His arrogance is wonderful to write, considering that I'm the exact opposite.
Oh, Jeremy. *grins*
No, I don't think she can. And poor Richard!
(No! Goodness me, no.)
It was at that point that Richard’s mobile phone rang, with the rather embarrassing Basement Jaxx ringtone. Jeremy opened his mouth to mock him mercilessly, when Hammond snapped, “Answer it, won’t you? It might be James.”
Clarkson made a mental note to mock him later, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Who is this?” said a rather harassed-sounding James May. Oh, crap. Clarkson’s voice was, of course, rather different from it’s usual self. He attempted to lower it a few octaves, which caused muffled laughter from Hammond.
"It's Jeremy," said Jeremy, still nowhere near loud enough.
"Jeremy, right. I was wondering why Trevor McDonald has just informed the nation that the mother of an eighteen-year-old girl has reported that she has been kidnapped by you and Hammond."
"What?!"
"Well, you should know, Jeremy. You're the kidnapper."
"James, I think you need to sit down."
"I'm already sitting down, Jeremy."
"Did you notice that I was behaving slightly strangely this morning?"
"You're always strange, Jeremy. Hammond said something about the two of you having to see the producers and drove off. If I'd known that this was what you were planning, I'd never..."
"No, no May... there seems to have been some sort of... body mix-up. I appear to be an eighteen-year-old girl called Harriet - who by the way happens to be a huge fan of mine - and she appears to be me."
"Oh, I see, that explains it then. Why wasn't I told?"
Jeremy covered the reciever. "Hammond, why didn't you tell May?"
Hammond frowned. "He would've thought I was pulling his leg."
"Well, he seems to believe me. You're aware that her parents called the police?"
Harriet looked rather worried. "How are they?"
Clarkson shrugged. "I'm sure they'll be fine once we explain." He paused. "Well, once we come up with a good excuse, anyway." He returned to the phone. "May, where are you?"
"I'm at my house, Jeremy. I managed to drag myself away from that tip you call a home, somehow. Where are you?"
Jeremy looked around. "I'm not really sure... I'm sure we'll figure it out. We've got a better sense of direction than you, anyway."
May released a heavy sigh. "And what am I supposed to say to the reporters who keep calling me to ask if you've finally cracked? You don't know where you are, you're trapped in the body of a teenage girl, and you're sure it'll all be fine because you think you have a better sense of direction than me?"
"You could always say she's my biggest fan and she forced her way into the car. She's really very fond of me. You don't have many fangirls, do you, May?"
"I don't think now is the time for petty fights, Jeremy; and somehow I don't think that excuse will convince anyone."
"Why? I'm sure there are millions of girls just like her who'd quite happily force their way into my car to spend time with me."
"I'm hanging up now, Jeremy, and I'll be telling the press that you're on your way home."
"But we can't, I mean she's still me..." May had hung up the phone. Jeremy glared at it. "You have stupid hair, May," he muttered.
no subject
Oh, Jeremy. *grins*
No, I don't think she can. And poor Richard!
(No! Goodness me, no.)
It was at that point that Richard’s mobile phone rang, with the rather embarrassing Basement Jaxx ringtone. Jeremy opened his mouth to mock him mercilessly, when Hammond snapped, “Answer it, won’t you? It might be James.”
Clarkson made a mental note to mock him later, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Who is this?” said a rather harassed-sounding James May. Oh, crap. Clarkson’s voice was, of course, rather different from it’s usual self. He attempted to lower it a few octaves, which caused muffled laughter from Hammond.
"It's Jeremy," said Jeremy, still nowhere near loud enough.
"Jeremy, right. I was wondering why Trevor McDonald has just informed the nation that the mother of an eighteen-year-old girl has reported that she has been kidnapped by you and Hammond."
"What?!"
"Well, you should know, Jeremy. You're the kidnapper."
"James, I think you need to sit down."
"I'm already sitting down, Jeremy."
"Did you notice that I was behaving slightly strangely this morning?"
"You're always strange, Jeremy. Hammond said something about the two of you having to see the producers and drove off. If I'd known that this was what you were planning, I'd never..."
"No, no May... there seems to have been some sort of... body mix-up. I appear to be an eighteen-year-old girl called Harriet - who by the way happens to be a huge fan of mine - and she appears to be me."
"Oh, I see, that explains it then. Why wasn't I told?"
Jeremy covered the reciever. "Hammond, why didn't you tell May?"
Hammond frowned. "He would've thought I was pulling his leg."
"Well, he seems to believe me. You're aware that her parents called the police?"
Harriet looked rather worried. "How are they?"
Clarkson shrugged. "I'm sure they'll be fine once we explain." He paused. "Well, once we come up with a good excuse, anyway." He returned to the phone. "May, where are you?"
"I'm at my house, Jeremy. I managed to drag myself away from that tip you call a home, somehow. Where are you?"
Jeremy looked around. "I'm not really sure... I'm sure we'll figure it out. We've got a better sense of direction than you, anyway."
May released a heavy sigh. "And what am I supposed to say to the reporters who keep calling me to ask if you've finally cracked? You don't know where you are, you're trapped in the body of a teenage girl, and you're sure it'll all be fine because you think you have a better sense of direction than me?"
"You could always say she's my biggest fan and she forced her way into the car. She's really very fond of me. You don't have many fangirls, do you, May?"
"I don't think now is the time for petty fights, Jeremy; and somehow I don't think that excuse will convince anyone."
"Why? I'm sure there are millions of girls just like her who'd quite happily force their way into my car to spend time with me."
"I'm hanging up now, Jeremy, and I'll be telling the press that you're on your way home."
"But we can't, I mean she's still me..." May had hung up the phone. Jeremy glared at it. "You have stupid hair, May," he muttered.
(Oh, dear...)