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A Hammond Bun in a Clarkson Oven

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Jeremy leant back against the sculptured deep red velour upholstery, closed his eyes and groaned deeply. Richard grabbed a passing waiter and ordered three more lagers. James was picking apart a poppadom and dipping the broken pieces into each of the dips in the centre of the table.

“Bloody hell May, will you just pick a dip and stick with it.” Hammond snapped, a clear sign that he’d had too much to drink.

James ignored him and carried on dipping in his precise and pedantic manner “I always know when you’re drunk because you start trying to pick a fight with me.” James said placidly.

“Oh just punch him and be done with it.” Jeremy moaned from his corner, “A swift one up the bracket would do him the world of good.”

James raised an eyebrow “Don’t you start in on me Clarkson. Just because your King Prawn Madras is disagreeing with you…”

Jeremy rubbed his stomach “It’s not so much disagreeing with me as it is trying to pick a fight with my colon.”

“Can I punch both of you?” Richard asked hopefully.

An ominous low rumbling emerged from the direction of Jeremy. “I am not getting in a cab with you if you’re going to shit yourself again.” Richard told him pointedly.

“Why do you always have to bring that up? A man soils himself one time and is never allowed to forget it.” Jeremy’s face was screwed up in discomfort but he still managed to look affronted.

“I can’t forget it,” said James, “I still have nightmares about it. I was trapped in the back seat with you.”

“Stop going on about it.” Jeremy grunted, “Fuck. My stomach really hurts.” Jeremy’s cheeks were flushed and beads of sweat were collecting on his forehead.

“God Clarkson, you’re not going to die on us are you?” Even as he spoke, James was pulling his mobile phone out of his pocket.

Jeremy clenched his teeth as another cramp wracked his lower body. “Do you think we should call an ambulance?” Richard asked, but James was already dialling.

Waiters were running around bringing glasses of water, offering profuse apologies and insisting that the shrimp were the finest and freshest in the area to anyone who would listen.

In-between grabbing hold of James’s hand and clamping down tight every time his colon convulsed, Jeremy was busy shouting threats about Food Inspectors and Health and Safety. Apparently he was quite prepared to sue anyone who had ever spoken to him at any point ever in the past 24 hours. James and Richard were quite relieved as this clearly meant he wasn’t going to die anytime soon.

A paramedic car was the first to the scene. He took Jeremy’s pulse and asked “Is his stomach usually this distended?”

Richard laughed “If you mean does he always look about 8 months pregnant? The answer is yes.”

“Bugger off Hamster. Don’t your teeth need re-whitening or something?” Jeremy snarled.

“Easy Jezza.” James said soothingly “Hammond, make yourself useful.”

“How exactly?” Richard asked “Bring hot water? Towels? I assume the fat git is finally going into labour?”

Jeremy moaned and the paramedic laid him back gently on the floor, with James putting a seat cushion under his head. The waiters had been busy clearing the restaurant of patrons, if Jeremy Clarkson was about to die from a King Prawn Madras at their establishment, they didn’t want it to happen under the scrutiny of the public gaze.

The paramedic lifted Jeremy’s shirt and with warm, practised hands, he prodded Jeremy’s swollen gut. The paramedic, who’s name was also Richard, was an old hand at the job. He’d seen pretty much everything in his sixteen years of service, but even this was a mystery to him. His forehead wrinkled as he frowned deeply and pressed harder on Jeremy’s stomach.

“Jeremy,” the paramedic started “Can I call you Jeremy?”

“You can call me Margaret Thatcher for all I fucking care at the moment, just please stop this pain.”

“Jeremy is there anything about you I should know?”

“Like what exactly?” Jeremy grunted.

“What are you asking?” James was puzzled, but not as puzzled the paramedic.

“Look I’ve been doing this job for sixteen years and you’re the first pregnant man I’ve ever come across. So either you’re a medical marvel, or there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Richard started laughing “He always looks pregnant.”

“No,” the paramedic shook his head and started unbuttoning Jeremy’s jeans, “He is pregnant and he is in labour.”

“What the fuck?” James looked shocked “Are you a woman Jeremy?”

“Medical marvel! Medical marvel!” Shouted Jeremy and squeezed James’ hand hard enough for James to let out a yelp of pain. And as Jeremy’s jeans and underwear were removed it became clear that he most definitely was all man.

“How the hell is he pregnant? And how the hell is he going to give birth?” asked James “My knowledge of anatomy maybe some what patchy, but isn’t he missing a few fundamentals?”

“Look mate,” said the paramedic, “I can’t explain it, and the ambulance that was attending has been involved in a road traffic collision and they’re not going to get here anytime soon. This man is in labour and any second now, he’s going to give birth. I guess we’ll find the out the how together. Now did someone mention hot water and towels?”

James turned to Richard, but Richard was standing with his jaw open, silently mouthing words. “Hammond!” James slapped Richard’s cheek and he stopped doing his goldfish impression.

Richard started to colour up, “I think I know, well maybe, how…” his thought trailed off as Jeremy, who was still on the floor, grunted “If you say one word Hamster I swear I’ll kill you.”

But James was a little more on the ball than either of his co-presenters gave him credit for. “Oh God, you mean you had sex with Clarkson.” Richard looked away, ashamed. “That’s revolting.” James was aghast.

Jeremy was lying back on the floor, naked from the waist down, knees bent and legs apart while the paramedic donned his non-latex gloves and tried to work out where Jeremy’s birth canal was.

“It’s not what you think.” Said Richard

“Oh so you didn’t shag Jezza up the arse and get him pregnant with your bum baby?” said James accusingly.

“Okay maybe it is what you think.”

“God I don’t know what’s worse: the thought of you two ‘at it’, or a baby with Clarkson/Hammond genes. It’ll be a monstrosity. It’ll consist entirely of teeth and hair.”

Richard was now sat in a chair with his head in his hands chanting “This isn’t happening, this is not happening.” Over and over again like a mantra.

Over on the floor Jeremy was bellowing like a bull elephant at a watering hole. James knelt down beside the paramedic, Jeremy was still squeezing his hand tightly “I hate to be indecorous at such a trying time, but it does seem to me that there is one rather obvious passage for the,” he swallowed hard even as he tried to say the word, “baby, to emerge from.”

The paramedic nodded, “I’m way ahead of you.” And he pushed Jeremy’s legs up even higher.

James looked over at Richard “Hammond, given that you are partially responsible for the situation, do you not think you should be the one holding Jeremy’s hand. After all you’ve had more experience with this sort of thing than I have.”

“I do not want Hamster any where near me!” Yelled Jeremy “He’s done enough already.”

The paramedic was trying to get Jeremy to breathe and pant through his contractions but Jeremy was too busy shouting abusive epithets at all and sundry.

Jeremy yelled again and it was followed by a loud explosive and very wet-sounding fart. “The baby’s crowning.” Said the paramedic “You’re doing really well Jeremy, now try and push for me.”

“Oh for fucks sake! I feel like I’m shitting out a water melon! God Hammond I’m going to kill you.”

James was trying to avoid looking at any part of Jeremy, especially the part that was getting wider and rounder and appeared to have some slime-covered alien baby emerging from it.

“You were the one who wanted me to take you from behind,” Richard was finally taking part in the proceedings, “You said you spent all your time fantasizing about what it would be like. You didn’t tell me you were a freak of nature.”

“Medical marvel!” Jeremy panted insistently as his rectum widened to a size seldom seen outside of specialist pornographic media.

“Push a little harder for me Jeremy, here it comes.” The paramedic was taking it all in his stride, as if he delivered mutant off-spring from Top Gear presenters’ arseholes everyday.

“I can’t believe all this time you were accusing me of being a predatory homosexual, Hammond was riding you bareback.”

“Now is not the time to be discussing my homosexualistic tendencies!”” Jeremy shouted “Oh God get it out of me!” he roared.

“It’s nearly here, one more push Jeremy.” Cried the excited paramedic.

Jeremy grunted and swore and threatened to castrate Richard if he so much as looked in his general direction and then, suddenly, all was silent.

Jeremy’s breathing was ragged, but he was quiet now and he released James’s hand, much to James’s relief. “Congratulations,” the paramedic handed Jeremy a small bundle wrapped in the tea towels Richard had purloined from the restaurant staff a short time ago, “It’s a Stig.”

Jeremy looked into the bundle of tea towels and a small white helmet with a black visor was gazing back at him. “Awww,” said Jeremy, “Sweeeet.”