I see that The Greatest Living Englishman will be back for a third season of Clarkson’s Farm, and I couldn’t be happier.
Having just binge-watched Season Two (on Amazon Prime), however, I must say that I now understand why Brits aren’t allowed to own AK-47s — because after watching the show-behind-the-show (Jeremy’s clashes with Parliament, the West Oxfordshire Council, and the local village council) which explains in excruciating detail how Britain’s farmers are being fucked six ways to Sunday by all the above, all I wanted to do was reach for mine and do a little hunting.
And not badgers, although they too need to be exterminated. Badgers spread bovine TB, but they’re protected ergo you can’t kill them, so if you’re a cattle farmer, you are essentially powerless and you’re going to go out of business.
Time after time, Jeremy’s attempts to make his farm at least marginally profitable are thwarted by bureaucracy — good grief, just his struggle to “register” newborn calves with their unique ID codes (quoi?) had me climbing out of my seat in frustration. But then there’s this:
Council: All the farm store’s customers’ cars are parking on the roadside verges and causing traffic problems.
Clarkson: Can I put in a gravel parking lot on my own land to accommodate them and end the problem?
Council: No.
And then:
Clarkson: Can I build a small restaurant (using an existing building) that will provide jobs for locals and help the local farmers, all of whom are going to go bankrupt because of government-created problems?
Council: No.
Clarkson: Why not?
Council: Because you don’t have a parking lot to hold the customers’ cars.
If you haven’t watched the series yet, you should — if not at home (because you don’t have Doubleplusgood-Bezos), then at a friend’s- or family member’s house. Apart from the frustrated hatred the show engenders, it’s also wonderfully funny, in a way that only Clarkson can create.
Just lock the guns away first, or a new TV might be in your future.