My Honest Thoughts on Clarkson’s Farm

Like marmite infused with soy sauce, he’s a man more people hate than love. Controversy follows him wherever he goes and there are few nations on Earth that haven’t been directly offended by something that’s come out of his mouth. The bottom line is, he is an entertainer. Clarkson may well be branded as a presenter but his schtick is clearly documentaries draped in comedy. His reputation from the days of ‘top of the gears’ mean that even if you despise the bloke, it’s sometimes difficult to completely ignore him.

To hear he’d sold out and made an entire documentary series about farming, I was hesitant. James May’s cooking show was irrelevant and Hammond made a survival show so forgettable, it basically got lost. As a resident of ‘Britain’s bread basket’, my East Anglian blood was weirdly drawn to this premise though. Knowing Clarkson, I expected this to be an ego-flailing, petrol heavy, environmental disaster. What was the reality? Well, here are my thoughts.

Spoilers, if you hadn’t realised already.

Genuine problems made for authentic viewing.

Anyone who has watched the car show, and who don’t look up when someone says gullible is written on the ceiling, will know that many of his elaborate capers are staged. It’s an entertainment product and at the end of the day, he’s not hurting anyone. Besides all the people he’s offended over the years. With Clarkson’s Farm, his elaborate tractor and random desire to buy a flock of sheep are clearly side gags with the artistic licence wand being waved. However, the real entertainment for me wasn’t the overly unnecessarily drawn out set pieces that caught the imagination, it was when life came at Clarkson real fast. The legitimately vile English weather was one of the main villains but no producer or director could have created clouds out of thin air. We all remember that damp autumn of 2019 followed by the scorching spring of lockdown in 2020. There was no fabricating the anguish of being in the hands of the gods and needing to simply wait. Likewise, I’m certain that when the series spawned two summers ago, a global pandemic wasn’t planned to serve as one of the main obstacles. Clarkson’s problems were real, rather than scripted and that for me gave it an undeniable sense of jeopardy.

The joy of an unreliable narrator.

The charm of Clarkson’s farm is that you’re not witnessing a fresh face in your TV screen. His reputation goes before him so you can preempt largely what his reactions would be. It’s his story told from his perspective but the blatant entertainment value is knowing that he’s rarely right. Cheerful Charlie is always portrayed as the burden of truth but his good cop to Clarkson’s bad cop only makes their dynamic more intriguing. Little old Caleb is made out to be merely a foetus but could probably name every blade of grass on Jeremy’s land. Clarkson’s approach to being the all knowing king surrounded by peasants just makes it all the more comical when his castle comes crumbling down around him. But let’s be clear, most of this is staging. Jeremy is an undoubtedly intelligent man and sometimes his hair-brained capers do seem stretched. It keeps the viewers eyes peeled but the light between caricature and reality is hazy. Still, the perspective of Clarkson arrogantly believing everything is under control is what makes such compelling viewing.

A frank approach to vegetarianism.

The Clarkson we know detests anything green, unless it’s a Jag. The very notion of veganism would send shivers down his spine. So imagine my surprise at a genuinely tear jerking moment at the abattoir. The man simply wanted to say one last farewell to three ewes he’d befriended but it was all too late. They were already gone. Tonally, this moment banged as it pulled right at the heartstrings. Macho Clarkson genuinely crestfallen by the slaughter of some sheep. All of a sudden, the motivation for vegetarianism could not be clearer. Ironically, and arguably controversially, eating his very own home made shepherds pie was the perfect way to round the episode. It struck home the unfortunate truth that farming can be unforgiving and it’s best to distance yourself from livestock rather than personify them. In a dark way, it was the circle of farming life dished up on a plate. For me, what this proved, is that vegetarianism is far from an alien concept and very much a personal choice. For a farmer at least, it’s a near enough impossible choice to make.

An unexpected aptitude for wilding.

Yes, he brands environmentalists as sweaty and hairy. Yes, he finds the biggest, most carbon emitting tractor he could get his hands on. Yes, he’s spent his career burning fossil fuels like there’s no tomorrow. But, the focus on benefitting biodiversity could not be stronger. Sure, it may have been a directorial decision to devote an entire episode about wilding, but Clarkson didn’t have to agree to it. He didn’t have to plant field margins and wildlife corridors. But he did. The very idea of Clarkson getting giddy over a baby barn owl absolutely boggled my mind. His understanding of the loss of insects and destruction of habitat is what naturalists and ecologists have been screaming for years. The very point of Springwatch this year was to highlight rewilding and eco-friendly agriculture, but not many heads were turned. The difference is that Clarkson is a star in his own right, with literally millions of followers. To quote that 97% of wildflower meadows have been lost, along with hundreds of thousands of miles of hedgerow since the war, it’s a sign he actually cares. He doesn’t just drag any old birder to his farm, he sought advice from none other than Roy Dennis, a living god of ornithology. This pick may have gone over many peoples heads but his cameo added that layer of credibility. Agriculturalisation is an unfortunate driver of biodiversity loss, but his contrast with Caleb, who’s mostly concerned about his loss of yield, is a perfect example of how difficult this all is for farmers. Alongside all the pragmatic and financial barriers, what it demonstrated to me was that it’s not as straightforward as just replacing wheat with woodland. The hope is that farmers watch this and at least appreciate the value of welcoming wildlife to their land.

Exposing the harsh realities.

Picture a farmer. Tweed jacket. Wellies. Flat cap. A collie named Jasper. A Range Rover with a private number plate. A shotgun cocked under one arm with some fresh eggs in the other hand. Sound about right? Farming is not something in the wider media so what actually goes on behind closed barn doors isn’t known broadly. The fact is that the mostly urban population of the UK don’t really care, as long as they get enough barley for beers and potatoes for chips. Rural life is the butt of many jokes and a universal perception is that they complain too much. Either too much or not enough rain, badgers are the spawn of Satan and milk is too cheap. What Clarkson’s Farm displayed is that farmers truly do have plenty oto bemoan. No scene demonstrated this better than when he was surveying his failed field of oilseed rape. Acres and acres decimated by a single parasitic insect. Can it be harvested; no. Can you get rid of the insect; no. Will money be lost; 100%. In what universe is that fair or logical? When you strip back the jolly idea of rural life and expose how much meticulous planning is required, along with how delicately reliant everything is on the elements, you grow to appreciate how much anguish farmers go through on every calendar month. The climax of the entire programme comes down to uncovering the profitability of it all. After outlining all the costs of equipment, the poor yields and taking into account a global pandemic, a profit of just over £100 isn’t shocking. Farming is either vilified or surrounded in fluffiness, as far as the public is concerned. To bring home the reality that it’s categorically unrewarding really does infuse empathy. As Jeremy admitted himself, he could only afford to stay afloat based on his existing media career. What about farmers that solely reliant on this as their income? The agricultural industry may well be environmentally troublesome but it’s a crucial contributor to our national economy and it’s an industry dying before our eyes. So yes, it’s not all quaint farm shops and quirky sheep.

In summary, very few people could have pulled off a series such as this.  He took a potentially bland subject matter and made it his own. He made cultivating look cool for crying out loud. He crafted a cast of colourful characters and created a series that was universally adored, even beyond the farming community. Did it make me want to go back into the old family business though, absolutely not!

The Bird That Made Me Question It All…

Hello you lot, how’ve you been? Remember 2021, the year where winter turned to summer in about a week? Mad times eh, but hope you’ve all had a good non-existent spring!

Today’s topic on my mind is again philosophically diving deeper into why birders do what they do. You can have a gander at my earlier blog ‘why birds?’ but on this occasion, I thought I would share a story from a time where I genuinely asked myself this broader question. Why? What even is the point? Why do I bother spending hours of my time in pursuit of merely looking at a bird or two? I kid you not, it took one visit to see one bird to trigger what is essentially an existential crisis. Allow me to explain…

For starters, this is an exceptionally rare species to the UK. Only tens of pairs are known to breed here and they are very picky regarding where they like to reside. Fortunately, there is one established nature reserve that they are regularly found and it was in my old homeland of Norfolk! To add an extra layer of context, this encounter was around 10 years ago and in this time, this bird’s population has remained relatively static. Having read up about these birds for years, I was DESPERATE to see one. Like teenage girl tracking down where their favourite boy-band will be recording, I was giddy. Having begged my dad, he eventually agreed to take me one august afternoon. The stage was set for a tremendous day in prospect. An ultra-trouser-rubber basically on my doorstep. What could go wrong?

Well, has anyone ever been to Norfolk? Turns out, it’s actually huge. Statistically speaking, you can fit Greater London four times over within Norfolk and still have space. For a barren land filled with farms, there’s a lot of it. Planning travel routes wasn’t my forte and as it turns out, southeast Norfolk to near Thetford is quite the trek. This notion of being local was thrown out the window and after what felt like an expedition to Mordor, we had arrived at our destination. No glitzy visitor centre with a carrot cake filled cafe, just two hides and a shed-like rangers hut. It didn’t emanate confidence, especially when I’d pleaded that this place was a goldmine birding-wise. The car park was pretty empty so this wasn’t as if I was about to ride the nemesis inferno at Thorpe Park. A tumbleweed would have fitted the scene perfectly.

What became clear at this point was that this wasn’t a bustling diverse habitat and instead a reserve catered to housing one species. Beyond the hide was simply a single grassy field with no water and even minimal foliage. The term deserted was apt at this stage, however I felt confident we would see what we had come for. Before you step foot in the hide, there were several signs demanding the need for lack of disturbance. No sudden movements, no noise and basically no breathing. This hide was not a place to party, it felt like the strictest of churches whereby even the creak of a stool could trigger an ecological cascade. The birds were clearly hugely sensitive, but this only helped the anticipation. Common feral pigeons are boring in how bold they are, so it’s oddly the anxious kinds that garner the attention. So we entered, quietly sat down and waited. I’m well used to sitting patiently in a hide for something exciting to pop up but usually, there’s other things to see. Watching clouds go by as you have to sit stone still is actually quite uncomfortable.

Then, suddenly, it all came to life before me. It came roaring across the sky, dancing and pivoting against the grey clouds in an eye opening display. It was certainly unavoidable and spectacular to watch. Sadly, it wasn’t the species I had in mind (as it wasn’t a species of any kind), as it was a Harrier fighter jet from the nearby airbase. Considering the bird I wanted to see gets upset if birdwatchers sneeze or even blink, they clearly don’t mind metal man made machines capable of tearing the sound barrier ripping overhead. Maybe if I dressed up as a jet then they’d be at ease. 

Twenty minutes went by which may as well have been twenty years. It got to the stage where drying paint would liven up the scene. The reality was, the very treasure I had sought for so long wasn’t buried away, it was in plain sight. One caveat that I’d forgotten was their ability to camouflage and against the sandy soils of the Brecks, this bird blended in beautifully. A glance down the binoculars to the very far side of the field would be greeted with the prize that I’d hoped for. There it genuinely was. Motionless and hunkered down but very much there. Nothing else around but this one bird. Wow.

Now what?

It didn’t poke its head up, it didn’t walk around, it didn’t dance the salsa whilst singing opera. Maybe I expected too much but was it too much to ask for a bit more movement? I waited around just in case any other birds interacted with it, or it decided to venture closer. Nope. I had travelled a huge distance to a tiny nature reserve to stare at a brown blob for an hour. So again I am asking myself: why? It’s a hard sell enough to convince friends and family that birdwatching is a worthwhile and exciting hobby but when the reality is field gazing, it’s not a great advert. What’s the benefit to jumping in a car and travelling cross country just to see a clump of feathers compared to stamp collecting or long distance running?

Looking back, it all seemed pretty futile to make such an effort but I can’t say that on the journey home I was wholeheartedly disappointed. The reason being that I’d seen it. I was there. I laid eyes on a bird many people in the UK have never and may never see. Revelling in rarities is what it’s all about, whether it’s being able to compare notes with other birders or simply sit in the knowledge that you have witness something unique. In fairness, at least I saw it. So many trips to see amazingly rare birds end in dismay and nothingness. At least I have a metaphorical badge to add to my sash. If you focus on simply finding one bird on its own, it makes any other outcome of a trip null and void. There’s no time when you’ll be out birdwatching that you won’t appreciate the broader natural world around you. Isn’t it more about the fresh air and the experience rather than the list at the end?

If there’s a moral of the story, it’s they not every exploration into nature needs a motive. You shouldn’t feel obliged to always get a great picture or stumble across a rarity. Get out there and revel in every second of it.

Oh, and in case you hadn’t guessed, it was a stone curlew. Stupid birds.

Adiooooos…

Home Truths about your Garden Birds

Howdy peoples and pigeons, how’ve ya been? I’ve been mega busy with work and housey stuff, surprising really considering the seemingly perpetual lockdowns but I’m BACK with a new edition of your absolute favourite blog. The wait is over folks, you can finally get a good nights sleep.

With spring on the horizon and the lockdown roadmap opening up, people in the UK are all of a sudden flocking to their gardens. These blobs of green are right now the most important parts of the house but don’t start to think you own your garden. You may believe you do but wildlife is the real owner here, you’re essentially just human-sized side baggage. As garden birds are bright, abundant and accustomed to people, we like to think that we know the most about them in comparison to other species. HOWEVER (there’s always a catch), there’s plenty of assumptions we have our backyard buddies that may be contrary to popular belief.

Here are some home truths about your garden birds!

Robins are horrible

Forget the gleeful Christmas cards and tag line of ‘gardeners best friend’, robins are the nastiest birds you’ll find out the back of your window. Don’t be fooled by their dainty demeanour, their redbreast may as well be blood. They will not only boisterously bully other bird table visitors but they will also fight for their own territory violently. Search on YouTube for videos of male robins attacking stuffed robins, you’ll see what I mean. Fake feathers fly as these aggy little dudes don’t mess around. There’s something fitting about a species looking regal on the outside but slightly unhinged under the surface being our national bird. Careful with those slow-mo shots of them landing on your hand, they might want to rip a finger off. Of course, I jest, but they're not as adorable as you think.

House sparrows are not common

The big garden birdwatch has seen house sparrows ranked as the number one most populous garden bird for years and years, so to call them rare may be a stretch. Today, their numbers are clearly holding up but their recent declines have caused significant alarm. In conservation terms, they're in the same boat as hen harriers, white-tailed sea eagles and turtle doves: red-listed. This means they are of the highest conservation concern in the UK. Declines of around half their population have been recorded since 1970, which gives you an indication of where they could be in the next few decades. Both starlings and herring gulls are both of this infamous club, so these are certainly not species to take for granted.

Wrens are common

Less doom and gloom, please! Ask yourself, when did you last see a wren? You may have heard their explosive song but they're not a bird to loiter around the birdbath or stuff their face with sunflower seeds. As such, you’d be forgiven thinking that these tiny critters are scarce and in real trouble. The fact is, they’re doing fine. They’re actually widely believed to be the most common bird in Britain and whilst some sources dispute this is the woodpigeon, wrens are certainly one of the most widely distributed. Whether it’s a tiny garden in central London or the depths of the Grampians, there’s probably a wren not too far from you. Their Latin name literally translates to ‘cave dweller’, a weird roundabout way of describing that they’ll live anywhere. Don’t worry guys, wrens are living their best lives.

You don’t keep the same garden birds

Anecdotes over a cup of tea and biscuits with your elderly neighbour/aunt/granny/other usually consist of a natter regarding all the bird table gossip. Frequented phrases thrown around may involve ‘my robin’ or ‘my blackbird’, relating to residents of the garden. Such melancholy stories told as though they may as well be equivalent to a mate down the pub. Well, newsflash, you’ve probably been hoodwinked. The birds may look the same but it’s highly likely it’s different birds. We only consider birds like swallows or fieldfares to migrate and tend to mistake ‘resident’ species for ones that don’t move at all. A huge number of blackbirds travel to the UK from Scandinavia every winter and our robins even flee blighty for warmer Mediterranean climes. Sorry Dot, turns out your birds actually hate your garden.

Doves don’t really mate for life

A symbol of peace and love the world over. In the UK, we’re treated to views of paired collared doves cooing and wooing one sniffed each spring. What a perfect embodiment of longevity in a relationship. Well, the fact is, it’s probably not true. Monogamy means that animals will only mate with one other individual but this doesn’t mean they don’t change that individual each year. They may stay with one partner in a mating season but sadly, cheating is rife. Birds like penguins and doves, who were thought to make eternal pair bonds are actually cheekier than we first thought. Apologies if this has shattered the idea of love for you, blame the birds!

Let’s hope this has opened your eyes to the antics of your feathered friends and if there are any bonkers facts I may have missed, please let me know!

Adioooooos...

MY BIGGER BALCONY - The Chronicles of an Amateur Wildlife Gardener

Volume I - A Blank Canvas

Gardens are bloody marvellous, aren’t they? They combine to make the largest single largest habitat in the UK and they’re a vital refuge for so many species that call our yards home. All throughout the dreaded first lockdown, I could think of nothing better than to spend furloughed afternoons lounging around in that glorious spring sunshine. Instead, my pokey flat and diminutive balcony was my only sanctuary. Now, as the second lockdown is upon us, I’ve thankfully had a bit of a change-up. After moving house before Christmas, I’ve upgraded my balcony to a sizeable proper garden, with real grass and everything! It’s just a shame that British winters are so glum and cold.

I’d had gardens previously so I had lofty expectations for my own patch. My old garden in Norfolk was not only home to rafts of sparrows and starlings but I also spotted barn owls, bullfinches and even a turtle dove. I’m not being hyperbolic when I say that I’d expect nothing less than a golden eagle or a capercaillie. They migrate to Essex, right?

So, where to start? Well last I checked, wild birds don’t tend to respond to Facebook calendar invites and large signs with ‘WORLD’S BEST GARDEN, VISIT NOW!’ many not be the most effective of advertising. I had a wall to the right, a fence to the left and a dishevelled combination of the two to the back of the garden. There were some shrubs left behind but no trees or bushes. The previous owners hadn’t been attracting birds previously, so it really was a blank canvas. No other neighbours appeared to have feeders or birdbaths so instantly, it looked like an uphill struggle. As the old saying goes, build it and they will come - so up went the feeders on day one. An assortment of fat balls, peanuts and wild seed was on the menu, so what’s not to love? Like a kid at Christmas, I put the food out, scurried upstairs and glued my nose to the window, waiting for the first takers.

Alas, it wasn’t that simple. At every 5 minute interval, I’d peep my head past the curtain in hope that something feathered would pop by. Granted, this was probably why nothing visited, but I just assumed all birds hated me. I hadn’t felt this rejected since I was last a job-seeker. You start to doubt everything, whether the garden is good enough, whether anything will ever visit. Would my garden just become a green wasteland where birdseed goes to rot? This was about two days in. I wasn’t coping.

Then, as all hope was lost, recompense for my persistence dutifully arrived. A glance from my window one morning was met with a seemingly unfathomable sight. Hours of anxiety were replaced with a moment of pure glee. BIRDLIFE. IN MY GARDEN. This moment could not be understated. From a biodiversity devoid wasteland to essentially Eden, and it only took ten days. Of course, the question on your lips is, which bird was it? Well the eagles were clearly lost en route and the capercaillies must have been stuck in traffic so instead, I had to settle for the next best thing. Woodpigeons. Such an elusive species and very unlikely to see in a garden...

They’re birds, they count. My garden biomass was that slight bit bulkier now and despite not being the pot of gold I cherished, they were the first step. What I soon discovered was that with no thick tree cover nearby, the smaller birds were exposed and thus not so keen. The bigger birds, however, had soon discovered a smorgasbord of potential winter food and came to visit a lot quicker than I anticipated. A resident magpie dropped by to chomp on suet pellets, a carrion crow swung over to see what was what and a pair of collared doves made a daily pilgrimage to the patch. They all followed each other and clearly felt mutual comfort in the presence of other birds. It didn’t stop the woodpigeons from fighting the magpies but that’s the circle of life.

For every great tale, there must be protagonists and of course, there must be villains. Soon, all my hard work to attract the birds looked to be out the window as it became clear that there was an impenetrable force soon to tarnish the garden. Cats. No, not the god awful film but actual felines. It turns out the garden is a convenient alleyway for these furry scallywags. Their very presence putting off any suitors, which undoubtedly sucks. It’s not just one either, there’s a whole troop of different cats assuming what’s mine also theirs. I’ve had cats all my life and this should have come as no surprise to me. This is a battle that is surely too vast to overcome, but I’ll do what I can to humanely control it. Sadly, getting a dog won’t solve the problem (so let me know if you have any reasonable solutions!)

So that’s the humble beginning really. From no wildlife to a stream of regulars in around a month is a decent result. Considering it’s a painfully urban setting with no other bird feeders anywhere nearby, in the context, this is a triumph. If you’re not sure you can attract birds to your garden then mine is living proof you CAN and relatively quickly. My hope for the future? I’d like to put out some more feeders, learn more about the plants in my garden and hope by the spring, small birds feel comfortable to stay here.

 

Oh, and I want my capercaillie.