top gear guy lego house

top gear guy lego house

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Top Gear Guy Lego House


This was being constructed just down the road from me so I thought I'd sign up to help. James' TV series takes iconic toys and creates something epic out of them. As well as the house pictured here the show has made a Meccano bridge over a canal, the longest Scalextric track in the world (also just down the road at the Brooklands historic race track) and the longest Hornby railway. James May's Toy Stories will be aired around Christmas-time 2009 on the BBC. Building tables: Hundreds of people turned up (a lot of them TopGear 'fans' who were absolutely insane, proudly showing me pictures on their mobiles of the back of Richard Hammond's head) to help with the build at Denbies Wine Estate. The bit I was in was probably a garden centre the rest of the year, so people will no doubt be finding bricks in their plants for years to come. I even thought about going back and scrounging for leftovers, not that I'm sad an wanted to 'save' the lost bricks or anything... Completed bricks made from Lego, er, bricks: This is what we were building, giant bricks which the house would be assembled from.

A bit different from my usual large scale vehicles! I spoke to James (briefly) about how I thought he was going to get wet if it rained - as we all know Lego isn't water-proof (well none of my Lego ships ever floated anyway!) - I later found out my prediction of a moist May came to fruition when he used the shower; the water ended up in his kitchen! Free-build tables: 3 million bricks to build what you liked for the house. Before moving on to making the bricks for the walls I had a go here, but it was actually not as good as it looks; the bricks were all the same (e.g. all the red bricks were 2x2s, all the white 2x4s etc) so it was difficult to build anything decent. Most of the items in the house look like they were made to order at a later date. The contents of the house are brilliant, and also look very 'Lego-y' using very basic bricks - great inspiration for future MOCs! There are some links below which will take you to detailed shots of the house interior. James' bed: The finished bedroom complete with Mr. May.

He seemed a bit bored at the building day (although maybe he's always like that!) - the novelty of 3 million Lego bricks soon wares off! He was also constantly harassed by TopGear fans (not car or Lego fans mind, just fans of the TopGear 'brand'), which kinda made me think how shallow the whole celebrity culture is; I'm quite glad I didn't ask for his autograph or anything. I hope you've enjoyed looking at the pictures of James' house. I was just one of many pairs of hands used for the monkey work, but it was great to be part of such an inspiring project. The house has now been dismantled as they needed �50,000 to keep it. However, the bricks have been shipped to Legoland for use in challenges there. If you go you could be playing with bricks which were part of James' bed, shower or toilet in a previous life. -The main and last photos were not taken by me and can be found on the TopGear website. -Check out the flickr gallery for pictures of the build process here. -And finally, check out Kevin Cooper's page here on MOCpages.

He built some of the items which ended up inside the house, including the amazing Transformers centerpiece. James May's Toy Stories will air in December 2009. Cameras were present throughout the building but I think I escaped getting filmed (I'll find out when I watch the show!). I won't be able to see the parts I built, but it's cool to know they're in there somewhere... Thanks for viewing and Happy BuildingHidden Figures hero Katherine Johnson now has her own Lego figure Amazon’s pilot season includes shows from Amy Sherman-Palladino and Steve Dildarian Why are there so many TV shows about time travel right now? Adam Pally still talks to his Happy Endings costars every dayHow did you feel when Jeremy Clarkson thumped a BBC producer last year? James May looks at me testily across the table of this west London pub, like I’ve just reversed my Toyota Yaris into his Ferrari. “In retrospect,” he says, “it wasn’t a glorious moment.” But how did you feel?

After all, Clarksongate resulted not just in Clarkson getting sacked, but you quitting Top Gear, thereby nearly writing off one of BBC Worldwide’s most lucrative global franchises. I was a bit pissed off – because it made my life more complicated. That was the main problem.” One complication was that May had just placed an order for a bright orange, limited-edition 2014 Ferrari 458 Speciale, worth more than £200,000 and capable of 0-60mph in three seconds. How was he going to pay for it now that he and Richard Hammond had decided to quit the show following Clarkson’s sacking? The 53-year-old’s main source of income had dried up. Am I going to get a “Boo-hoo”? Probably not: May has four other cars in his fleet, including another Ferrari, as well as scores of motorcycles, a Brompton bicycle – and a £120,000 Super Decathlon light aircraft. Then there are his homes in London and Wiltshire. But the big mystery is why May and Hammond didn’t, like their Cabinet namesakes, stage a coup.

Couldn’t they have carried on presenting Top Gear without Clarkson? “There were noises all round. I don’t know to what extent they wanted us to stay. I quickly realised the best outcome for us was to stay together because that’s what our fans want. They’re our first loyalty and our first love.” May thinks the global car show franchise he fronted with Clarkson and Hammond for 11 years was successful not because of the motors but because of “the sitcom element”, as he calls it. “I was a car journalist when I started on Top Gear. It was all about cars. And then it all spun out of all control and we turned into figures of ridicule to keep the viewers happy. It’s a fair deal, I suppose.” What is the sitcom element? “We work because we hate each other. That’s the magic formula. It doesn’t work for bands. I think it works for groups of TV presenters. We get on each other’s tits massively.” Do you socialise off screen? “We try not to. So the on-screen animosity is real?

“It’s camped-up pantomime, but the differences are real. I don’t know if we’d connect if we hadn’t been thrown together. We’re not really meant to be together. But that’s why it works.” Would it work if one of you was a woman or would that destroy the dynamic? “It would probably challenge our slightly stuckist nature, yes. Which may be an exaggeration for the purposes of telly, but must have been to some extent real because these things always are.” Slightly stuckist is right – if too charitable. When May has presented TV shows with women, the banter has been minimal. When he, Ant Anstead and Kate Humble presented Building Cars Live last year, Humble didn’t call him “an old woman” as Clarkson did on Top Gear. Without wishing to get too PC, it’s through such banter that society’s sexist norms get gently reinforced. May demurs: “We’re not talking about serious social and political comment. It’s entertainment themed around cars. Let’s not forget this.

We don’t have much of an agenda apart from amazing and amusing people. I used to have a book called Amaze and Amuse Your Friends, with card tricks and jokes and things. That’s all we do.” So how would the three non-amigos amaze and amuse anyone once they’d left the BBC? After Clarksongate, they came up with a cunning plan that would, among other things, pay for May’s new Ferrari. They set up a production company called W Chump & Sons Ltd and gave themselves a trio of three-wheeled Reliant Robins in company livery. Then Amazon came knocking with, if reports are correct, wheelbarrows of cash. It wanted a piece of W Chump & Sons. “They want to own one of the world’s most popular shows,” explains May. “Without wishing to sound conceited, there’s definitely some of that. But also, I’m fairly confident we will spearhead a more general spread of streamed TV services.”Top Gear is a BBC format. Amazon couldn’t buy that from Chump & Sons, since it wasn’t theirs to sell.

Instead, what Amazon has bought is something called The Grand Tour, a car show filmed across the globe (California, South Africa and, in the third episode, the peerless chip shops of Whitby), featuring a travelling tent big enough to contain a studio audience. Is The Grand Tour different from Top Gear then? The format is slightly different. The tone of it is very slightly different because the tent moves around the world so that, rather than people coming to it, we go to them. It has a local feel. But if you do watch, you’re not going to be in any way baffled by how much it’s changed. It will seem very comfortable.” Will they take in Argentina? After all, the three stooges caused a diplomatic incident there during filming for Top Gear in 2013. They were attacked for turning up with a Porsche whose number plate – H982 FKL – was seen as a reference to Britain’s victory in the 1982 Falklands conflict. In the resulting unpleasantness, the three presenters took a helicopter to safety.

It was embarrassing, not least because it was left to the more modestly paid crew to remain behind with the cars and defend that oxymoron, British honour. “On the whole, we had a very nice time in Argentina,” says May. “ It was only that bit at the bottom where we were very badly misunderstood. So yes I’m sure we would go back. We haven’t planned to, though.” What went so wrong that DJ Chris Evans felt compelled to quit Top Gear after replacing you three this year? Why did ratings plummet? “He kept wearing the same jumper,” says May evasively. Is ex-Friends actor Matt Le Blanc the guy to save the show? You see, I want them to succeed. I want there to be two great car programmes as a result of this. We’re all idiots if we can’t do that. Maybe they’ll end up with three women on it – I don’t know.” But when Bake Off’s Sue Perkins was touted as a possible host, she got death threats on Twitter. One difference is the budget. Reports are that it is10 times that of Top Gear’s.

“It’s not 10 times. It’s a little bit bigger but this is a more expensive show to make. The tent, the extra travel, doing it in 4K.” Hopefully, too, the catering budget is more lavish so Clarkson doesn’t get punchy again. Have you got him reined in? “He’s got himself reined in, I think.” Reportedly, I say, you’re earning the least of the three non-amigos. I pass May a piece of paper quoting the Radio Times. He puts on his glasses and examines it as carefully as Homer Simpson studying the dessert menu. It says: “His estimated earnings are £10 million, about one-third those of Jeremy Clarkson and £5 million less than Richard Hammond, but still the kind of bank balance that signposts a moderately drop-dead company car befitting the trio’s multi-gazillion pound incarnation with Amazon Prime.” Any facts you dispute? “Yes, all of them! I don’t earn £10 million. I have my own car. I don’t know what a gazillion is.” He removes his glasses. “We don’t actually lead a rock’n’roll lifestyle.

There’s no cocaine in the navels of hookers. I want you to write that there was a note of regret in my voice.” I look at May sidelong, assessing his floral shirt. Years ago, I had a beautiful Paul Smith shirt with blue and gold leaves, but I had to donate it to charity because I saw May on telly, unacceptably wearing the same model. “Well, I can see that would be a problem,” May concedes genially. “Mine was involved in a tragic accident in New Zealand where I fell off a bar and ripped it. I kept the wreckage hoping that one day it could be sewn back together. I love that shirt.” May has made a career doing stuff that doesn’t sound like work. He did a show called Oz and James Drink to Britain, in which he and wine critic Oz Clarke spent licence-fee money hiring and driving a Rolls-Royce convertible to drink in pubs and vineyards. For another show, he built a full-size house from Lego and a Meccano motorbike and sidecar. In James May’s Big Ideas, he was strapped to a jet-pack filled with hydrogen peroxide and hovered for a few minutes above a Sussex garden.

It’s your fault, I suggest, that British men are so mimsy, and we no longer have a decent engineering industry. He looks at me dumbfounded. We men, I explain, thinking of his recent show The Reassembler, have become voyeurs of people like you who repair engines and guitars rather than doing it ourselves. And your car shows involve us fetishising cars that we couldn’t dream of fixing, let alone manufacturing. “I know what you mean about the voyeuristic thing,” he says. “But I think the problem for a lot of blokes – and my dad is a great example, having worked in industry and run steel foundries – is this: the idea of a man having a shed and going there to repair the lawnmower and make a piece of furniture has gone.” May doesn’t think this is a bad thing. “What it’s been replaced by is the rise of men’s enthusiasm for cooking. It’s actually the same process: the kitchen is the workshop, the utensils are the tools. And the great thing is that it’s all happening in the home.