Year in Review: Clarkson’s Farm - Why we need a Kiwi version – Glenn Dwight

Glenn Dwight reckons New Zealand needs its own version of Clarkson's Farm.

The Country looks back at some of the biggest and best stories of the past 12 months, including readers’ favourites, news events and those yarns that gave us a glimpse into rural lives and livelihoods across the country.

Originally published June 22.

As farmers flocked to Fieldays like moths to a 70-watt bulb – or more accurately, to the smell of bacon butties and the promise of a free cattle prod or branded beanie – it got me thinking: how do we promote farming to people not already in the industry?

For most non-farmers, the idea of a “rural lifestyle” comes from curated Instagram feeds or lifestyle block dreams that never mention the 4am starts, lambing in sideways rain, or effluent pump dramas.

It’s not exactly front-of-mind unless you’re in gumboots.

So instead of reinventing the wheel (and let’s be honest, the wheel was a cracker invention, first showcased at the 4000BC Fieldays), what if we borrowed an idea that’s already working?

I’m talking about Clarkson’s Farm – the show that somehow got urbanites emotionally invested in a man failing to grow turnips.

Now, what if we did a Kiwi version?

I reckon our frontman should be Mike Hosking.

Wait, don’t scroll to the next page just yet. Think about it.

Clarkson’s whole appeal is that you never quite know what’s going to come out of his mouth.

He’s equal parts entertaining and infuriating. Sound familiar?

Picture Mike, perched behind the wheel of a Lamborghini tractor, trying to navigate a Central Otago vineyard while giving a monologue on interest rates and wearing loafers worth more than most farmers’ quad bikes.

It’s TV gold already.

But of course, no good farm show works without a steady hand to balance the chaos.

Enter our Kaleb: a Young Farmer of the Year.

Someone who can shear a sheep, fix the irrigation, and quietly school Mike with the kind of look that says, “Mate, you couldn’t grow mould on old bread.”

They’d be the grounding force – one actually running the place while Mike ponders whether his Louis Vuitton man bag is suitable for feeding the chickens.

Then there’s the farm’s financial brain.

Clarkson had Charlie. We’ve got someone better: Sir John Key.

Imagine him rocking up in a puffer vest with a whiteboard and a spreadsheet, diplomatically steering Mike away from planting a $20,000 pinot noir block on the swampy bit by the septic tank.

Every time a decision gets made – whether it’s buying in feed or trialling alpacas for “fibre diversification” – you just know there’d be a celebratory handshake between Mike, John and our Young Farmer.

Possibly more dramatic than a World Cup final three-way handshake, and just as oddly choreographed.

And the scenarios almost write themselves.

Mike cleaning the cowshed with his trusty Dyson – because nothing tackles cow muck like a $1200 vacuum.

You can just picture it: goats escaping, the tractor getting bogged, Mike trying to tow it out with his Bentley, and then attempting to put up a fence while balancing a flat white in one hand and his iPad with BusinessDesk open in the other.

But here’s the thing: behind the satire, this could genuinely work.

Shows like Clarkson’s Farm have helped people understand farming beyond the paddock clichés.

They’ve shown the pressure, the unpredictability, and yes – the absurdity – of trying to make a living from the land.

A Kiwi version could do the same, just with more No 8 wire and fewer punishing Englishmen.