All language subtitles for The Grand Tour S01E08 (eng)

Since you're in beach buggies,

you will now drive to the beach

at the northernmost point

of Namibia,
where it meets Angola.

It's 1,000 miles away.

We have got to find this road.

This is not gonna be
too clever in the dark.

Listen. I shall find
the Southern Cross.

Oh, this is a bad idea!

We are now trusting our lives

to an orangutang who
thinks he's Patrick Moore.

24 hours of cold, misery,

to achieve exactly nothing.

I mean, it is exactly nothing.

Oh, it's coming in!

This is the best desert
I've ever been to.

Holy shit!

Oh!

What it actually
is is a big, orange
killing engine.

Jesus!

Oh, my God!

Please make it! Please!

Just need to find a road now.
This is not funny any more.

I don't want another night
in the desert.

Oh, my God.

I could go east,
I could go west.

Whichever way
you go, it goes somewhere.

Yes! It is the road
to freedom.

What the hell was that?

What I'm driving here,
or attempting to drive,
is Apollo 13.

It was morning
by the time I nursed
my wounded car into Windhoek,

and my well-rested colleagues
were full of admiration

for how I'd pulled off
such a feat.

-Is that the first thing
you thought of?
- What?

Tear a hole in it.
What's that gonna do?

I needed to get to the bleed
valve on the radiator,
which is there.

- Is it?
- And, to make life
doubly difficult...

...I trod on my spectacles.

That is tragic,
trying to fix it with one lens.

I was trying to fix it.
And the only eye
I can close is this eye.

-You can't close
your left eye?
-I can't close my left eye.

Why didn't you put them on
upside down? You'd have
the lens over the other eye.

That is logic there.

Oh, yeah.

- Come on, let's go.
We've got a lot to do.
No!

The one thing we have
established now is that,

with the exception of Windhoek,

which is the capital,
Namibia is a tough
and arduous place.

- Yeah.
- Have you bought maps?

- No.
- Have you got tenting
equipment of any sort?

Have you got somewhere
to sleep other than
the desert floor? No.

So why don't we, today,
get prepared

for the next leg of the -
big leg of the journey?

- That is a good idea.
We'll do that.
- That's not a bad idea.

We'll grant ourselves
a day of... shopping. Mm.

First of all,
would you permit me
to chisel some of the cheddar

that has grown
in my underpants away?

Well, not here.

Having de-cheesed
my body parts,

we headed out to get
the necessary supplies.

The thing is, if we go mesh,

it'll keep the sun off
but it won't keep
the light out.

That will wake us up early.
That's 1.5 kilograms. But...

Hammond, the first thing
you need to know before we
start shopping in here

is James and I are in charge.

- Well...
- Sorry, he's right.

No, you're not.
You don't know anything
about camping.

- JAMES, JEREMY: Exactly.
- How does that make you
in charge?

Because we know
it's all terrible.

If we leave it to you,
we'll all end up sleeping
in small green triangles.

The camping you know about
is in the Lake District,

where you deliberately
make yourself miserable.

I'm sorry, he's right.

It is possible, I think,

with a bit of ingenuity
and money,

to make tenting bearable.

Richard Baden-Hammond
disagreed,

so we went our separate ways.

Correct, incorrect.

- Exactly.
- Do you agree?

- But I'd go even
more correct.
- Oh, yes!

Perfect. Roll it out
on the desert floor...

...you're home.

Oh, James! Le Creuset!

See, Hammond would hate this,
because this weighs
more than a tent.

- Which it does, actually.
- A lot more.

- And it weighs more
because it is a quality item.
- Exactly.

Pocket trowel.

Pocket soap.

Here we go.

- Pasta spoon.
- Yeah, good idea.

I find that bottle opener
a bit... lightweight.

Yeah, more expensive
is what we're looking for.

You see, look at this, James.

This is the sort of thing
Hammond would think
is a chair.

Ooh! That's all you need.
That's your whole... stove.

That's it.

- Is it gas? It is, isn't it?
- I presume so.

For two, you could get
a small chicken in there,
or... a pheasant.

We're getting there now.

So that folds down to that.

Yeah.

The next morning,
we headed out once more,

with the camping gear
James and I had bought

bringing up the rear.

And besides stocking up
with essentials,

Hammond and I had used
our day off in Windhoek
to modify our cars.

To solve
my overheating problems,
I've fitted a ram-air scoop,

which shovels refreshing,
cooling air into the radiator
as I go along.

And, as you may have noticed,
I've fitted a spoiler.

My only complaint, really,
about my beach buggy

was its lack of performance
in third and fourth gears.

Couldn't up power
from the engine and I don't
want to stress it,

so I could lighten it.

I've stripped away
the superstructure here
and the passenger seat,

anything spare.

That means this car
is 30-40 kilos lighter
than it was before.

Jeremy, why has your car
sprouted a green moustache?

Well, it's a spoiler
for added downforce
at the front end,

which you need
in a rear-engine vehicle.

This thing will be unbelievable
through the corners now,

it really will.

Like a 911.

And I tell you what,

even with your new
lightweight buggy,

you're no match for what
I've got here this morning.

Yeah, I'm sorry, mate.
This is quicker.

- It is not.
- It is.

Right, Richard Hammond,
I challenge you to a race.

OK, you're on. Idiot.

We shall find a race
track and we shall do racing.

Well, you carry on.
I'm not doing any racing.

That's utterly pointless.

On the outskirts of the city,

we found a rather
excellent circuit

where we could do timed laps,

and James could try out
his new vacuum cleaner.

Oh, yes.

- Are you ready?
- No.

- Why not?
- Temperatures and pressures.

This is a racing machine.
Look at it.

It's a plastic beach buggy
parked near a V8.

- With aero.
- Really?

In...

...three, two, one, go!

Yeah, I'm gonna do it in gear.

- Give it a shot.
- I'm gonna try that.

- In...
- No! Throttle's jammed.

Yes.

- Jammed.
- In...

No! You can keep saying "in"

till the cows come home.
The throttle...

Three, two, one, begin!

Why... Why have you stopped?

Ah. Well, erm...

The throttle
may have gone a bit open.

Yeah.

My throttle is totally broken.

- Anyway, Hammond...
- Yeah?

Any car which can wheelie
off the line...

is going to be able to beat
yours, and would have done.

So... Sorry.

You're saying
because your car started,

well, 50 yards away over there,

wheelied, was uncontrollable,
slammed back down

and broke itself,
it's the best on the track?

Yes.

Well, much learned.
Really useful.
Glad we did it.

With Jeremy's
endlessly troublesome car
fixed again,

we scooped up James' Dyson
and continued northwards

towards the finish line
at the border with Angola.

The going was smooth and easy
and eerily quiet,

which begged a question.

Now, apparently, Namibia
is the most dangerous place
in the world to drive.

There are more accidents
per head then anywhere else,

and car accidents are the first

and most common cause
of death in young adults.

How? How can that be so?

I mean... the place is empty.

In Britain,
there are 250-260 people
for every square kilometre.

Here... it's two.

Two!

This makes the Australian
outback look like Monaco.

Monkey! Monkey!

Huge anus! Did you see
that thing's anus?

I, however, was not thinking

about population statistics
or monkeys' bottoms.

I was just happy
to be on a smooth surface

in a car that wasn't filled
with dust.

I shall relax...

...with the lovely view.

Sadly, though,
a few miles later...

Ow! Ow! Oh, my nuts! Ow!

Stop it!

Ow! Ow! Agh!

James May?

Yes, I can hear you,
but it's very uncomfortable

and my car has...
has cut out.

Ow!

Mercifully for James,

we eventually arrived
at a game reserve,

which we decided
would be an ideal place

to set up camp for the night.

Right.

That's what we need.

As Hammond
built his canvas hovel...

...James and I were looking
forward to a more civilised
evening

in the tents we'd bought,

and which had been erected

by the butler we'd also bought.

Thank you, Giovanni.

Tuck your shirt in, man!
It's not a bloody caravan site.

Erm...
I'm just thinking, dinner.

Mm. Do you mind
if I get changed?

- No, exactly.
I'm gonna have a shower.
- Mm.

- Or I may have
a bath, actually.
- Why not?

Giovanni,
could you run the baths?

Apparently,
this place has got oysters.

- Really? Here?
- Yeah. I know,
it's extraordinary.

Who knew?

Are you coming for some dinner?

What do you mean,
"Coming for dinner"?
I'm cooking here.

There's a restaurant
just down there.

- A restaurant?
- Yeah, just down there.

I don't want to go.

I'm cooking this.
I'm doing it properly, camping.

- Well, come and...
- I'll join you after dinner.

Whatever.

He's such a peasant, isn't he?

It's just unbelievable.

That evening in the restaurant,

Hammond never did join us.

But James and I were not
short of company.

Oh, look, there's rhinos!
There's actual rhinos!

And they've been dehorned.

They've had to take its horn out

to stop poachers shooting it.

But you know what
the poachers are doing?

They shoot the dehorned ones,

because if they track for
a couple of days, a rhino,

and then it's got no horn,
they shoot it,

and then they'll never
track it again,
so it saves time.

Do you know how much you get
for a rhino horn now?

- On the... On the market?
- Yeah, in Vietnam.

I'm guessing it's a lot.

$320,000.

- So that's more expensive
than gold.
- Good God.

Even the nub that's left
that he's got is still worth,

I don't know,
thousands of dollars.

I was gonna say, no matter
how carefully you dehorn it,

there's still horn
going down into its nose.

That's such
a tragedy, that, you know.
Yeah.

I want to do something
about this while we're here.

I'm sure we could come up
with something.

I'm sure we could.

The next morning, I woke
to find I'd been recruited

into the Clarkson and May
Rhino Protection Squad.

They were even convinced
that our beach buggies

would be ideal
for tracking the poachers.

I can't deny,
they do have a point
about the whole rhino thing.

It is ridiculous.

Two rhinos killed every day
in Africa by poachers,

and then sold to a market
that believes it's a cure
for cancer,

impotence, even hangovers.

But are we necessarily
the right men

to tackle it head-on
in the field?

Ow!

Wouldn't we be better just
popping a £1 coin in a jar

and letting somebody who
knows what they're doing
solve it?

Well, I've got
a tranquilizer gun

from the place where
we were last night, but...

...I can't see anyone
to shoot.

Figuring
that the poachers probably
didn't use the main road,

we went off to look in the bush.

What about over there?

No poachers.

Tyre marks.

It may be some poacher.

Oh, no, wait.

BF Goodriches.
This is James May.

Just so you know,
this is stupid.

What's stupid?

How would you
recognise a poacher
when you saw one?

- And when you find one,
what are you gonna do?
- Shoot him.

All we're doing on our journey

is driving
three beach buggies
to the Angolan border.

- Yeah.
- Which doesn't further
the cause of humanity.

Exactly.
And this does,
does it?

We've got a day, Hammond.
Give us 24 hours.

24 hours. Then, I promise,
we'll get back on the road.

Once our sceptical
colleague had agreed,

I decided to change tack,

abandon the cars
and search from the air,

using some beach-front
parasailing equipment.

- Jeremy?
- Yes?

If we don't make it,
please know that I hate you.

There's not a breath of wind,
so don't be stupid.

Oh, my parachute's been...

- Oh, hello!
- Goodbye.

Shit!

That's not worked at all.

OK. Right,
I'm not gonna do that.

Clearly, my solution
was too dangerous for us,

so we sent Giovanni up instead.

Look, he's going over there.
He's gonna crash and die.

- No, he's been blown
a bit sideways but...
- And downwards.

He didn't sign up for this,
did he?

Giovanni failed
to spot any poachers,

so we told him
to stop messing about

and get back to camp
to pour some drinks,

whilst we had a rethink.

Everything we've tried
has gone wrong.

So let's accept it now
and move on.

We can go.

No.

I think the poachers
only go out at night.

Oh, for God's sake.

We'll let the sun set,

get some tactical kit.

- Rifles.
- Come on, Hammond.

You gave us 24 hours before
you took our guns and badges.

- He did.
- OK.

I think a couple more beers,
head out there.

I agree.

- Let it get dark.
Be patient.
Yes.

- Hunters are patient,
aren't they?
- Exactly.

Once darkness had fallen,

we got kitted out

with tranquilizer guns
and tactical kit

and headed back into the bush

with a very unsure
Richard in tow.

I mean,
I'd like to stop poachers,

but out here at night, what
is the poacher-to-lion ratio?

What am I more likely to find?

What you have to do
is look for rhino tracks,

cos that's what the poachers
will be following.

Literally the most manly
thing I've ever done.

Grand Tour for men,
splashing all over.

Ow!

- Bloody hell!
- You stupid bastards!

Someone's shot me!

Hammond? Hammond?

Hammond?

Clarkson, you moron.

Hammond?

Right, well,
I have to be honest,

yesterday was
a total waste of time.

We achieved nothing.

All we did achieve was
we seem to have wounded
Mr Hammond,

who er... well,
we couldn't wake him up
this morning at all.

And because
we needed to get going,
we've a long way to go,

we've had to improvise.

Aaargh!

What the?

What the is this?

You bastards!

Back on the ground,

James and I had
our own problems.

Oh, God!

Ow! Ow!

This is very good
for the gravel rash

that I got... during my
parachute accident yesterday.

Oh, that hurts.

What we could really do with
is a rain shower

to dampen this dust down.

I think it's unlikely.

Yeah, there's no evidence
that rain is on its way,
I would say.

Soon, word came over the radio

that Hammond was on his way
to rejoin us...

...and that he wasn't
in the best of moods.

What was that?

What was that about?

- We didn't want
to leave you behind.
- You wouldn't wake up.

No, obviously, you didn't
want to leave me behind,

so you did the logical thing,

which is suspend me from
a helicopter whilst asleep.

- Yes.
- Most people would arrive
at the same conclusion.

No, you didn't!
You were having a laugh!

Do you realise how rough
the first road was

that you haven't had
to drive on?

And you got a helicopter
ride, which we haven't had.

You wouldn't be laughing
and sniggering so much

if I'd fallen out of that
thing, as I could have done.

Well, it wouldn't be funny.

No, it just wouldn't be
interesting.

With the rhino fiasco behind us,

we got back to
the job in hand...

...which was to reach
the Angolan border,

and therefore prove that
beach buggies

are brilliant
go-anywhere machines

and not just frivolous toys.

Today, however, that theory
would be seriously tested.

Oh, for God's sake!

Ow!

Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!

Ow! Christ on a bike!

I hate to admit this,
but I'm jealous of Hammond.

I wish I'd fitted
that suspension on my car.

How is this car gonna stand up
to this punishment all day?

Well, since it had been
designed by me

and made from
40-year-old components,

the answer
was depressingly predictable.

The alternator, as you can
see, has come off its hinge.

The bolt's supposed to go in
there and it's just come off.

And the bolt, well,
that's somewhere back there,
100 miles.

So, my alternator is now
held on with a screwdriver

that I've hammered into place.

And we're running well.

Oh. I don't know what
I'm gonna do about it,

but I don't have
a fan belt on there.

I've got a problem.

Another five miles,
another fan belt.

I'm gonna need a pair of tights.

And it wasn't just me.

I've been through
all of that, all of that,
the ignition cut-out switch.

I've got some weird gremlin.

This road is just
shaking these cars to pieces.

Naturally, Jeremy
decided that the only way

of keeping his car in one piece

was to drive very quickly.

My optimum speed is 2,800 rpm,

that being my only dial, really.

That way, I'm skipping
over the top of the ridges.

Unfortunately, at this speed,

my V8 was emptying
the petrol tank

every 31 miles.

And one of the items
we'd forgotten to buy
at the camping shop

was a funnel.

Right, wind's dropped.
Here we go.

Drink!

This is completely safe.

Some of the petrol is...
Oh, my giddy aunt!

The roads are getting worse.

Even though
the going was appalling...

...the beach buggies,
amazingly,

were, more or less,
still in one piece.

However, as the relentless
pounding wore on,

the same could not be said
of James.

Agh!

Oh, my God!

Honestly, my bones
are going to shatter.

I've had enough of this.

What I'm doing is
I'm trying to soften up
the front suspension,

and I'm gonna soften
the tyres as well.

I've done quite
a bit under here.

Now I'm going to let a bit
of air out of the tyres.

This made a huge difference.

This is rubbish!

Stop!

But it didn't stop.

It went on...

...and on.

That day, I did 350 miles,

and every single one of them
was filled with pain,

dust and misery.

And that's why,
the following morning,

I came up with a radical plan.

Don't drive on the road,
drive near it.

I did a bit alongside the road.

Admittedly
only half a kilometre,

but it was bliss by comparison.

It was like driving on
a freshly resurfaced
Silverstone.

We don't have to stray
miles from it.

I agree, that would be
foolish, cos we could just
end up as skeletons.

But, honestly,
it's agony in mine.

I've got neck ache, headache.
I hate it.

Right, I tell you what,
Hammond. I tell you
why I like his idea.

If it is smooth off-road,
it's more comfortable for us.

If it's hopeless out there,
we can blame him.

Fair enough.

With that settled,
we left the road

and set out on Highway May.

I'll give James one thing,
it is smoother than the road,

but I am doing 3 mph.

I mean, yeah,
I like off-roading, I do,

but... this isn't exactly
quicker, is it?

Sadly, a short while later,

we didn't even have smooth
going for us.

Ow!

Ow! Ow! Ow!

Oh, spiffing.

James, I hope
you're happy with this.

How bad must it have been
for him if this is better?

Oh, God Al-bloody-mighty!
What an idiot that man is!

Yeah, this is a lot less bumpy.

Oh, Christ!

Jesus!

Is this better? Really?

Stop moaning!

Hammond, my entire
throttle assembly has
disintegrated.

I can't see why.
I'm sure this is all
helping it.

Perfectly all right on the road.

Yeah, I don't know why
more people

don't drive their cars
on the road.

Stop blaming your failures
on the scenery.

Every bone in his crotch...

that's what I'm gonna break.

Every single one of them.

And then,
if it were at all possible,

May Tours got even worse.

Oh! Oh, God! The dust! Agh!

What is this Star Trek
special effect we've
arrived in?

Oh, my God!

I am swimming through dust.
I'm actually swimming in it.

Oh, dear, oh, dear!

We had driven into
something called fesh fesh,

a sand as fine as talcum powder.

Oh, shite!

And this had made Ali G
even more cross.

I can't see a bloody thing
now. I've got to...

I can't even find James May
to kill him.

OK, the engine's boiling
and I'm stuck.

All my electrics
have gone haywire

My... It's still trying
to turn the motor over.
The battery's dead.

Are you stuck, James?

Er...

I think I'm stuck.

Well done, James.

Improved our lot no end.

So the situation is...

Hammond has broken his car,
you're stuck,

and mine's overheated.

Are we going to say, James,
that your idea was stupid?

It was stupid.

With even Sergeant Stubborn
admitting defeat,

it was time
to throw in the towel.

So we got ourselves sorted
out, got a wash in the river

and headed back to the road.

There you go.
Freshly ironed linen shirt

with epaulettes
that matches my beach buggy.

Ironed by Giovanni.

Despite everything,

our beach buggies
had covered 750 miles

of our 1,000-mile journey,

and we were now well
into the tribal regions

of northern Namibia...

...which is
picture-book Africa.

Well, this is all a bit
too beautiful for words
along here.

Look at this.

Tribal Namibia, I like it.

Where we are now,
it's genuinely...

Well, what would you say,
"unspoiled"? Yeah.

People do live the lives

they've led here
for thousands of years.

Oh, no!

Oh, no! I'm dying!

Annoyingly,
the James May excursion

had caused more damage
than I'd realised.

Oh, now this is stuck on.

Oh, bugger.

Then, instead of the
breakdown-recovery service,

some topless ladies arrived...

Hello.

...which made knowing where
to look a bit difficult.

Oh!

Erm... Concentrate
on the job, Richard.

This is unusual.

I mean, normally
the AA would have done.

Thank you!

Very good.

Oh, there's more.

I, too, was nursing wounds
as a result of May Tours.

I do seem to have lost...

...one of my cylinders
somehow.

I'm driving a V7.

Basically, this is now
Spitty Spitty Bang Bang.

So, at the lunch stop,
Richard and I decided

to get our revenge on Mr May.

Clarkson!

What?

You've put... Where's...

That is disturbing.

What's annoying is,
what have you done

with my original
vintage VW gear knob?

Ah, well, no, good news on that.

Giovanni has posted
your original gear lever

back to your address in London.

- Has he?
- Special delivery.

What is the matter with you?
That's really offensive.

Well, I think that's
a bit sexist.

No, it's not.
Why would I want to drive
with a rubber penis?

I don't know.
I think you're weird.

With our break over,
we got back on the road.

For our American viewers,
James May is driving
a dick-shift.

And it wasn't just James's knob

that was keeping us amused.

There was something else
we'd learned over lunch

that was even funnier.

James May's fuel tank has
a hole in it, or it's split.

He's driving a bomb.

It's a tense moment, this.

It's like the end of a
football match when it's 1-1.

You're driving along,
you know he's gonna blow up,

you just don't know when.

It's not gonna
read well in the papers.

"James May died
in an exploding beach buggy,
holding a rubber penis."

Oh, shut up!

Jeez!

Oh! In the face!

Once James's
fuel tank had run low enough,

we pulled over
in a small village

so he could make some repairs.

Well, the wind's blowing
that way, so the fireball
will go up there.

It'll be sudden, won't it,
when he goes?

Yeah. It's "woompf."

"Woompf," then a bit of quiet,

and then...
as all bits come down.

Yes.

Here's the split in the tank.

- Apply this.
- Oh, hello!

You know we've been saying how
bad the roads are, Hammond?

Yes.

They're bad enough to kill
an un-killable car.

That's kind of
a terrifying sight,
isn't it?

I know. I've never seen that
before in my life.

A dead Toyota pickup truck.

With James's tank bodged,

we knuckled down to getting
some miles under our belt.

And for the rest of the day,

the only person
with petrol issues was me.

Right. Refuelled,
so I'm good now for 31 miles.

By the end of the day,
we'd made good progress.

And when we stopped
to make camp...

Where the bloody hell's
Giovanni?

...we were less than 100
miles from the finish line.

So, after supper, we decided
to have a conversation -

well, argument -

about who'd built
the best beach buggy.

The point is,
yours isn't a beach buggy.

- My car?
- Yeah.

Apart from having
a beach buggy's body

and the beating,
pulsating heart
of a beach buggy,

namely a Beetle engine.

I look at yours and go,

"That doesn't even look
like a beach buggy."

It does and it is!
It's a beach buggy.

Enhanced, but in the spirit
of beach buggying.

- It isn't.
- Jeremy, yours is... a freak.

Had it existed 100 years ago,
it would have been exhibited.

People would come from miles
and children would peak at it
through curtains.

"Oh, look at the monster!"

The point is,
I have always loved

the spirit of the beach buggy.

I love the era that
created it and all of that.

But the one thing
that's made me not like it

is the engine reminds me
of Hitler.

I have removed all of that
Hitler DNA from mine,

fitted a bloody great V8.

It's gone too far.

- It's Frankenstein's buggy.
- I can settle this.

- Yours isn't
a proper beach buggy.
- It isn't.

- But it's more of
a beach buggy than yours.
- Oh, rubbish!

Because the true spirit
of the beach buggy

is the Beetle floorpan
and engine, which his has.

Yours doesn't have the engine.

Mine actually has everything.

Mine is the proper beach buggy.

- I'm sorry about this,
James, but...
- You're not.

...your car was created

by the swinging '60s
and endorsed by Steve McQueen,

one of the coolest people
who ever lived,

and yet, somehow,
you have managed

to make your beach buggy boring.

- Rubbish
- It is a bit.

- It is boring.
- It's a boring
firework display.

- It is.
- It's boring
in that it works.

- No, James.
- It doesn't work!

The only thing
that has gone wrong

is a small leak
in the petrol tank.

Everything else about it
has constantly worked.

Do you know, every time
I've overtaken you,

I've looked and thought, "That's
dismal."

It isn't. It has an elegance
and a purity.

And when you say,
"You've never come past me,"

I come past you
every 30 miles because
you've run out of fuel.

It wheelies, the throttle
sticks, the alternator falls
off, bolts fall out of it.

- It... The alternator...
- You've had to fit a wing
on it, which ruins the looks.

It's not in the spirit
of the beach buggy,

but of a man
desperately trying
to justify a terrible idea.

- It was a brilliant idea!
- It doesn't work!

I'm fairly conscious right now

your car is drinking the fuel
out of mine

like a sort of plastic vampire.

Look, mine has been thirsty.

- Thirsty?
- Yes.

We continued arguing

until Giovanni reminded us
it was time to go to bed.

But I didn't go to bed,

because I had business
to attend to.

Right, Jeremy Clarkson
thinks he's being flamboyant,

and he doesn't realise that
my knowledge of aerodynamics

will trump his ability
to fit rubber penises
to people's cars.

Shit!

Hammond! Fire!

Help!

Hammond! Help!

The next morning,
as we resumed our journey,

I was feeling
rather philosophical.

I once saw an old lady fall over

and drop her shopping bag
on the opposite side
of the road,

and her shopping fell out.

And amongst it
was an Easter egg,

which I assume she bought for
a grandchild or something,

and it rolled into the road
and got run over by a car.

It was the most tragic thing
I've ever seen...

until I saw the front
of my car this morning.

And it wasn't just the front
of his own car he'd ruined.

I wouldn't mind,
but the rattling from James's
workmanship is appalling.

Despite everything, though,
we were now almost there.

Today, we would reach the
beach that marked the finish

of what had been
a spectacular journey

through a spectacular country.

Oh!

That deserves a stabbing.

Oh, my God!

Oh!

Oh, my...

Giovanni,
could you run the baths?

Aargh!

Help!

It really is an amazing part
of the world, this.

But everything that makes it
amazing is harsh

and unforgiving and difficult.

Oh, stop!

No one's ever said this
before, but Namibia...

...is a beautiful bastard
of a country.

And yet,

as we counted down the last
few miles of our journey,

our home-made beach buggies
were still running.

They were battered and
bruised, but they'd proved
our point to Mr Wilman.

They'd made it.

And they had done
something else as well -

they'd got under our skin.

We liked them
even more at the end

than we had done at the start.

I think everybody in the world
should drive a beach buggy,

because you're exposed
to so much.

Not just the elements,

but the opinions
of other people.

I mean, when you're in
a normal car,

you shake your fist
and make gestures,

and shout and yell,

because you feel
cocooned and safe

and immune from everybody.

But in a beach buggy,
everyone's just there.

It's brilliant!

It's such a friendly way
of moving about.

And with that, we settled down

for what we hoped would be
a smooth cruise to the beach.

But it wasn't.

Ow! Ow!

Oh, God! Ow!

This is outrageous!

Holy shit!

Oh, no! It's gone!

And now my aerodynamics
are badly affected as well.

Oh, my word!

Jeremy is hoping
to get to the finish line

in the sort of pile of scrap
you hate your neighbours

for keeping at the bottom
of their garden.

Oh, God!

Oh, no! There's petrol!

Oh! Hammond,
don't go near his car!

There's petrol all over
the front of his car.

- Is there?
- Yeah.

Ooh!

What if it caught fire, James?

With just 30 miles to go,

the mighty seven-cylinder V8
really started to play up.

Oh, no!

And then it started to go dark,

which presented us with the
biggest problem of the lot.

That's just terrible.

Oh, God!

Well, that's marvellous.

That one is dazzling me

and that one is showing me where
to go.

This is far from ideal.

Before pitch darkness fell,

we pulled over to do
some emergency repairs.

I'm gonna put some...

tape of a certain well-known
brand on the problem.

Finger tight will do.

These repairs
were extremely successful.

Oh, it's swung into my face!

No, I can't see a thing.
Agh! That's worse!

Oh, God. Now they've turned.

Oh, no! My car's gone
cross-eyed again!

There's a man
coming the other way.

What's he gonna think of us?

I don't know.

I can't see a bloody thing.

Thank you.
Oh, that's good!

It's shaken the headlight
back round again!

Yeah! No, it's back again.
Oh, just for a moment.

Then the rough road brought
some new headlight problems.

Oh, nothing! Oh, no!
Nothing! Nothing!

I've got...
I've now got nothing at all.

OK, Hammond and May,
can you just let me know

what your lighting
situation is now?

As long as I hold
the flash lever back,
I have light.

If I hold the lever,
I get one light
and one flashing light, yes.

But I have to take
my hand off to change gear.

And then Hammond's
car suddenly turned into

the lighting rig
at a Pink Floyd gig.

Why does it keep changing?
What...

And it's all got...

It's only three kilometres
to go now. Three.

Ahh!

Oh, hell!

Gone. Coming back.

Although we couldn't see,

we knew we must be close
to the beach.

It's not... you know,
a seaside beach.

It must be on a river
or a lake, or something.

This is uphill.
I'm sure that's wrong.

That's a big drop there.

I don't want to go off there.

I'm not sure this is sensible.

Nowhere in any guide
I've ever read does it say,

"Explore new territory
in a beach buggy

with your lights all broken."

Unable to find anything even
remotely resembling a beach,

we pulled over.

We cannot carry on
just plunging around
in the darkness,

hoping to find the beach.

And, anyway, what is that noise?

I would say
that... is a waterfall.

Is it something you want
to come across in the dark?

Because the other thing
I'd say about that sound -

it might be my imagination,
but that sounds as though
it's coming from below,

like we're above it.

We have climbed up that track.

And a waterfall is a drop,
by definition.

If we're...
I don't want to...
in the dark.

Abandon. I'm not doing it.

We'll do it tomorrow. Sun.

Let's look at the stars
and have one more night
in Namibia.

We'll find it tomorrow
and it'll be fantastically
glorious.

Tomorrow on the beach.

Giovanni!

The next morning,
daylight brought answers
to our questions.

So it wasn't a waterfall.

No, it was many waterfalls.

Hundreds of waterfalls.

And they were just part
of what we all agreed

was the most beautiful view
we'd ever seen.

But... many waterfalls.

No beach that I can see.

Does that count as a beach?

That is a beach.

I'd call that a beach.

- The beach.
- That's got to be it.
There's no others.

Gentlemen,
our quest is at an end.

Let us ride...

in splendour... to...

- I'm not finishing that
very well. What is it?
- It's very moving.

I'm trying to think
of something evocative
and Victorian and brilliant.

"Let's go over there
and finish our journey"?

No, that's Brummie rubbish!

- It is!
- It's the fact.

Unable to find the right
words to mark the moment...

...we set off anyway.

Yeah, this is it.

We are half a kilometre
from our objective.

Oh.

Oh, no. Path ends. Path ends.

Erm...

Oh, my God!

Well, if this won't get
over there,

there's no way will theirs.

We split up
to look for a path
through the rocks...

Oh, no!

...but it was hopeless.

Forget it.

Hammond, forget it.

We aren't going down this hill.

The problem is, even if we
could get over this stuff,
which we can't...

No, we can't.

...have you seen what's
between us and the beach?

Look at it. There's no way
you could drive over that
or anywhere near.

- Look,
you can't even go inland.
- No, we can't go there.

And you can't go
around that mountain

and come at it from the back,
cos they're cliffs.

Wait a minute.

What?

I've had...

...a great idea.

- Oh, no.
- No.

So we can't drive over here.

But we have to get us
and our cars to that beach
over there.

If there were to be
some kind of...

A mounting point on that
cliff, maybe, and then...

Do what?

No.
Mounting point down there.

Over that distance?
That's a huge distance.

- It's about half a kilometre.
- No!

But can you imagine
the forces on it?

- The things at the end
are gonna have to be...
- Huge.

- Massive.
- Jeremy, we don't all live
in a cartoon.

We will die! Dead!

Given that
there were no alternatives,

we had to go with
the ape's plan,

which was to turn our beach
buggies into cable cars.

- That's over two metres.
- Yeah, that's good enough.

So we headed to
a nearby abandoned mine...

...to scavenge materials.

Is that bit any good?

- How much more of that cable
have we got?
- Four drums.

- Are you proposing that
that becomes a winding drum?
- Yeah.

It's very important...

we get as much
weight as possible
into Hammond's car...

for erm...
well, for your amusement.

Right, toolbox.

- How much do you want?
- 30 metres.

James, have you got that hoop
welded in yet?

No, that's my next job.

Several days later,

and with absolutely no help
whatsoever

from any Namibian
mining engineers...

...the world's first
beach buggy cable car
was ready, and...

Shit! Stop, everybody!

The goats are eating the tree
that we've anchored it to.

Shoo, goats! Shoo!

They were eating the tree.

Anyway, as I was saying,

it stretched for more
than a third of a mile.

And since the drop to
the crocodile-infested river

was several hundred feet,

we decided
James should go first.

- We had a vote.
- Did you?

We did, and we were unanimous
you were going first.

Right, so it's become
a democracy all of a sudden?

- Yes, it has.
- Yeah.

And anyway,
your car's the lightest,

now you've burned half
of it away.

I'm climbing in.
Jesus!

With the state-of-the-art
generators fired up...

...James fortified himself
for the journey...

Is he drinking?

...and then simply drove off
the launch pad.

Oh, my God! Whoa!

Oh, shit! It's really high!

It's really high!
I'm turning the engine off.

- We had to test it.
- Well, exactly.

- He had to go first.
- Don't look at us
and think we're bad.

Because that was
scientifically vigorous.

It's a cable car.
It's a cable car.

I've been on lots of
cable cars. They're safe.

God. Look, he's...
This is where it's high.
That's horrible.

No! It's going really high!
I don't like...

I hate you!

- OK.
- He doesn't like us.

Despite my terror,
the cable buggy kept on
chugging through

what's technically Angolan
airspace towards the beach.

God, I'm nearly there!

Neutral. Handbrake off.

He's gonna do it.
He's gonna do it.

I'm at the end!

- He's down.
- That's a landing.

Yes!

- Do you know what, though?
- What?

- I'm doing maths here.
- Mm?

One of us is gonna be killed
doing this, obviously, yes?

- I'd say so, yeah.
- So when we were all here,
33% chance.

Now I'm doing it
with a 50% chance.

- Now you're doing it?
- I'm going next.

- I can go next.
- You can't go next.

Why can't I go next?

Whilst James
toasted his success
with some more drink...

...I won the argument
and prepared for launch.

Why is my car at this angle?

Well, maybe because
there's a massive V8
hanging out the back of it.

Right! Right, right, right!

I'll... here we go.

My rectum has just opened
like a set of Theatre
curtains.

And for good reason,
because my beach buggy

weighed 200 kilograms more
than James's charred wreck.

Ooh! Ooh!
He brushed the grass!

I'm terrified, I'll be honest,

but, for the first time
since I set off,

I'm comfortable
in my beach buggy.

Approaching the beach.
Approaching the end
of the journey.

Here I come.

And... touchdown!

Yes!

Bad news, Hammond. I've
made it.

Oh, great.

- Sir?
- Oh, I say, James!

Actually, I was lucky
there was some left,

because James had had
a bit of a thirst on
whilst he'd been alone.

Hello, guys down there.

It's Richard at the top.

Right, I'm gonna do this now,
so goodbye.

Oh!
I don't like that feeling!

Here he comes,
ladies and gentlemen,
Richard Hammond.

No!

I could take solace from
the fact that this system

has already run twice with
their cars and not failed -
it's been tested.

Or I could take
a more realistic view,

which is that
those two fat oafs
have already weakened it.

Plus he had all
that scrap metal in the back,

which is why
all eyes were on him.

Well, when I say "all"...

Look at the colours
in those rocks over there.

It's... It's fantastic.

Just to the left
of where Hammond is.

Why's my car sitting so low?
It is heavy.

It is... Why's it lower?

- The colouring
is fabulous, isn't it?
- Yeah, they are.

Despite all my fears,
the cables were holding

and drawing me ever closer
to my colleagues.

This is it.
I can see the beach.

I'm so nearly there.
We are gonna do it!

Come on, Hammond. Come on.

I'm gonna do it.

Come on, Hammond. Come on.

Oh.

Erm...

Why have I stopped?

- Hammond!
- Come on!

- I've stopped!
- Hammond!

It's just stopped!

What can I do?
It's just stopped!

There's, like, 200 metres to go!

I don't have anything to do
with it! It's not up to me!

Is there nothing you can do?

Sadly, James was
too drunk to think,

and I'm mechanically inept.

Plus, whatever had gone wrong
had gone wrong at the top,

and we were at the bottom.

Move! Move! Move!

There's literally
nothing we can do.

We've assessed everything

and you're in
a hopeless position.

We could have another beer.

We've gonna have to conclude,
I'm afraid,

that Mr Wilman was right that
the beach buggy is no good.

And on that
terrible disappointment,
it's time to end.

Thank you so much
for watching. Good night.

♫ You've got your head
on backwards, baby ♫

♫ You don't know
where you're at ♫

♫ You've got your head
on backwards, baby ♫

♫ Watch out
or you'll fall flat ♫

♫ Instead of saying hi
to the people that you meet ♫

♫ You ought to say goodbye
as you're walking
down the street ♫

♫ You've got your head
on backwards, baby ♫

♫ And you're gonna
hit the ground ♫

♫ Yeah ♫

♫ Well, when you finally
fall down, baby ♫

♫ I don't wanna
be around ♫

♫ No ♫

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