First published in the UK by Blink Publishing
An imprint of Bonnier Books UK
Wimpole Street, London, W1G 9RE
Owned by Bonnier Books
Sveavägen 56, Stockholm, Sweden
facebook.com/blinkpublishing
twitter.com/blinkpublishing
Hardback: 978-1-788-701-98-3
Signed: 978-1-788-703-94-9
Trade Paperback: 978-1-788-703-07-9
Ebook: 978-1-788-703-06-2
Audiobook: 978-1-788-704-06-9
All rights reserved. No part of the publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted or circulated in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission in writing of the publisher.
A CIP catalogue of this book is available from the British Library.
Designed and set by seagulls.net
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Copyright © Andrew Flintoff, 2020
Andrew Flintoff has asserted his moral right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Every reasonable effort has been made to trace copyright holders of material reproduced in this book, but if any have been inadvertently overlooked the publishers would be glad to hear from them.
Blink Publishing is an imprint of Bonnier Books UK
www.bonnierbooks.co.uk
CONTENTS
Chapter 1 Car Competition
Chapter 2 ‘Influencers’ and the Internet
Chapter 3 The Preston Patriot
Chapter 4 The State of Cricket
Chapter 5 You’re Cancelled
Chapter 6 Lockdown Lowdown
Chapter 7 Guilty Pleasures
Chapter 8 The End of the World?
Chapter 9 Sport Talk
Chapter 10 Getting Older, Getting Bolder
Chapter 11 Christmas Cheer
Chapter 12 The Future, or Making It Up As We Go Along
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER ONE
CAR COMPETITION
When I heard that Jeremy Clarkson had been sacked from Top Gear for punching an Irishman, I got straight on the phone to my agents and said, ‘I want to do that job.’ They replied, ‘Yeah, I can see it actually.’ And I replied, ‘Go on then, see what you can do . . . ’ Up until then, I’d kind of stumbled into everything. And out of all the jobs in TV, presenting Top Gear was the one I really wanted to do. That and presenting Question Time, but even I had to admit that unless every political journalist in the country was simultaneously wiped out in some freak accident, that was unlikely to happen.
Every idea I’d ever come up with, my agents Richard and Katie had managed to get me in front of the right people. But I’m glad they weren’t able to work a miracle in 2015. Not that I was really in a position to take the job anyway, but taking over from Clarkson, James May and Richard Hammond would have been a poisoned chalice. Look what happened to Chris Evans when he started presenting the show – he got destroyed by the public and the media. I wasn’t surprised. Not that I’ve got anything against Chris, but Clarkson had made that show his own. I’m not sure I’d want to be mates with him – or if you’re even allowed to like him – but he was brilliant on Top Gear. How could he not have been? He made it one of the biggest shows in the world.
Three years later, I’d just finished filming an episode of A League of Their Own, which involved crawling through a muddy assault course in the studio, when my agent Richard wandered over with a big smile on his face and said, ‘I’ve got some good news. But you’re going to have to sit down.’ I did as I was told and Richard said, ‘Top Gear have been on the phone and they want you to do a screen test next week, if you’re up for it.’ I didn’t get too excited, because a screen test is just a trial, not a job offer. But I was bang up for it.
The opportunity had come at exactly the right time. I’d been thinking a lot about my TV career and whether I should do something else instead. I was still loving being on A League of Their Own, because I’d been doing it for eight years and grown so close to my fellow panellists, especially Jamie Redknapp and Romesh Ranganathan. But otherwise I was thinking about packing all the other TV stuff in. I didn’t want to do anything I wasn’t really interested in, so I was thinking about carrying on with A League of Their Own, doing some cricket commentary or presenting, and spending the rest of my time pottering. I enjoy being on TV and work hard at it, but it was never my dream and doesn’t give me the same buzz as being a cricketer. Playing cricket for Lancashire and England was all I’d ever wanted to do. So I knew that walking away from TV work wouldn’t be the same emotional wrench as retiring from cricket.
On a more basic level, I just loved cars. The car has got to be one of the greatest and most important inventions in history, right up there with the printing press, the light bulb and penicillin. The car is one of the few inventions that fundamentally changed the way humans lived, literally broadened people’s horizons. Nowadays, people will try to make you feel guilty about owning a car, unless it’s electric.
First, there isn’t an electric car I like. Second, we don’t have the infrastructure, in terms of enough charging points. Third, they’re not actually that good for the environment. Yes, they produce less pollution, but making the batteries requires the mining of rare metals and a lot of extra energy. I’ll need to have driven quite a lot of miles in my petrol car before it has the same environmental impact as a brand-new electric car. And because I change my cars quite a lot, I’m probably doing less damage to the environment than someone who drives an electric car. I’m not some knee-jerk reactionary who is against electric cars on principle, I’d actually like to get one eventually. But only when the cars get better, the infrastructure improves and it can be proved beyond doubt that driving one is better for the planet.
But whether you’re into electric cars or petrol, gears or automatics, cars are such a big part of our everyday life that I struggle with people who say they’re not into cars. They’re lying. If you own a car and you drive a car, then you’re into cars. You might not know anything about cars, but you’re into them, whether you think you are or you don’t. And I really can’t get my head around people who don’t drive. I can’t even imagine it. When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to be 17 so that I could get behind a wheel. It meant freedom, being able to go wherever I wanted and do whatever I wanted. The reason I failed my test the first two times was because it was so important to me. The first time I failed on a dangerous (I thought there was more than enough room on the roundabout to get home, he disagreed). The second time I got a minor fault. As soon as I’d done it, I knew I’d failed. So I thought, ‘I’m going to give him the ride of his life . . . ’ The third time I knew the bloke, which was nice. He played cricket for Morecambe and I used to play against him, so we talked about old times for 20 minutes before he said, ‘You better do one of those emergency stops. If you want.’ That was pretty much that, he passed me.
My first car was a black Fiat Uno, which I rented for a few months after passing my test (at the third attempt). Driving it, I looked like one of the Ant Hill Mob from Wacky Races, because I could almost stick my arms out of the windows and pick it up. When you’re a cricketer, you’re always trying to get a car for free. Even to this day, I’m always trying to get free cars, it’s just ingrained in me. My missus had a Kia Sorento for a while, because I got it for free. Don’t get me wrong, it was a lovely car. But after a while she started asking questions, because it was usually parked next to my Ferrari. Back when I started playing, some of the older players had their names on the side of their cars: ‘Neil Fairbrother – sponsored by Lookers’. I didn’t want that, but Lancashire had a de
al with Rover whereby I could rent one of their cars for 1 per cent of its value a month, plus about 30 quid for insurance. That worked out at about 150 quid a month. It’s not as if they were going to let me have a 220 Turbo, so my first Rover was a 216 Coupé. I didn’t drink at the time, so used to ferry my mates around on nights out. And every night without fail I’d get stopped by the police, because driving that car in Preston was the equivalent of driving a McLaren in Chelsea. I upgraded to a 216 cabriolet in blue, but there was obviously a mix-up, because when it arrived it was purple. So when I got a pay rise, I upgraded to a 620ti, which wasn’t quite the stuff of Alan Partridge’s dreams (I believe he drove a Rover 825), but not far off. Alas, someone went into the back of it when I was on my way to a game in Cheadle. On the bright side, I got a grand for the whiplash, taped the boot closed and carried on.
The first car I bought was a Porsche Boxster on tick when I was 21 (which came in handy on Top Gear, because one of the episodes involved us driving around Ethiopia in our first cars – Paddy had an Escort 1.6 and Chris had a Mini). I was on tour in Pakistan at the time and obviously feeling a bit bored and sorry for myself. When it turned up, it wasn’t quite the colour I thought it was going to be. I knew it was going to be blue, but it was a bit brighter than advertised. But I loved that car, until one night I was driving down a country lane in Hale. It was quite icy, so I was taking plenty of care, creeping around these corners at 10 mph, when this B-registration Metro came hurtling towards me. I slammed on the brakes, but this Metro couldn’t stop and hit me front on. It hadn’t been going very fast – 5 mph at most – but the whole of my front end fell off. This Metro didn’t have a scratch on it and its driver refused liability. So after that, the gloves came off.
My next car was a BMW M5, which came third-hand via the golfers Lee Westwood and Darren Clarke, who were part of the same management company. That car was a dream, unlike the Overfinch Range Rover I made the mistake of buying. I drove over a pothole and two wheels cracked, and when I drove through a big puddle (I promise it was nothing more than that), the undertray fell off.
When I took it back to the garage the bloke said, ‘What have you been doing?’
‘I drove through a puddle . . . ’
I picked the car up three days later, drove through the same puddle on the way home (at nothing more than 30 mph) and the undertray fell off again, so I gave it back. When it comes to cars, appearance can be deceptive.
My Ford F-150 Harley Davidson pickup was a beautiful thing to look at – to drive, not so much. In a straight line it was a scream, but around corners the back end was everywhere, unless you had a tonne of bricks in the back. Which, funnily enough, I never did. I was driving to a mate’s house one day, went round a bend (not that fast, I should add) and the back end came out. When I tried correcting it, it went the other way and ploughed through a fence. I ended up in a field with half a bush in my car, because I had the windows down. When I tried to start it again, it was knackered. I got out, this bloke came over to see if I was all right and we had started having a bit of a laugh. Bad timing. Right on cue, the farmer’s wife turned up with some field hands and started shouting at me about the fact I could have killed her horses. I tried to defuse the situation with a bit of humour – ‘Oh, I did notice some horses, but they must have scarpered when they saw me coming through the fence’ – but that didn’t go down too well either and everyone started shouting at me even louder. So I walked the rest of the way to my mate’s house and a few hours later flew over the wreck in his helicopter, on the way to the races. I did eventually get the car towed out, but never drove it again.
There came a time when England cricketers stopped driving Rovers with their name on the side and started driving significantly more extravagant vehicles, but not many could afford anything ridiculous. I recall Kevin Pietersen driving a Ferrari before the 2009 Ashes series, but he was paying an extortionate amount of money and only had it for a few weeks. I used to get a deal from Volkswagen, and it was only really when I stopped playing cricket that I started wasting money on cars. When I was asked to try out for Top Gear, my daily drive was a ten-year-old black Porsche 997 Turbo, which was just about everything I wanted in a car. Plus, I had a Mercedes GLS350d for family stuff, a Ferrari 612 Scaglietti and a Lamborghini Murcielago. That car was a work of art and just beautiful to look at, but I felt like a knobhead driving it. It had carbon bucket seats that you couldn’t put back, I couldn’t use the indicator going left because my knee was in the way and after driving it for more than half an hour I was sore. In the end, I had to get rid of it. That was a shameful story in itself. This fella came round to pick it up, because he was taking it to a garage in Preston to sell it for me, and my drive was covered in cars. I have an irrational hatred of other people’s cars being on my drive, it just makes me very angry. So I probably backed the Lambo out of my garage a bit sharpish and went straight into my Rolls-Royce Phantom. At that point, my anger curdled into disappointment at what I’d become. I stormed into the house and started shouting about selling everything – the Lambo, the Rolls, the Ferrari, the Porsche, the lot!
I’d wanted a Rolls-Royce for years and particularly loved the look of the Phantom Drophead. The only thing that stopped me from buying one was the prospect of looking like a dick. But when I drove one, I had to have it. Looking back, I don’t know whether that was a moment of weakness or strength. It’s an amazing car but there are still times when I think, ‘I’m driving a Rolls. Does this make me a complete bellend?’ There are certain places I’ll take it and certain places I won’t. I’d think twice about taking it back to Preston and when I take it to the gym, it either looks like I’ve stolen it or I’m cleaning it for someone more sophisticated than me. For a while, I told myself I was driving it ironically. But I got that out of my system. It’s a beautiful car, a work of art as much as anything, and I just love looking at it and driving it.
I don’t like spending lots of money on things, apart from cars. They’re my only real extravagance and I’ve learned not to feel apologetic about owning them. I’m not passionate about many other things and don’t have many other hobbies, and it’s not as if I’m driving around with the windows down, shouting, ‘I’m here in my Rolls! Look at me! Look at me!’ And because I spend a lot of time in my cars, I want cars that I really like. Unlike other things, the joy of owning, looking at and driving a beautiful car never really wears off, at least not for me.
But I digress (cars have that effect on me). The screen test was at some army place in Nottingham, which was handy, because the boys were playing in a cricket tournament nearby and I could slip off for the day. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit nervous. It wasn’t like when I auditioned for the musical Fat Friends, when I was thinking, ‘It will be nice if I get this, but no problems if not.’ I really wanted the gig, it was what I really wanted to do, so the competitive juices were flowing. They’d sent me a script, but I only scanned it. That wasn’t me being cocky, I just didn’t see myself as a presenter. If they’d wanted a presenter, they could have found loads who were better than me at learning lines and reading an autocue. The best chance I had of landing the job was simply by being me.
I did learn a few things about the car I was asked to drive, a Dacia Duster, and I very quickly forgot that the cameras were rolling. I was paired with Chris Harris, who can review a car better than anyone. After we’d spent a couple of hours dicking about, I thought I’d done okay, because the people in charge started talking about concrete things like filming dates. They told me that they were making the decision the following week, and I was desperate to get the gig, but when I didn’t hear anything then, or the week after, or the week after that, I thought they’d plumped for someone else. Then one day, about six weeks after my screen test, I was in the back of Rachael’s car, travelling through Altrincham with the kids, and Richard called. He said, ‘Are you on your own?’
‘No. I’m in the car. But I’ll get Rachael to stop somewhere.’
> Rachael pulled over, I got out and Richard said, ‘You’ve got the job.’
Not many things excite me, but this did. The only thing I can compare it to is getting that phone call saying I’d been selected for England. It wasn’t as big, because playing for England was a childhood dream and winning my first England cap came out of the blue, but it was a similar feeling. And, in a weird way, it made me happier, maybe because I’d started to think I’d never do anything again that really thrilled me. I loved cars and I loved travelling, so it was another dream job. I couldn’t get my head around it for weeks. I had no idea why they picked me, and I tried not to think about it. Why did it matter?
Things started snowballing from there, although I had to keep the whole thing a big secret, like I’d become a Freemason. And when my eldest son got all excited about me working with Joey from Friends, I had to explain to him that the reason I’d been offered the job was because Joey had left. I kept looking online, to see if anything had leaked. Occasionally, I’d see quotes from someone else, saying they were in the frame, and I’d say, ‘Sorry, it’s not you mate.’ Then, a couple of weeks after accepting the job, I discovered that my co-presenter would be Paddy McGuinness. We didn’t know each other that well but the idea of two Lancashire lads – me from Preston and Paddy from Bolton – presenting Top Gear made me happy. And when me, Paddy and Chris spent a day filming together, doing promotional photos, messing about and getting to know each other, I started thinking, ‘You know what? We might just be all right here . . . ’
I knew there would be some negativity surrounding the new presenting line-up. Top Gear is meant to be a show about the fun that can be had driving cars, but some people take it far more seriously than that. Fans talk about it almost as if it’s sacred, and the way journalists write about it, you’d think it was the News at Ten. Clarkson, May and Hammond had built it into this global brand that had obviously become very important to the BBC, and when Clarkson got sacked and the others left as well, people lost their shit. But I had to ignore all of that, otherwise I’d have been overcome by fear and unable to do it. It helped that I’d done serious stuff, including documentaries on mental health and eating disorders, useful programmes that might actually help people. So I was able to think, ‘You know what? Top Gear is the biggest and best TV job you’ll ever have. That on its own is enough to keep you on your toes. You might get found out, but what’s the worst that can happen? You’re not saving lives or anything, you’re just presenting a programme about cars. Some people will watch it, some won’t. It’s just a bit of TV, that’s all it is.’
Right, Said Fred Page 1
