"The thing is, there are two of us, so we can take turns driving the carpet. If Clarkson wants a rest, he's going to have to land. We are going to win this."
"Might be better if neither of us actually falls asleep, though," James said.
"Yeah, that reminds me. If you fall off the carpet, don't think I'm going back for you. This is a race."
James raised his eyebrows. "Good to know the spirit of Top Gear comradery hasn't been affected by all this."
-
"The Cirrus is a good long-distance broom," said Jeremy, with a slightly dubious glance at the tiny winged ball that, he had been assured, was filming him. "The Firebolt is actually faster over short distances and has better acceleration, but it's more of a Quidditch broom. This is a broom for racing." He paused. "It's probably not a broom for racing from Hogsmeade to Tokyo. I don't think the makers really took the possibility of the Top Gear team getting their hands on it into account. But there's only one way of - oh, Christ."
Jeremy stared around at the flock of birds that he had somehow become a part of and quietly swore never to take his attention off where he was going again.
"Right. Fortunately I've just run into a load of stupid birds, rather than being sucked into the engine of an aeroplane or something, but if I get beaten by Captain Slow on his airborne rug because of this it's going to be just as bad." He looked at the birds again. "I suppose the Animal Rights activists will come after me if I break their necks?"
-
"Hammond? How's it going?"
"Er, not that well, actually."
"Really? Fantastic. What's going on?"
"We've sort of been pulled over."
"Pulled over? What, did you run a flying traffic light?"
There was a pause. Richard cleared his throat.
"The magic carpet. Did you know they're illegal in the UK?"
Jeremy, laughing uncontrollably, hung up. Richard put the communicator back into his pocket and grinned sheepishly at the frowning official on her broom.
"We're in a race," James was explaining, "and if we lose then Jeremy will make fun of us. It's really quite important."
no subject
"Might be better if neither of us actually falls asleep, though," James said.
"Yeah, that reminds me. If you fall off the carpet, don't think I'm going back for you. This is a race."
James raised his eyebrows. "Good to know the spirit of Top Gear comradery hasn't been affected by all this."
"The Cirrus is a good long-distance broom," said Jeremy, with a slightly dubious glance at the tiny winged ball that, he had been assured, was filming him. "The Firebolt is actually faster over short distances and has better acceleration, but it's more of a Quidditch broom. This is a broom for racing." He paused. "It's probably not a broom for racing from Hogsmeade to Tokyo. I don't think the makers really took the possibility of the Top Gear team getting their hands on it into account. But there's only one way of - oh, Christ."
Jeremy stared around at the flock of birds that he had somehow become a part of and quietly swore never to take his attention off where he was going again.
"Right. Fortunately I've just run into a load of stupid birds, rather than being sucked into the engine of an aeroplane or something, but if I get beaten by Captain Slow on his airborne rug because of this it's going to be just as bad." He looked at the birds again. "I suppose the Animal Rights activists will come after me if I break their necks?"
"Hammond? How's it going?"
"Er, not that well, actually."
"Really? Fantastic. What's going on?"
"We've sort of been pulled over."
"Pulled over? What, did you run a flying traffic light?"
There was a pause. Richard cleared his throat.
"The magic carpet. Did you know they're illegal in the UK?"
Jeremy, laughing uncontrollably, hung up. Richard put the communicator back into his pocket and grinned sheepishly at the frowning official on her broom.
"We're in a race," James was explaining, "and if we lose then Jeremy will make fun of us. It's really quite important."
She didn't look convinced.