Kaleb Cooper Launches New Business to Rival Jeremy Clarkson — Will This Move Destroy Their ‘Clarkson’s Farm’ Friendship?

From Diddly Squat Sidekick to Cotswolds Competitor: Kaleb Cooper’s Bold Leap into Beef, Burgers, and a Solo Aussie Adventure

In the idyllic, honey-stone hamlets of the Cotswolds—where ancient drystone walls cradle secrets older than the Magna Carta—Kaleb Cooper has long been the unflappable anchor to Jeremy Clarkson’s agricultural antics. The 27-year-old farming contractor, with his flat cap tilted just so and a dialect as thick as Oxfordshire mud, first captured hearts in 2021 as the no-nonsense voice of reason on Amazon Prime Video’s Clarkson’s Farm. While Clarkson, 65, bungled through pig rentals and planning permissions with the grace of a bull in a china shop, Kaleb kept the tractors turning and the sheep from staging mass breakouts. Now, as the series pauses for a well-earned breather after wrapping its fifth season, Kaleb is stepping out of Jezza’s shadow—and straight into his turf. With the launch of Cooper Livestock Ltd, a slick new online emporium peddling premium steaks, sausages, and sizzlers, the hard-grafting dad-of-three is launching a direct challenge to Diddly Squat’s farm shop empire. It’s a move that’s equal parts entrepreneurial savvy and cheeky camaraderie, blending home-reared heritage with a dash of Down Under inspiration.

The announcement landed like a perfectly timed pot-haul: fresh, bountiful, and brimming with potential. Kaleb’s website, kalebcoopercontracting.co.uk, has evolved from a humble hub for his contracting services—think silage wrapping and hedge trimming—into a full-fledged farm-to-fork marketplace. “Welcome to Cooper Livestock Ltd,” the homepage greets visitors in Kaleb’s own words, a digital handshake that’s as warm as a wood-fired roast. “We’re a family-run farm passionate about producing home-reared beef, lamb, and pork. From field to fork, everything we sell is raised with care and butchered locally to ensure the best quality and flavour.” It’s a ethos straight from the heart of Chipping Norton, where Kaleb’s 100-acre family holding has been in the bloodline for generations. His parents, still knee-deep in the daily grind, oversee the livestock that now graces the site: grass-fed Aberdeen Angus cattle roaming rolling pastures, Ryeland sheep munching on wildflower meadows, and Gloucester Old Spot pigs rooting in oak-shaded orchards.

The menu is a carnivore’s cotswold dream, curated with the precision of a man who’s spent his life eyeing cuts for maximum yield. An 8oz matured fillet steak—tender as a first-love whisper—commands £18, a premium nod to the breed’s marbling and the local butcher’s artistry. Rump, rib-eye, and sirloin steaks follow suit at £14-£16, each vacuum-packed and chilled for doorstep delivery. For the weekend warrior, Aberdeen Angus beef burgers come in packs of two for a fiver—juicy pucks of 100% British beef, seasoned simply with salt and swagger. Sausages steal the show: lamb and mint twists at £7 for six, evoking summer barbecues under the Chipping Norton spire, or Cotswold mixed herb porkers for those craving a herby hug. Lamb chops and steaks (£12-£15) promise that melt-in-the-mouth succulence, while minced beef (£6 per 500g) begs for shepherd’s pie on a rainy Tuesday. And for the full feast? BBQ boxes start at £40, bundled with ribs, sausages, and sides—perfect for firing up the Weber while bingeing Clarkson’s Farm reruns.

But Kaleb’s not stopping at supper staples. The site brims with branded bling, turning everyday essentials into fan-favourite flexes. Leather keyrings etched with “Kaleb Cooper Contracting” (£8) dangle like talismans for tractor keys; bookmarks stamped with farm motifs (£5) for the aspiring agronomist; beanies and caps (£20-£25) in earthy tweeds to shield from Cotswold drizzle. Rugby shorts, hoodies, and shirts (£32-£60) round out the range, blending rugged utility with subtle stardom—think a “From Field to Fork” tee that’s as comfortable for mucking out as it is for pub pints. Early adopters are raving: one punter posted on Instagram, “Sensational! 10/10 would recommend. The burgers, sausages, and steaks were incredible,” tagging #cookwithcooper alongside a sizzling snap. Another gushed, “Fired up the grill? Slow-roasted a Sunday joint? We’d love to see it.” It’s grassroots marketing at its finest—Kaleb’s way of turning viewers into villagers, one hashtag at a time.

This isn’t just a side hustle; it’s a seismic shift for a lad who, at 17, was already captaining combines for local landowners. Kaleb’s rise has been meteoric since Clarkson’s Farm catapulted him from obscurity to over 1.5 million Instagram followers. Engaged to childhood sweetheart Taya—whom he met at primary school—and father to three under-fives (with a fourth on the way), he’s balanced nappies and no-till drills with the poise of a seasoned shepherd. His contracting firm, now with a relaunched website boasting testimonials from Diddly Squat alums, has expanded into agronomy advice and event appearances—like headlining “Kaleb’s Korner” at Cereals 2026, the UK’s premier arable expo. Books like The World According to Kaleb (a Sunday Times bestseller) and sold-out tours have padded the coffers, but Cooper Livestock is the crown jewel: a vertical integration play that cuts out middlemen, echoing Clarkson’s own gripes about supermarket squeezes.

And yes, it’s direct competition—deliciously so. Diddly Squat’s farm shop, that unassuming barn that’s become a pilgrimage site, slings £12 bags of “Clarkson’s Own” crisps, £45 jars of “Bee Juice” honey, and Hawkstone cider flights for £10. Their meat counter? A riot of estate-reared beef burgers (£5.50 for two), pork sausages (£6), and rib-eyes (£15), all hawked amid queues that snake for hours. Kaleb’s prices are a touch sharper, his portions punchier, and his delivery nationwide— a savvy sidestep around Chadlington’s parking pandemonium. “He’s flogging steaks, sausages, burgers, and barbecue boxes just as Jezza does,” whispers a source close to the Cotswolds crew. Yet there’s no whiff of rivalry’s rancour. Clarkson, the Sun columnist and self-styled farming flop, has been Kaleb’s biggest cheerleader, from gifting him a vintage tractor to defending his dialect against posh detractors. “Kaleb is a superstar and deserves all the success he is rightly getting,” the insider confides. “Jeremy is proud as punch.”

This entrepreneurial bloom coincides with Kaleb’s boldest solo venture yet: a four-part Prime Video series jetting him to the sunburnt sprawl of Australia. Titled Kaleb: Down Under (working title), it’s a globe-trotting gambit where the Chipping Norton devotee swaps wellies for Akubras, tractors for utes, and drizzle for dust devils. Filming kicks off this autumn, capturing Kaleb’s maiden voyage—his first flight ever, no less—to one of the world’s largest farming frontiers. “I spend most of my time with the most travelled man in the world, so I got brave and booked my first-ever flight to see what all the fuss was about,” Kaleb quips in the announcement. “Australia here I come! And Australia, you’ll be gaining a new farmer for a couple of months as I discover if I can make my farming contracting business go international.”

The series promises a seismic scale-up: vast cattle stations spanning thousands of acres, where drought-proof breeds and drone-monitored herds make Oxfordshire look like a window box. Kaleb will shadow Aussie peers—grizzled graziers battling bushfires and feral camels—while immersing in the outback’s raw rhythm: billy tea at dawn, barbecues under the Southern Cross, and blistering days that test a tenderfoot’s mettle. “It’s no holiday,” teases Prime Video. “Kaleb won’t shy away from the gritty realities—blisters, burns, backaches, and all.” Tara Erer, Head of Northern Europe Originals at Amazon MGM Studios, hails it as “brilliant entertainment,” spotlighting Kaleb’s “no-nonsense farming wisdom and unmistakable charm.” For Kaleb, it’s more than mateship with machinery; it’s market intel to supercharge Cooper Livestock—ideas for export cuts, sustainable grazing, or even kangaroo collaborations?

Hailing from just miles from Diddly Squat, Kaleb’s roots run as deep as Clarkson’s ambitions are wide. Born into a lineage of land-workers—his grandad a WWII evacuee turned tractor man—he was baling hay at 10 and contracting solo by 18. Clarkson’s Farm wasn’t a breakout; it was a bullhorn, amplifying his authenticity amid the show’s chaos. Now, with merchandise flying off virtual shelves and a passport stamped for Perth, Kaleb’s empire is embryonic but electric. Fans flood the site with five-star reviews: “Proper Cotswold quality—burgers better than the pub’s!” one raves. X buzzes with banter: “Kaleb vs Jezza: the meat-off we need,” tweets @CotswoldCrab, while @FarmFreshFiend posts, “Just grilled those lamb minties—pure poetry. #CooperLivestock.”

As Clarkson’s Farm rests—Clarkson hinting at a 2026 return with “rested soil and reloaded rants”—Kaleb’s dual launches feel like a passing torch, or perhaps a friendly fork in the road. Will his Aussie odyssey yield drought-resistant herds for the home herd? Could a vegemite-infused sausage grace future BBQ boxes? One thing’s certain: in the competitive Cotswolds, where farms fight for every fence-post, Kaleb Cooper is no longer just the helper. He’s the headliner—ploughing his own furrow, one fillet at a time. As he tells site shoppers, “Raised with care, butchered locally.” From field to fork, indeed. And if Clarkson pops by for a cheeky sirloin? Expect a pint, a pat on the back, and a promise: the rivalry’s all in the rib-eye.