The problem is that television executives have got it into their heads that if one presenter on a show is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed heterosexual boy, the other must be a either black gay or a lesbian. Chalk and cheese, they reckon, works.

We all know that small cars are good for us. But so is cod liver oil. And jogging. I want to drive around in a Terminator, not the heroine in an E. M. Forster novel.

I’m not only in touch with my feminine side, I’m in touch with my gay side as well.

I don’t think I am particularly funny. In fact, I know I’m not.

I’m having a nice cold pint and waiting for this to blow over.

I therefore have to use The Force. And weirdly, this doesn’t work very well. I don’t understand why, because on the last census, I put my religion down as Jedi Knight...

Racing cars which have been converted for road use never really work. It’s like making a hard core adult film, and then editing it so that it can be shown in British hotels. You’d just end up with a sort of half hour close up of some bloke’s sweaty face.

I don’t often agree with the RSPCA as I believe it is an animal’s duty to be on my plate at supper time.

I’ve said it before and I’m going to say it here again, now. Nothing brilliant has ever resulted from a meeting.

I’m a horse of a man!