I’m no fan of Jeremy Clarkson, James May and Richard Hammond – but this end of an era is still jarring

Spare a thought today for middle-aged men around the country, as they experience the centrist dad equivalent of the breakup of the Beatles, the burning of Notre-Dame cathedral, and the disappointing final season of Game of Thrones all rolled into one. If you meet one today, please be kind, as they’re bound to be devastated (to which the only appropriate response is, of course, “hi, bound-to-be-devastated, I’m dad”).

If you haven’t heard the news, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you: Jeremy Clarkson is rumoured to have finally severed ties with longtime friends and collaborators James May and Richard Hammond.

Yes, despite fan speculation that popular Amazon series Clarkson’s Farm, in which the titular Jeremy tries his hand at mucking out pig pens and milking cows, was but a brief solo interlude between collaborations with his Top Gear co-hosts, the presenters have allegedly approved the dissolution of their production company. The development appears to confirm that the trio’s next special episode of The Grand Tour, filmed in Zimbabwe, will be their last.

You try and prepare yourself for days like these, but it doesn’t make it sting any less, you know?

In all seriousness, while it’s easy to be flippant about the breakup of the Three Musketours, there is something very jarring about it. It’s sort of like when your parents split up when you’re already an adult – you’re old enough to understand that nothing lasts forever, and that sometimes grown-ups need to separate in order to grow as individuals, but it still taints your view of the world in a fundamental way.

I’m certainly not the trio’s biggest fan – a few weeks ago I wrote about how Clarkson has done more harm to the ozone layer than refrigerators made in the Fifties, with May and Hammond as his climate-denying back-up dancers – and even I feel a little uneasy about it.

There are some things you expect will always be there, for good or ill. Top Gear – and various not-Top-Gear-but-still-basically-Top-Gear products – were that for me: a reliable bit of light entertainment to stick on in the background when you’re bored enough to put up with James May. For me, and I imagine for most people, the magic of the formula came from how the three men played off each other, so Clarkson’s decision to strike out on his own seems like killing the golden goose.

I can’t really blame him though. Clarkson is raking in the cash with Clarkson’s Farm, which is being hailed as the greatest success in his career, and he’s doing so in a way that doesn’t require him to think of 30 sexual innuendos involving cars per week. Getting to be internationally famous and not having to pretend Richard Hammond is funny? It’s almost too good to be true.

You have to wonder, though, how the others will fare in Clarkson’s absence. They’re certainly keeping themselves busy – May has a series of travel documentaries and Hammond has a show where he restores old cars. But it feels a bit like Clarkson is the Gwen Stefani of the group, and the others are… well, the guys in No Doubt whose names you don’t know.

Clarkson, meanwhile, has even more in the pipeline, having recently purchased a pub in the Cotswolds for £1m, the renovation of which will be the subject of a brand new TV series. So not only will he have television content for years to come, but he’s also establishing new businesses which will make him boatloads of cash well into retirement. I guess it beats almost being murdered by an angry mob in Argentina, or chased out of Alabama by a separate, angrier mob – you know, if you’re not into that sort of thing.

But it’s still the end of an era. So make sure to be extra delicate with the dads and uncles in your life today. Stick a couple of beers in the fridge, buy them a copy of Crocodile Dundee on Blu-ray, and pretend not to know what the difference between leaded and unleaded petrol is so they can spend three hours explaining it to you – it’s the least you can do after what they’ve been through.