The other day, for example, I got a call from a newspaper in Norfolk. Would I care to comment on a phantom lawn-mower rider, dressed as the Stig, who made lightning appearances on the village green, did a bit of mowing and then disappeared? I mean, what do you say to that? That is fame.

Guests are another example of how far we’ve come. In the beginning, that generous gentleman Jay Kay was always there for us, and given it was a car show, you’d kinda hope he would be. But when I hear Jeremy say, “Ladies and gentlemen . . . Tom Jones . . . Michael Gambon . . . Roger Daltrey” — we never planned for that.

There are other moments that encapsulate just what an amazing rollercoaster Top Gear has been — some on screen, such as when the rocks started hitting the vans in that petrol station in Alabama, and some off screen: ­Olivier Panis trying to help James change the points on a Morris Marina during an Alpine snowstorm. That’s a silly little one that’ll stay with me, as will discussing with Jeremy the best way of laying a cow on a Camaro roof.

The memory I’ll probably treasure most is one that had nothing to do with making Top Gear. It was the time when Jeremy, Richard and James went to Afghanistan to see the troops just before Christmas. For three days they shook hands, signed autographs and did their best to spread a bit of cheer to lads who wouldn’t be with their families at Santa time, and the reaction of the soldiers was humbling. In a narcissistic way, it was the greatest measure of how far we’d come — that we’d gone from being a car show to being able to make people a bit happier with our puerile exploits.

How will it end? Ideally, all good TV programmes should follow the Fawlty Towers formula — make a run of great shows, then call it a day, get the hell out of Dodge and leave your audience with only memories of greatness. That approach shows courage, dignity and integrity. The problem is that none of us has any of those qualities. We’ll keep pedalling away until people are throwing eggs at us.

I can assure you, though, that even if we do run out of talent, there’s no cynicism in the Top Gear office. We go to work rubbing our hands, wondering what mischief can be made that day. So I’m afraid you’re stuck with us for a while.

Top Gear is on BBC2 tonight at 8pm

Planes, trains, automobiles and clown trousers in the new series

Top Gear has an unnerving knack of kicking off a series with a rubbish show — don’t know how it happens but we’re masters of the art, writes Andy Wilman. This time we’re determined to do better, so show one starts off with one of our classic races — and, on this occasion, the emphasis is on the word “classic”. Jeremy is at the helm of the amazing A1Tornado steam train, racing James and Richard from London to Edinburgh, with Richard on a Vincent Black Shadow, the fastest bike in the world in 1949, and James in a Jag XK120, the fastest car of the post-war decade.

Since motorways don’t exist yet, Richard and James have to use the A1, but Jeremy has to make water and coal stops. As Jeremy pointed out in the office, it’s not the funniest film we’ve made, but it’s got a piledriver pace, with dramas happening all over the place. I do humbly believe it’s a belter.

There’s another big race a few weeks later, with James and Richard in a Porsche Panamera racing a first-class letter from Scilly to the Orkneys, and, believe me, Postman, when he’s not fending off pit bulls in gardens, is a formidable opponent.

As for the challenges, there are two biggies. The first sees the presenters trying to find the best car for 17-year-olds, and this is a proper social issue because if you’re 17 you’ll know you’re a hormone-injected halfwit who wants to do doughnuts all day, while your parents want you to have something super-safe and cheap to insure. Is there a car that fits the whole bill? Cue the man in the white coat with the gold envelope. Some of the resulting challenges are classic clown-trousers stuff, particularly the snappily titled Get Your Car Up Your Parents’ Driveway at Three in the Morning Without Waking Them Up Challenge.

The other big challenge is simple — the presenters have never been on a classic rally, but lots of petrolhead Brits have, so armed with a few quid they pick up some snotters at auction and break out the beards and fleeces. The problem is, they need co-drivers, and the office has chosen them for them.

There are other adventures: Jeremy and James trying to make a car advertisement for Volkswagen, which goes really well (if you sell Fords), plus Jeremy in an Evo being hunted by the army’s best toys, and Richard inventing yet another ridiculous motor sport, this time with airport vehicles. Naturally this whole wedding buffet of nonsense is garnished with buckets of car porn: the first television shootout between those two automotive titans the McLaren F1 and the Bugatti Veyron, plus films with the new Mercedes-Benz SL Black and the Lamborghini Murciélago SV. Melvyn Bragg it is not. Enjoy.

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