Sniff Petrol

Oh dear God yes, there’s a new Podcast online now and it’s a bit of a holiday special. In other words, we recorded some quick links, padded out the rest with music and then scarpered abroad.

But what links they are, consisting mainly of lovingly rendered impersonations of some well-loved DJs, at least one of whom is dead. And what music it is too, featuring old tunes and one brand new work from the special Gareth Jones On Speed song cupboard.

Plus, everything is now in lovely, lovely stereo. Oooooh.

CLICK HERE to go there. Nooooow!

Och aye tha noo muthafuckas! Crazy Dave in full effect wit’ tha wack smell o’ Red Bull. And Diet Red Bull, if yo’ got tha weight issues like Crazy D back in tha day. So, las’ weekend we slide on Turkey style an’ all tha bruthas, they be chattin’ about Ronnie D’s homies at tha M-ta-tha-C cuz they been dissin’ each otha an’ shit. But Crazy D, he don’ care ‘bout that cuz he gotta more serious problem wit’ ma man Nando. See, that cat, he show up ‘Standbul side wit’ tha muthafuckin’ beard. What that shit ‘bout? I warn that brutha befo’, yo’ can’t have no beard unless yo’ roll like Crazy D. Yea, mid-fuckin’-field. Of course, by the time of the actual race Fernando had taken the time to have a shave, possibly using my excellent range of Pole Position male grooming products.

Uh-oh, this F1 driver promotional nightmare thing is gaining momentum and already we find that Giancarlo Fisichella phoning-in a dead eyed and slightly embarrassed appearance on some Italian no alcohol beer is but a mere blob of goz compared to the ocean of humiliation that is… THE MICHAEL SCHUMACHER ICE CREAMS

Christ alive, what was the shovel faced fool thinking here? Apart from, ‘when I next see Willi Weber I’m going to poke a lollipop stick up his arse’. Thanks to Piers Roache for this one. Do keep your F1 driver endorsement-based embarrassments coming.

There was good news for lovers of obscure and shit French cars this week as ITV announced details of a new Sunday night police detective crime police drama, entitled The Avantime Mysteries.

Set in the sleepy Dorset village of Fucking Hell! The Avantime Mysteries revolves around newly installed chief police detective police inspector, The Bloke Out Of Bergerac, who has just started working in the village. At first all seems normal in this quaint and gentle little hamlet and Bergerac (Jim Bergerac) is enjoying the new pace of life. That is until one day, whilst on his way to answer a routine call about 15 murdered prostitutes found in the canal, Bergerac (played by Bergerac) notices something rather unusual – a Renault Avantime. At first he thinks he’s imagining things. Surely no one in their right mind would have bought an Avantime, especially not here in sleepy Dorset?

Bergerac (portrayed by Bergerac star Jim Bergerac) tries to put what he saw out of his mind, but the contrived and ultimately disastrous design just keeps running round his brain. Don’t worry, he tells himself, it was just a badly rebodied Espace and they didn’t sell any. The chances of there being an Avantime here in the village are tiny. But it turns out that Bergerac (a stunning performance from Jim Bergerac, who many viewers may remember from the TV series Bergerac) is wrong. The next day whilst killing time filling in some tedious routine paperwork about another six dead hookers who turned out to be the source of the blocked storm drain, our hero glances out of the window and… there it is! The bright green Avantime, almost taunting him with its pointless three door MPV styling!

Bergerac (a refreshing change of direction for the familiar face of actor Jim Bergerac, long associated with the popular TV shows such as Bergerac and Bergerac Nights) quickly makes it his top priority to find out how on earth an Avantime ended up in the village, or indeed anywhere in the UK. His investigations are progressing well and 15 arrests have been made with two deaths in custody when suddenly his world is turned upsidedown by the appearance of… another Avantime, this time a blue one!

Suddenly the case has just become a lot more complicated and Bergerac (the actor and Jersey-based police detective police Jim Bergerac, star of top television police action series Bergerac and author of the acclaimed novel Harry Potter Goes To The Channel Islands And Meets Me, Jim Bergerac) is faced with a mountain of questions. How can there possibly be two Avantimes even in the whole of Britain? What are they doing in just one place? Is this is a conspiracy? A plot to send him mad? Or is his village simply home to an above average number of people whose car buying skills are ruddy useless? Tune in to Bergerac’s The Avantime Mysteries starring The Bloke Off Bergerac (Jim Bergerac) to find out!

Och aye tha noo muthafuckas! Crazy Dave comin’ atcha wit’ tha wickidiwack flava of Red Bull. Taste like tha shit them use to clean tha beer pipe in a pub. So we is on tha summer break fo’ tha F1 and Crazy D, he get them talkin’ wit’ ma bulimiay problem, back in tha day. But I gotta tells yo, there be one part o’ Crazy D tha’s never been painfully thin. Yea, tha ladies know wha’ I be chattin’ about. Fo’ sho’. But it ain’t all about tha D cuz ma homies Nando and Da Ham been dissing each otha. Word on tha street is that Nando, he don’t wanna go join Da Ham an’ Ronnie D on holidayay. Tha’s bad shit man. Of course, if Alonso was simply looking for reasonably priced accommodation he could have checked into my hotel on Sherwood Business Park in Nottingham.

Being an F1 driver isn’t all free sunglasses, expensive nightclubs and bumming supermodels on a big yacht. Oh dear no, there are many tedious promotional duties to take care about, usually ones that your manager forgot to mention until it was too late.

Hence this gem, spotted in an Italian supermarket, featuring a clearly not-that-arsed Giancarlo Fisichella doing a brilliant impression of man who neither knows nor cares what it is he’s plugging, whilst making a mental note to read contractual small print more carefully in future.

If you’ve got an example of a racing driver wearily promoting something whilst the look in their eyes says ‘There are 50,000 other things I would rather be doing that this, and one of them is talking to James Allen’ then please send ‘em in.

The other week we ran this story about Ferrari merchandising getting out of hand. Unfortunately, a few days ago Sniff Petrol ended up in the Rome branch of the Ferrari Store and discovered that the truth is far more horrific than any hastily Photoshopped fiction.

The model cars and framed pictures we can see the point of but who in the name of gilt edged buggery actually wants a pair of Ferrari jeans? In fact, any Ferrari branded clothing is pretty much unacceptable and serves only to tell the world that you quite patently DON’T own a Ferrari. Or that you DO own a Ferrari and are an abysmal bore with some fairly appalling personal status issues that should best be resolved by a painful course of electro-convulsive therapy.

Oh, but if only Prancing Horse polo shirts and Scudieria underpants were the full extent of the problem. Sadly, they’re not. Not whilst for the princely sum of 150 Euros Ferrari will sell you a replica Ferrari key. Yes, a REPLICA FUCKING KEY. Who on earth is signing off this shit and why haven’t they been sacked yet? Unless the hundred quid fake key is actually a trap to weed out the mentally ill and terminally stupid. Otherwise it’s simply a chronic and very sad indication of why Ferrari is now the car equivalent of Burberry. Only not as classy. Jay-sus.

Christ on a BMX, another edition of the splendid Gareth Jones On Speed podcast (featuring the irksome presence of Sniff Petrol) is already with us.

This week, cars made of hemp and Lewis Hamilton does Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.

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