops.

In the end, I chose my Jaguar E-Type - I didn't anticipate returning with a cargo requiring the capacity of a bigger vehicle and the day was not yet rainy, so it fitted the bill perfectly. This though, was not the epiphany; that happened as I left the supermarket an hour or so later.

I parked between a Nissan Almera and a slinky Merc CLS and wandered into the store. As the Jag leaks wind and rain quite badly, I was wearing a hat and a scarf. The hat, I should clarify, is a flat cap - a brown leather one and rather natty I think. The scarf is an unnecessarily floral affair and quite my favourite thing in the world, though not, as it has turned out on a number of occasions, to everyone's taste.

"Because the Jag leaks wind and rain, I wore a flat cap and a scarf - an unnecessarily floral affair and quite my favourite thing in the world"

I entered the store and set about ranging around to gather up the required articles and carry them home to my cave a proud Valentine's Day hunter-gatherer. I spoke to a couple of members of staff. I asked where to find fish sauce and they laughed as I outlined my plans to cook for my wife that evening and the inevitable failure in which my culinary endeavours would culminate.

I spoke to a charming man about his VW Golf and I spoke to another about his young son who enjoys TopGear so much that he felt compelled to rush from the store immediately and collect him, imploring me to stay where I was - by the canned sweetcorn and pasta - until his return. In other circumstances, this would have been a whirlwind trip, a covert charge through the supermarket like a contestant on a trolley dash.

But not today. Today I enjoyed the chatting, I enjoyed the attention and I enjoyed the jokes. I strode out to the car park with a song in my heart and a smile on my lips. The Jag fired up on the button as I thought about things and backed out. And suddenly it all fell into place - this was the moment of my epiphany.

Had I turned up in a Lamborghini I would have gone into every subsequent encounter in the supermarket as a man with a Lamborghini in the car park. People might not have seen it, or seen me parking it, but I would have known and it would, in some subtle way, have informed my every movement and word - and not in a good way. As it was, I had pitched up in a quirky, old, English sports car, wearing a slightly daft hat necessitated by the poor fitment of the car's soft top and gone about my business a happy, contented man with a ready smile and a light heart.

And so, when I read that a lottery-winning millionaire couple might not be happy, even with all their new money, I kind of saw the point, because I kind of won the lottery when I joined TopGear. Like anyone who's come into money (or luck in my case), I could have cruised to the supermarket in a brand-spankers Lambo or a Ferrari - albeit borrowed.

And I would have gone into every encounter as a man with a hundred and fifty grand's worth of Italian splendour waiting outside. But I went in a stupid old Jag and a bad hat, so I was happy to be myself and wander about the place looking for chicken thigh fillets and smiling when people spoke to me.

# data.attributes.body.summary
"Because the Jag leaks wind and rain, I wore a flat cap and a scarf - an unnecessarily floral affair and quite my favourite thing in the world"