Top Gear Cockometer _verified_ May 2026

The true chaos began at a roundabout. Jeremy, refusing to indicate because “everyone knows where I’m going,” saw his rating climb to . The dashboard light turned from amber to flashing red. A new message appeared: “Consider a bicycle.”

Jeremy chose a matte-black Aston Martin Vantage with a titanium exhaust. “I shall be a perfect gentleman,” he lied. top gear cockometer

“Right,” Jeremy began, his voice echoing off the hangar walls. “James, Richard. Look at this. I thought I’d seen everything. A tyre pressure gauge that tells you the weather. A sat-nav that judges your parking. But this…” The true chaos began at a roundabout

James selected a 1998 Volvo V70 diesel, beige, with a broken CD changer. “Zero,” he predicted. “I will be invisible.” A new message appeared: “Consider a bicycle

Then James, silent James, found a long, empty A-road. He glanced at the rearview mirror, smirked—a tiny, forbidden smirk—and planted his foot. The Volvo wheezed from 60 to 78 mph over forty-seven seconds. But the act of trying in a beige box was so profoundly cockish that his meter slowly, inexorably, ticked up to . “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he muttered. The meter ticked to 4.5 for complaining.

James, meanwhile, was stuck at —the car detected a slight smugness in his lane discipline.

Richard picked a bright-orange Porsche 911 GT3 RS. “It’s not me,” he protested. “The car is just… enthusiastic.”