Jeremy Clarkson Heartbroken as He Says Goodbye to His Beloved Farm Companion.
Jeremy Clarkson Admits Feeling “Old and Broken” as He Bids Farewell to His Beloved Farm Machine
Jeremy Clarkson, the outspoken television presenter turned farmer, has once again shared a candid update from Diddly Squat Farm, his now-iconic agricultural base in the Cotswolds. This time, however, the Clarkson’s Farm star isn’t boasting about bumper harvests or new ventures. Instead, he’s saying goodbye to one of his most cherished machines — and admitting that age, at last, is catching up with him.
From Fast Cars to Farming Fields
Six years ago, Clarkson swapped supercars for sheep, launching what he once described as “an experiment in idiocy.” Yet that experiment blossomed into one of Amazon Prime Video’s most successful shows, Clarkson’s Farm, which follows the former Top Gear host as he learns the highs and lows of rural life.
In a recent column for The Sunday Times, Clarkson offered an unfiltered glimpse into his current mindset — and it’s a mixture of humor, humility, and just a touch of melancholy.
“Since I started in the fields six years ago,” he writes, “I’ve realised that farming is ideal for those who don’t like to work up a sweat. Only mattress testers have an easier, more sedentary life.”
It’s typical Clarkson — equal parts wit and self-deprecation — but this time, there’s an undertone of genuine weariness.
The Supacat: A Military Beast with Sentimental Value
Central to Clarkson’s latest confession is his decision to part ways with his Supacat, a six-wheel-drive, semi-amphibious military vehicle originally designed to recover broken-down Land Rovers from the battlefield.
He purchased the rugged machine several years ago for around £9,000, repurposing it to haul timber and navigate Diddly Squat’s muddy terrain. For a while, it was his pride and joy — the ultimate “man’s machine.”
“It’s useful because it has big, fat, soft tyres,” Clarkson once said proudly. “It doesn’t get stuck or damage the earth. No matter what the weather’s doing, I can fire up the Supacat, attach the trailer using an extremely manly NATO hitch, and head off for firewood.”
But now, at 65, Clarkson admits the once-fun vehicle has become more burden than blessing.
“It is quite difficult to get in and out of if you are old and broken,” he confesses.
It’s a rare moment of vulnerability from a man best known for bravado. The Supacat, for all its brute strength, has finally met its match in time and aching joints.
An Electric Dilemma and a Petrol-Powered Solution
Faced with replacing the Supacat, Clarkson began exploring his options. Among the contenders was the Polaris Ranger XP Kinetic Ultimate, a fully electric off-road vehicle priced at around £44,000. Environmentally friendly and whisper-quiet, it seemed like a logical choice for the eco-conscious farmer — but Clarkson wasn’t convinced.
His issue wasn’t price or performance, but sound.
“You know instinctively when you’ve applied the correct amount of power because you can hear it,” he explained. “But in an electric vehicle, there is no sound. You press the accelerator and nothing happens.”
For a man who has spent decades surrounded by roaring engines, the silence of electric farming simply felt wrong.
Instead, Clarkson opted for the CFMoto UForce U10 Pro, a petrol-driven utility vehicle that comes at a fraction of the cost. It may not impress environmental purists, but it fits Clarkson’s philosophy: practical, powerful, and just loud enough to feel alive.
Old, Broken, and Still Laughing
Clarkson’s tongue-in-cheek admission that he’s feeling “old and broken” has struck a chord with fans. It’s the latest chapter in his ongoing journey from motoring maverick to reluctant agriculturalist — and proof that even the toughest machines can’t outrun time.
At Diddly Squat, the fields remain as stubborn as ever, the bureaucracy just as maddening, and Clarkson’s humor as sharp as his tractors’ ploughs. Whether he’s battling paperwork from Defra (the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs) or testing his latest vehicle, he continues to find comedy in frustration.
In true Clarkson fashion, he signs off not with resignation, but with dry wit. Farming, he says, may not demand sweat — but it certainly demands patience, and perhaps a sturdier set of knees.
“I may be old and broken,” he jokes, “but as long as the new machine starts with a growl, I’ll manage just fine.”
