Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol is a timeless classic, filled with moral lessons, poignant reflections, and festive cheer. Now, imagine all of that being completely derailed by Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond, and James May stepping into the roles of the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future. What follows is a scripted journey where everything goes hilariously wrong, Scrooge learns absolutely nothing, and the spirit of Christmas takes a back seat to chaos.

A Christmas Carol: The Grand Tour Edition

Scene 1: Scrooge Meets Clarkson, the Ghost of Christmas Past

Scrooge’s bedroom. Ebenezer Scrooge, a grumpy miser, is woken by a deafening revving sound outside his window.

Scrooge: (groaning) What fresh hell is this?

Jeremy Clarkson bursts through the window in a cloud of exhaust smoke, holding a steering wheel like a sceptre.

Clarkson: (booming) Ebenezer Scrooge! I am the Ghost of Christmas Past, here to remind you of the glory days before… well, all this nonsense.

Scrooge: (coughing) What nonsense?

Clarkson: Everything! Speed limits! Electric cars! Vegan mince pies! We’re going back to a time when Christmas was proper. Follow me.

Clarkson drags Scrooge to a vintage car parked outside. It stalls immediately.

Clarkson: (kicking the wheel) Bloody thing! Never trust a car built after 1975.

Scrooge: (dryly) Inspiring start.

They finally get the car running and arrive at young Scrooge’s childhood. Instead of a touching memory, they crash into a school sports day where Scrooge is humiliated in a sack race.

Clarkson: (laughing) Look at you! Like a tortoise on its back. You’ve always been a bit rubbish, haven’t you?

Scrooge: (gritting his teeth) Is this supposed to teach me something?

Clarkson: Yes—life was better when people weren’t whinging about fairness. Now let’s move on before this car runs out of fuel.

Scene 2: Hammond, the Ghost of Christmas Present, Makes a Mess

Scrooge’s room again. This time, Richard Hammond bursts in wearing a too-big Santa suit, tripping over the hem and landing face-first on the floor.

Hammond: (cheerfully) Merry Christmas, Ebenezer! I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present! Ready to see what you’re missing out on?

Scrooge: (glaring) Not particularly.

Hammond pulls out a remote control and summons a souped-up sleigh outside the window. They hop on, but Hammond crashes it into a lamppost. Both emerge covered in snow.

Scrooge: (sarcastically) Excellent driving.

They arrive at the Cratchit household, where the family is enjoying a modest Christmas dinner.

Hammond: Look at them, Scrooge! Despite your stinginess, they’re making the best of it. Aren’t they inspiring?

Hammond accidentally steps on the turkey, flattening it.

Bob Cratchit: (horrified) My bird!

Hammond: (holding up a squashed leg) Uh… salvageable?

Scrooge rolls his eyes as Hammond attempts to explain the joys of Christmas, spilling mulled wine everywhere in the process.

Hammond: (grinning) The point is, they’re happy even though they’ve got nothing. Unlike you, grumpy guts.

Scrooge: (dryly) They had a turkey before you arrived.

Scene 3: May, the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, Gets It All Wrong

The room is now eerily dark. James May materialises in a long black cloak, carrying a glowing gearstick like a staff. He stands silently for an uncomfortably long time.

Scrooge: (waving) Are you going to say something, or…?

May: (finally) No. It’s more effective if I don’t. Follow me.

May walks painfully slowly to a futuristic scene. They’re supposed to visit a grim, dystopian future, but May’s navigation leads them to an industrial estate instead.

Scrooge: (looking around) This is just a warehouse.

May: (checking a map) Oh. Right. Um, this way.

They eventually find a graveyard. May points to a tombstone dramatically. The name on it reads: “Ebenezer Strooge.”

Scrooge: (sighing) You misspelled my name.

May: (shrugging) Budget cuts.

May launches into a dry monologue about Scrooge’s wasted life, but his monotone delivery puts Scrooge to sleep.

Final Scene: Scrooge’s Redemption (Sort Of)

Back in his bedroom, Scrooge wakes up, more annoyed than enlightened.

Scrooge: (grumbling) I’ve been dragged through three lifetimes of nonsense, and for what?

He stomps to the butcher’s to buy a turkey for the Cratchits, but they’re sold out. Instead, he sends them a frozen pizza.

Later, Scrooge sits in front of the fire with the three ghosts. Clarkson and Hammond are arguing about who ruined the sleigh, while May sips tea quietly.

Scrooge: (mutters) Worst Christmas ever.

Clarkson: (ignoring him) What we’ve learned, Ebenezer, is that Christmas is about chaos, excess, and doing things your way. Which is basically how we live every day.

Hammond: (grinning) Exactly! Welcome to the club, Scrooge.

They all clink glasses as Scrooge sighs heavily.

The End. (Sort Of.)

This Grand Tour-style A Christmas Carol might not leave Scrooge a better man, but it would definitely leave audiences in hysterics. After all, if anyone can turn a moralistic tale of redemption into a scripted fiasco, it’s Clarkson, Hammond, and May.

God help us, everyone.

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Dwight Warner

Dwight Warner is the quintessential oddball Brit, with a weirdly American-sounding name, who has a knack for turning the mundane into the extraordinary. Hailing originally from London, now living in the sleepy depths of Lincolnshire but claiming an allegiance to the absurd, Dwight has perfected the art of finding the surreal in real life. Whether it’s a spirited rant about the philosophical implications of queueing or a deep dive into why tea tastes better in a mug older than you, his blogs blur the line between the abstract and the everyday.

With an irreverent wit and a penchant for tangents that somehow come full circle, Dwight Warner doesn’t just write; he performs on the page. His humour is both sharp and delightfully nonsensical, like Monty Python met your nosiest neighbour and they decided to co-write a diary.

Known for being gregarious, Dwight is the life of any (real or metaphorical) party, whether he’s deconstructing the existential crisis of mismatched socks or sharing his inexplicable theories about why pigeons are secretly running the economy.

A larger-than-life personality with a laugh as loud as his opinions, Dwight Warner invites readers to step into a world where everything’s slightly askew—and that’s exactly how he likes it.