There are quite a few tall men that have played some role or the other in my life. The first and probably most influential has to be my father. At 1.93m tall, my friends used to (and still do) refer to him as “Little Johnny”, though I cannot really remember if they ever called him that to his face!

My maternal grandfather, a Clark Gable look-alike, was also a very tall (and good-looking) man. There have been a couple of other tall men, but I won’t write about them today because I am totally focused on the one that is patiently sitting on the side of my bed waiting for me since he arrived to my place last Monday.

Truth is (there you go), what is waiting for me is not the real guy, but his most recent book. He is tall and handsome in an ugly sort of way (or is it the other way around?), totally rude, and the owner of the crudest British humor. But truth is (there you go again) that I am totally infatuated with him. I am talking about Jeremy Clarkson, of course – who else?

Pause to allow those who hate him to leave the blog — probably for good!

For those who don’t know who he is, Clarkson is the ‘love me’ or ‘hate me’ type of personality. I obviously belong to the first group. I won’t go into what I believe he does well or not on his BBC show; but his writing is witty to the point of managing to keep my unconditional interest from cover to cover even when he publishes a book about cars and nothing else. And that is what I call VERY sexy.

So at the moment I am keeping the latest “The World According to Clarkson” installment waiting for me while I finish a really interesting novel by some Indian author.

But that’s OK; I read somewhere that it’s good to keep the ‘bad boys’ waiting a bit before a big date.
.