I think all of us assume that evolution is a long, drawn-out affair and that
it took many years for the brontosaurus to mutate into the peregrine falcon,
and for the penguin to lose its power of flight. But new evidence from . . .
well, me actually, suggests that evolution in fact moves at what might
fairly be termed a “right old lick”.
For instance, if you or I were to press a doorbell, we would use an index
finger. Whereas if someone under the age of 15 pressed the same doorbell,
they would use a thumb. This shift has happened because of the text
messaging service available on mobile phones, and by what’s seen by many as
the scourge of the modern age: the PlayStation.
Of course, those of a corduroy disposition will now be thumping the newspaper
and explaining in loud, harrumphing tones to their ne’er-do-well teenage
children that “if Sony’s black box of trickery and witchcraft can play havoc
with the hand, imagine what it’s doing to the brain”.
Well, I’m sorry to relieve myself all over your yesterdays, but nothing
terrifies me more than my children coming in from the garden and asking me
to whittle some willow they’ve found into a bow and some arrows. No, wait,
there’s one thing I worry about more, and it’s: “Daddy, can we play
Monopoly?”
Monopoly is like the Middle East. There is no end to it. I truly believe that
nobody in the whole of human history has ever actually won a game of
Monopoly. Because winning means overcoming levels of boredom that can drive
a man mad. Forget sitting in a Perspex box for 44 days, and try spending the
afternoon driving your hat around London instead.
What’s more, nobody knows the rules to it. Does the money from the Income Tax
box go in the middle or into the bank? And if it does go in the middle, is
it yours when you land on Free Parking? Then, when all your properties are
mortgaged and you have no means of paying the rent for a brief stop on
Regent Street, does the player with the hotel take over your assets, and are
they automatically unmortgaged or does he have to pay? If so, whom does he
pay?
Such things are probably explained in the instruction book, but that was lost
in 1971. And anyway, it doesn’t matter, because one of your children is
always willing to lend you some money to keep the damn game going.
Then there’s Risk. Winning the world requires you to throw a constant stream
of sixes for two days. If you fail, you are likely to spend the rest of your
life huddled in a corner of Canada.
And Cluedo. I believe Colonel Mustard did it with Miss Scarlet in the library
with a piece of lead piping. And do you know, I don’t care.
In theory I like Scrabble, but even here there are flaws. Like it doesn’t work
if you play it with children because they cry when you write “underpass”
across two triple-word scores. And you can’t play with adults either,
because the winner is always the person who knows the most obscure
two-letter words, such as “ay” and “jo”.
And the sort of person who clutters his or her head up with nonsense like this
is not the sort of person you want in your house.
My son has recently decided he likes chess, so last weekend, in a moment of
man-and-boy bonding, I agreed to sit down for a game. But it was hopeless. I
kept beating him. And it’s much the same story with my daughter and Boggle.
After three minutes she ended up with “dog”, whereas I had 28 words, one of
which was “salivating”.
The PlayStation, on the other hand, is a leveller. Which is why on a Sunday
afternoon we in the Clarkson family enjoy nothing more than slotting the
James Bond disc into the hole and spending the afternoon round the fire
shooting one another in the face.
You may say it’s mindless, but then what’s a crossword puzzle, if not
mindless? And what’s mowing the lawn? What’s traipsing round Homebase for
that matter? I think an electronic games console is one of the great
inventions of the modern age: you can play football without getting dirty.
You can snowboard without being stoned. You can race cars without killing
yourself and you can be James Bond without getting worn out.
This then, is another prop in the argument that everything now is better than
everything then. Which brings me neatly, if a little late, to the Toyota
Celica, which, like all the worst board games, seems to have been around for
a couple of thousand years.
It makes do with a 1.8 litre engine, which, despite a never-ending number of
Vs and Is on the cam cover, is an asthmatic little box of tricks that
struggles to conjure up much performance. I mean, 0 to 60 in 8.7sec — how
1982 is that? It’s the sort of get up and go you’d expect from a diesel
these days. And it’s front-wheel drive. Oh dear.
Inside, there is no satellite navigation, no cruise control, no fingertip
remote system for the stereo, no ingenious cup holder, and the seats have
all the body-hugging grip of a kitchen chair.
The only reason why so many people buy this car — and it is a big seller — is
the fact that in recent years it’s had a Monopoly. Just about all the other
car makers gave up with the coupé market. Fiat pulled out, VW dropped the
Corrado, Honda stopped making the Prelude and Nissan cancelled the 200SX.
So if you wanted a little bit of style, a little bit of panache, you thought
about buying a Hyundai Coupé, decided it was too much of a Risk, and went
instead for the Celica.
Now, though, things are changing. Nissan has the 350Z, which was designed in
America by an Indian man from Leicester, and it looks sensational. It goes
well, too, thanks to a French 3.5 litre V6 engine. ()
Then there’s the Chrysler Crossfire, another international offering that has
US overtones but Mercedes foundations. Essentially, it’s a Mercedes SLK with
an eye-catching body. And best of all there’s the Mazda RX-8, with its
sublime Wankel rotary engine, its low price and, thanks to backward-opening
rear doors and a big boot, lots of practicality as well.
If there was any justice in the world, we could end now. I’d make some pithy
remarks about how the new cars are the PlayStations for the modern
generation and how the board game is up for Toyota’s old has-been.
As a result, my introduction about the history of family entertainment would
make perfect sense, and everyone would be happy.
However . . . each of the new cars is flawed. The Nissan is so wearisome on a
long drive that you’ll arrive with blood coming out of your ears. The
Chrysler has the arched back of a dog doing its number twos. And the Mazda,
so I recently discovered, has suspect wet-weather handling.
So we end up back in the Toyota Celica with a big, big smile on our faces.
That’s because, first of all, prices start at £16,500, which is exceptional
value. And second, it is an extremely pretty car. There isn’t a single angle
from which it looks awkward. It drives nicely, too, with a compliant ride
and sharp steering. And there’s bags of grip, not too much understeer at the
limit, and you can even get sub-teenage children in the back.
Then there’s the performance. Yes, 0 to 60mph in 8.7sec looks pretty hopeless,
but it doesn’t tell the whole story because the VVVVVVT-iiiiiii engine
delivers all its get up and go between 6000 and 8000rpm. So, in the real
world, you do have plenty of oomph for overtaking.
Last night, coming home from a Top Gear recording, I had one of those
memorable drives that happens only if I’m driving a memorable car.
Let me put it this way: the Mazda RX-8 would use its thumb to press a
doorbell. The Nissan would use its head, and the Chrysler, meanwhile, would
be doing its business on the lawn. But the Toyota — like you and me — would
use its finger to press that bell, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
So this, despite all the odds, is a properly good, grown-up car.
VITAL STATISTICS
Model: Toyota Celica 1.8VVT-i
Engine type: Four-cylinder, 1794cc
Power: 140bhp at 6400rpm
Torque: 127 lb ft at 4200rpm
Transmission: Six-speed manual, front-wheel drive Fuel/CO2:
36.7mpg (combined) 185g/km
Top speed: 127mph
Acceleration: 0 to 60mph: 8.7sec
Price: £16,500
Verdict: Cheap and cheerful but still capable of teaching the young
pretenders a thing or two
