Neighbours to Jeremy Clarkson have been up in arms after the effects of Diddly Squat Farm have rippled through Chadlington. Even after Jeremy Clarkson confronted the village last week, a neighbour proceeded to urinate on his driveway out of protest, and one reportedly gave the Grand Tour presenter the finger when entering the town meeting.
One resident of Chadlington told talked to the Guardian saying the following:
“I walk my dog up the lane, there’s no pavement, it’s quite dark, they are racing up and down there. You can do a whole circuit.
“You see gangs of young lads walking about. We’re just not used to it.
“We never had this before. I really don’t mind Jeremy. It’s great he’s bringing business to the area. But it’s the people he’s attracting.”
Jeremy also spoke out about the problems of starting a business of this nature in a small village like Chadlington:
“The problem is simple: in a village, most people are charming and happy to smile and wave at the appropriate time, but there is always a tiny minority who are bitter and whose mouths look like cats’ anuses.
“These people are usually called ‘parish councillors’ and seniority in this weird world is achieved by having lived in the area for a long time.
“That’s it. So, if you are the sort of person whose horizon is located on your nose end, and you’ve never been further afield than Chuntsworthy, you’re the village elder.”
“My farm shop is tiny but it seems to have landed in this part of the Cotswolds like a nuclear weapon full of sarin gas.
“We all know that planning regulations are necessary and we all know that parish council enthusiasts are entitled to register their opposition, but there are some people in the countryside who literally do nothing all day long but object to stuff.
“They are made entirely from a blend of skin and hate.”
The ex-Top Gear presenter then revealed that he’s received a letter from local villagers complaining about where he’s sourcing his stock from for his Diddly Squat Farm shop:
“My shop had only been open a few days when we received a stern letter warning us that our rather lovely ice cream had been made from the juice of cows that lived eight miles away, in Gloucestershire, and that this contravened a clause that said that we could only sell produce from West Oxfordshire.
“Since then we’ve been told that the roof is the wrong colour, that the sign is 0.3 of a metre too wide, that we aren’t allowed to sell teas and coffees, that the gingham covering on the straw bales contravenes Covid regulations, that the car park is a road safety hazard, that the sausage rolls are wrong in some unfathomable way, and that if we were allowed to sell beer, yobbos would come and urinate in the graveyard.”