When  ended in 2024 with the departure of its grizzled titans Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond and James May, it felt safe to assume that that was the end of that, and  was no more. This was, after all, a show that revolved far more around the chemistry between its presenters than it did the cars they drove with wild, and sometimes careless, abandon.

But now is back, returning to Prime Video with three new presenters: James Engelsman, Thomas Holland and Francis Bourgeois. What great fortune for each to find themselves helming such a behemoth, but is there a more poisoned chalice in television right now? No matter how good they prove to be, they’ll be compared – unfavourably – with their forefathers.

“People are totally justified in their fears,” says Holland, a Canadian who looks uncannily like singer Rufus Wainwright (also Canadian). “So we get it, we do. This is a difficult gig. But we’re fans of it too, and that informs everything we are trying to do here.”

It’s early September, and the three heirs apparent are nestled within an upmarket London hotel for an extended meet-the-press charm offensive. They sit upon chairs close enough together to put one in mind of a school assembly, knees neatly aligned. Bourgeois – a TikToker best known for his love of trains – is the palpable rabbit in the headlights, while Engelsman and Holland have form, having presented their own driving show, , on YouTube for several years.

“There was never a moment we thought we’d end up doing this, though,” says Holland. Engelsman, a Brit, adds: “But there is very much a sentiment amongst the automotive creative world that the top version of what we do is . So to be called up was amazing.”

It’s easy to see why Holland and Engelsman got the gig. Both ably fulfil the necessary stereotype of authoritative chaps who look good against a car with arms folded to emphasise their bicep definition. But it is Bourgeois who represents the real wild card. He is either an inspired choice for such an alpha male space, or else the biggest curveball appointment in television history. While he is essentially reprising James May’s role as the studious geek obsessed with engineering, his unlikely leading man qualities means that he will get the lion’s share of attention. “Ah,” he says. “No. I’m very much not an [obvious] Clarkson at all.”

“He can be very boisterous when he wants to be, though,” Engelmann adds.

Back in 2020, Bourgeois, then barely 20, was busy filming himself – often with a GoPro camera strapped to his forehead, pointing tauntingly down his nose – on various train platforms across the country while getting terribly excited at the imminent arrival of a train pulling into the station. These films he would upload onto TikTok, thereby bringing the niche pastime of trainspotting to an initially confused new generation.

But all this, he tells me now, was an accident. “As far as I was concerned, I was going to become a civil engineer working on HS2.” So what went wrong? Engelmann answers for him. “HS2 did.”

Bourgeois’ content went unexpectedly viral. There is, of course, a long tradition in this country of viewing trainspotters with a certain arching of the eyebrows. Bless them, these cagoule-wearing men (and they are usually men) who spend so much of their downtime on rainy train platforms jotting down the numbers of all the individual engines that go by. Bourgeois’ youth made him an outlier in this environment, and transformed him into the most unlikely star. You don’t have to enjoy trains to enjoy Bourgeois, so infectious is his geeky enthusiasm.

He confesses to surprise at the unlikely turn of events in his life since. “Sometimes I think it’s all down to my cat.” Beside him, his co-hosts raise eyebrows. “He passed away days before I uploaded my first video, and I like to think he’s been watching over me ever since, a spirit guide, my guardian angel. These past seven months of filming with my new friends here,” he says, referencing Engelsman and Holland, “has been like a bonkers school trip.”

has been revived for one very obvious reason: like before it, it is one of the most popular television shows on the planet. Shown in 240 countries, it is easily translated, and hungrily consumed. With the original presenters’ departure – a long time coming, but a surprise nonetheless – the producers were loathe to let the brand die.

’s initial success, like that of , was of course predicated on its USP: its presenters. No matter how tired so many of us had grown of Hammond and May, and of Clarkson in particular, they were objectively brilliant in the job, their crotchety banter at once enervating yet curiously comforting. You could watch their episodes – often set against beautiful backdrops like Botswana or Argentina – and happily forget that for good chunks of each episode the car was supposed to be the star.

In their absence, however, you are bluntly reminded that this show really is about motors: about how fast they go, how large their engines, and how smoothly they take the kind of corners most of us will never encounter on a weekend trip to Sainsbury’s.

This new series does not tamper with the basic format. It continues to globe-trot (Malaysia, Angola, the US), and to race vehicles they think are better than their competitors’. Sometimes, they break down. They almost always burn rubber.

There’s a familiar humour, too, which can feel scripted, and not entirely unlike panto. In the first episode, for example, the trio arrive at Clarkson’s Diddly Squat farm, where they encounter, as if by accident, the man himself. Clarkson, who is busy with farm business, barely gives them the time of day, but does peer over his readers to encourage them in gruffly avuncular style not to “f*** it up”.

“Having his blessing,” Bourgeois says, “was like a superpower for us, and really important.”

As the first ones hired, Engelsman and Holland were involved in the audition process for a third presenter. “We saw a lot of people,” says Engelsman. Any women? Holland nods. “Yes, lots, and a lot of massively talented people. But then Francis turned up, and he was just better.” And he might be right. Where Engelsman and Holland are witty and droll, it is Bourgeois – as much an expert on cars as he is trains – who emerges as the unlikely secret weapon. He is a singular delight, boyish and with an infectious giddy excitement.

The opening episode takes us to California, where the presenters drive their respective rides – a Corvette, a Mustang, and something called a Venom – before competing with one another in a series of challenges that each hope will not end in a fatal pile-up. (“There are no stunts for stunts’ sake,” Holland insists.) Former F1 driver Jenson Button turns up at one point, and the episode ends in traditional Clarkson-May-Hammond fashion: outdoor boozer, pints of beer, sun setting handsomely behind them. If it ain’t broke, etc.

On the evidence of this first episode, 2.0 is a success. It continues to do precisely what it says on the tin. Whether fans of the brand will accept this new era, however, remains to be seen. “We’re not the owners of the show, but mere custodians,” says Holland cautiously.

Sitting on their chairs in front of me, the veracity of their friendship evident, I nevertheless wonder who among them is the leader, the de facto Clarkson. Every band needs a singer, after all. They look at one another in silent consultation. Bourgeois speaks first. “We all sing at the same volume, just in different tones,” he says.

Holland: “And we’re great at three-part harmonies.”

‘The Grand Tour’ is streaming on Prime Video