Kelvin Fletcher Defends His Farm Show Against ‘Rip-Off’ Claims — How Is It Really Different from Clarkson’s Farm?

Kelvin Fletcher says his programme is ‘a different show’ to Clarkson’s Farm and was months into filming before the Top Gear star’s even aired… after accusations of being a ‘rip-off’

In the verdant valleys of the Peak District, where the air hums with the promise of fresh hay and hard-won harvests, former Emmerdale heartthrob Kelvin Fletcher has staked his claim on a slice of rural reinvention. But as his BBC One series Kelvin’s Big Farming Adventure debuts to a mix of cheers and jeers, the 38-year-old actor-turned-agriculturist finds himself in the crosshairs of a very modern feud: accusations of being the “poor man’s Clarkson.” With Jeremy Clarkson’s Clarkson’s Farm still reigning supreme on Amazon Prime Video as a chaotic chronicle of Cotswolds calamity, Fletcher’s wholesome foray into farming has sparked a social media skirmish. Viewers on X (formerly Twitter) have swarmed with side-eye emojis and sharp-tongued takes, branding it a blatant bandwagon-jump. Yet, in a candid chat on ITV’s This Morning this Tuesday, Fletcher pushed back with grace and grit, insisting his six-part saga is “a different show” altogether—one born of genuine greenhorn gusto, not glossy imitation. And crucially, he revealed, cameras were already rolling on his Peak District plot months before Clarkson’s Diddly Squat debuted in June 2021.

The episode in question, aired on February 1, 2022, saw hosts Alison Hammond and Rochelle Humes gently probe the elephant in the barn. Hammond, ever the empathic interviewer, leaned in with a grin: “Did you take any tips from Jeremy’s show?” Fletcher, seated in a studio bathed in soft morning light, his trademark flat cap swapped for a casual jumper, didn’t miss a beat. “Clarkson’s has been brilliant, hasn’t it?” he enthused, his Oldham accent warm as fresh-baked scones. “And there’s so many of those programmes—Channel 5’s got one with Our Yorkshire Farm, Matt Baker’s got his, we’ve been huge fans of those shows anyway!” He and wife Liz Marsland—his partner since childhood theatre days and mother to their two young children, Marnie (5) and Milo (3)—are self-confessed devotees, binge-watching episodes over post-lambing tea. But when pressed on whether the farming TV boom “helped” his own venture, Fletcher dropped the timeline bomb: “We were already three, four months into filming when Clarkson’s came out. For me, they all represent something different; they all showcase what that industry is. We feel that we’re a different show—we’re two newbies, two newcomers, but we’re huge fans of their shows, and hopefully they’re fans of ours as well.”

It’s a timeline that checks out, underscoring a broader surge in agrarian on-screen escapism. Clarkson’s Farm, with its bumbling billionaire host Jeremy Clarkson, 61, and his partner Lisa Hogan turning a 1,000-acre Oxfordshire estate into a bureaucratic battlefield, exploded onto screens amid pandemic-fueled cabin fever. The series, now gearing up for its fourth season, has amassed a cult following for its blend of slapstick (think Clarkson wrestling pigs or raging at council planners) and sobering stats on slim margins and mental health in agriculture. But Fletcher’s origins trace back further: the couple’s farm purchase in late 2020, a impulsive pivot from Emmerdale‘s scripted pastures after 20 years as brooding farmer Andy Sugden. By early 2021, with BBC producers in tow, they were knee-deep in reality—literally, as the show’s debut episode on January 17, 2022, captured Kelvin’s first fumbling fence-mends and sheep-shearing shocks. “We didn’t know what we were doing, but we learnt fast,” he told Hammond and Humes, his eyes alight with the thrill of the unknown. “As an actor, you always want to embrace the unknown. It was such a simple, wholesome way of living, and then fast forward—a commission with the BBC, and the next thing we knew, we had a film crew filming our every move!”

Fletcher’s defence resonates because Kelvin’s Big Farming Adventure carves its own furrow. Where Clarkson’s is a one-man circus of celebrity hubris and high-stakes hijinks—complete with Hawkstone cider tie-ins and Kaleb Cooper’s deadpan zingers—Fletcher’s feels like a family scrapbook of smallholding stumbles. The six-parter, produced by BBC Studios, follows the couple as they revive a derelict 18th-century 120-acre holding on the Cheshire-Derbyshire border. With help from neighbour Gilly (a grizzled local farmer who serves as their on-call oracle) and a menagerie that starts modest—28 Ryeland sheep (aiming for 80 by next lambing), three Gloucester Old Spot pigs, three alpacas for fleece and fun, two rabbits for the kids’ delight—the series spotlights the sweat of sustainability over spectacle. Liz, now expecting twins (a joyful reveal in episode two), brings wry wit to the woolly woes, from allergic reactions to hay fever to wrangling escaped alpacas named after Strictly pros. Their stone-walled farmhouse, with its Aga-warmed kitchen and views of heather-clad moors, is less Diddly Squat’s designer disaster zone and more a heartfelt homestead. “We’re not just playing at this,” Fletcher emphasised. “This is a huge statement, a huge move for me and my family. We’re really getting into farming, looking at it and trying to understand there’s a lot of hard work, sometimes very little reward.”

The backlash, however, has been as relentless as a rogue ram. Since the premiere, X has lit up with comparisons, some playful, others pointed. One user quipped: “Kelvin’s big farming adventure, Poor man’s Clarksons farm @JeremyClarkson.” Another fired: “Kelvin Fletcher as the new Jeremy Clarkson is not something I expected to see.” Harsh takes piled on: “On BBC1 right now is a @PrimeVideo Jeremy Clarkson the Farm rip off with Kelvin Fletcher,” and “People saying the BBC make quality programming… What a joke. The reviews have not been kind.” Echoing the online uproar, The Telegraph‘s Anita Singh slapped it with two stars, lamenting: “A television personality with no farming experience buys a farm and attempts to run it, with often comical results. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. It’s impossible to describe Kelvin’s Big Farming Adventure as anything other than a shameless rip-off.” Yet not all ink is indelible; The i‘s four-star nod praised its “down-to-earth charm,” aligning with fans who gushed: “Watched your programme last night and loved it, you are both so down to earth, Liz is so funny, congratulations on your lovely news of the twins, your children are adorable, hope the farm is a success for you both.” Another cheered: “Loving the new farming programme can’t wait for next week! Good luck with your new venture!”

Fletcher, undeterred, has leaned into the lexicon of legitimacy. In a pre-premiere Daily Mail sit-down, he quipped: “Well, if the BBC want to pay me what Amazon are paying Clarkson, that would be fine with me. We were talking to the BBC about other things entirely and this came up. There’s a huge appetite for this sort of show and they’re all very different.” He doubled down on This Morning, concluding with quiet conviction: “We’re two people who were very green, who didn’t know what they were doing, but we’ve learnt fast and I’m absolutely committed that we would be recognised as proper farmers.” It’s a sentiment rooted in reality; the Fletchers’ farm isn’t a prop—it’s a pivot from Strictly‘s sparkle (Kelvin’s 2019 glitterball triumph with Oti Mabuse) to the grind of grants and grazing. Their sheep flock, started at 28, now nears 50, with plans for a farm shop slinging home-reared lamb and alpaca wool scarves. Liz’s twin pregnancy adds a tender layer, turning the series into a saga of growth—literal and figurative.

The comparisons extend beyond Clarkson. Parallels to Amanda Owen’s Our Yorkshire Farm (with its Swaledale sheep and septet of children) and Sarah Beeny’s New Life in the Country have surfaced, highlighting a golden age of “escape to the country” telly. As Fletcher noted in a Metro interview: “So to be compared exclusively to Clarkson I think is a little random. As people can see it’s a completely different show.” He branded the “rip-off” jabs “unfair” on the Netmums podcast, pointing to a “whole host of that type of show—I can think of half a dozen straight away.” Indeed, from Matt Baker’s Our Farm in the Dales to Jimmy Doherty’s Jimmy’s Farm, the genre is fertile ground, reflecting a national nostalgia for soil-stained sleeves amid urban sprawl.

Ultimately, Fletcher’s adventure is less about aping icons and more about authentic aspiration. “The sense of unknown has always excited me,” he shared on This Morning. “We just wanted a change… to seek a challenge.” In a post-Emmerdale world, where Andy Sugden’s fictional feuds gave way to real ones with foot rot and feed costs, Kelvin and Liz are scripting their own story—one episode at a time. As episode two looms (airing January 24, 2022), with twin-tickled twists and more Gilly-guided gaffes, the jury’s out. But for fans craving comedy without Clarkson’s curses, heart without the hype, Fletcher’s farm might just be the freshest plot in town. Whether it’s a rip-off or a revelation, one thing’s clear: in the fields of British telly, there’s room for more than one farmer in the dell.