It’s fair to say that as petrolheads, we all owe a debt of thanks to Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond, and James May. Born in 2003, I quite literally grew up watching them. My earliest stand-out memory is their first cross-continent race featuring the then all-new Aston Martin DB9. Watching that race cemented my love for the show, the presenters, and Aston Martin. Granted, the camera quality wasn’t quite what it is now on The Grand Tour, but those tracking shots still set the standard for how to capture cars on film — they captured our hearts too.

Since that episode, watching these three friends, who had a deep, passionate hatred mixed with genuine affection for one another, was what made the show special. Essentially, they travelled the world just to argue while driving anything from the latest supercars to cars that were barely roadworthy.

But for me, it was much more than just that. Throughout my childhood, it was Top Gear that brought my family together on Sunday evenings. Week after week, it became a ritual. For that one hour, we’d share constant laughs — whether it was Clarkson’s theories in the news segment, the trio bickering about who brought the wrong car, or the infamous "some say..." intros for The Stig.

When The Grand Tour was launched, our tradition didn’t change. Every time a new episode dropped, we were there, gathered around the screen. My family aren’t as obsessed with cars as I am, but the joy of the show transcended the cars. It was the presenters we tuned in for.

It’s one of the few programmes that, no matter how you’re feeling, will make you laugh. And that, for me, is the essence of the trio. The cars were just a bonus. On a deflating day, Top Gear or The Grand Tour would lift my spirits.

Personally, I won’t be sad that this chap