On a warm summer morning in the English countryside, the car park at Jeremy Clarkson’s now-famous pub is already overflowing. It’s 11 a.m., opening time, yet visitors are spilling over into an additional lot shaded by 100-year-old trees.
It’s all part of the daily spectacle at the Diddly Squat Pub & Farm Shop — a quirky extension of Clarkson’s hit Amazon series Clarkson’s Farm that has turned a once modest village pub into a full-blown pilgrimage site for fans of the larger-than-life broadcaster, motoring icon, and now, outspoken champion of British farming.
Farm-to-Fork, Clarkson Style
While reservations for the restaurant book out months in advance, visitors are hardly left hungry. On-site food trucks dish out thousands of hearty bacon and sausage rolls each day — though don’t ask for ketchup. The reason? According to Clarkson’s fiercely British rule, if a product can’t be sourced fully within Britain, it’s off the menu.
For about $9 (£7) you get a bacon bun — dry by some measures but redeemed by top-quality pork — and a handful of chips cooked and branded under Clarkson’s own label. Sausages are an even bigger hit, described by one regular as “bloody good,” though they’ll set you back a few more pounds.
“Everywhere you look, it’s local,” said one visitor munching on a sausage roll near the old windmill building that now houses the shop and pub. “It’s overpriced, sure, but you’re paying for the experience — and to say you’ve been where Clarkson drinks.”
A Farm Shop and a TV Legacy
For the few who don’t know, Jeremy Clarkson rose to global fame as the brash, larger-than-life host of the BBC’s Top Gear before launching The Grand Tour on Amazon Prime. When he traded supercars for sheep, his Cotswolds farm became the subject of Clarkson’s Farm, a surprise hit that turned him into an unlikely voice for struggling British farmers.
At the Diddly Squat site, fans queue to snap up Hawkstone Lager and cider, his signature brews. A dozen bottles cost upwards of $40, while a special cider gift pack might set you back nearly $20. It’s not cheap, but there’s no tax or tipping here — and certainly no shortage of customers willing to carry crates back to the car park (though they’re warned not to trust the flimsy plastic handles).
Inside, the old Grand Tour tent serves as the bustling farm shop. Shelves brim with local meat, fresh produce, handmade sausage rolls and pasties, and of course, Clarkson’s cheekily branded “cow juice” — fresh milk, closed only when the local dairy farmer takes a rare break.
No Sauce, No Complaints — Well, Almost
Clarkson’s strong opinions don’t stop at farm policy. In typical tongue-in-cheek fashion, he’s famously banned people for minor offenses: complaining about a £24 steak pie, disapproving of smoking, or simply being fellow TV hosts like Richard Hammond and James May.
While some grumble about the steep prices — and one local famously got barred after ranting online — most visitors seem charmed by the spectacle. Dogs are welcome; moaners, less so.
A Pub with a View
Beyond the celebrity factor, there’s real charm in the setting. The terrace looks out over rolling Oxfordshire hills and farmland. On cooler evenings, guests gather inside the rustic pub, spread across two levels with roaring fireplaces and tractor parts hanging whimsically from the rafters.
Locals say the place serves about 1,000 meals daily outside the trucks, with another 850 guests fed in the main restaurant on busy weekends. During peak Clarkson’s Farm release days, the car parks swell to hold up to 15,000 visitors.
Yet despite the crowds, the atmosphere stays surprisingly relaxed. Visitors from as far away as Ireland come for the Clarkson lore but stay for the views — and the feeling that they’re helping keep a piece of British agriculture alive.
Beyond the Gimmick
To Clarkson’s credit, the venture isn’t just about selling pricey beer and bacon baps. By showcasing produce from surrounding farms, he’s forged an unlikely alliance with local suppliers, giving small businesses a platform in a region where agriculture has long struggled to stay afloat.
“Say what you like about Clarkson, but he’s done more to put British farming on the map than anyone else in years,” said one farmer browsing the butcher counter.
As the sun sets behind the ancient oaks shading the pub car park, it’s clear this is more than a novelty pit stop for petrolheads. For many, it’s a slice of rustic English charm — part TV circus, part genuine farm shop, and all infused with that unmistakable Clarkson bravado.
