The Brewer's Dog

Kudos to Jeremy Clarkson

As an enthusiastic follower of the television series Clarkson’s Farm, I couldn’t resist stopping at The Farmer’s Dog last week, on my way back from Makerfield – where residents are voting this week on who will become, or remain, the British Prime Minister. Since last year, The Farmer’s Dog has been owned by Jeremy Clarkson.

Pubs are having a tough time in England. That has been the case for years. When I arrived in 2008, an average of four pubs closed their doors every week. By now, that number is more than ten a week. The Farmer’s Dog is unaffected by this. To have a meal there, you have to reserve months in advance, and to order a glass of beer, which I did last week, you stand in line for ten minutes.

Not that you hear anyone complaining. As you wait, you can study the old tractor hanging from the high ceiling at the pub entrance. Also it is pleasant to listen to the other guests’ heated discussions about whether Clarkson, his charming partner Lisa, or his no-nonsense manager Kaleb is the most likeable character in ‘Clarkson’s Farm’. Almost nobody chooses Clarkson, by the way. Perhaps that will change now that he announced this week that he has prostate cancer.

With his series, Clarkson has given a voice to the British farming industry. That is sorely needed. Agriculture is a neglected sector in this country. In my opinion, this has mainly to do with the fact that the majority of the country is in the hands of useless landed gentry. They find it more important to be able to shoot pheasants occasionally – only to throw them away afterwards – than to exploit the land in a decent manner.

The Farmer’s Dog was teeming with farmers on the day I was there. This had partly to do with the annual agricultural conference, Cereals, being held nearby. At the end of the day, many farmers decided to raise a glass at The Farmer’s Dog.

That was the case, for example, with the Irishman Nicholas and his three sons, both in their early twenties, with Irish names I have forgotten. He farms in an area slightly northwest of Dublin. He recognizes the problems of farming life that Clarkson touches upon. The patronizing government, in particular, bears the brunt of his criticism, although there is also heavy complaining about the weather. “Of course we complain about the weather. Only when a farmer stops complaining about the weather is it a reason to start worrying.”

The Farmer’s Dog is doing a roaring trade. A field across the road is being used as a parking lot. Even on this rainy afternoon, people make use of the vast lawn where dozens of tables offer a beautiful view of the rolling landscape of Oxfordshire. In the enormous tent serving as a shop, there’s not only Farmer’s Dog paraphernalia for sale, but also honest meat. Many of those shopping are willing to accept that it is all quite pricey.

The meat, like all the other food served in the restaurant, comes from local farmers. In this way, The Farmer’s Dog stimulates the local economy. When he talks about cars, I quickly get bored by Clarkson, but as the voice of British farmers, I enjoy listening to him.