In the process, Clarkson has probably done more for farmers’ reputations than any farming lobby group, PR campaign or protest.

For a start, it’s great telly, with loads of laugh-out-loud moments.

I got a perverse pleasure watching the massively wealthy ex-Top Gear presenter get a hop off his electric fencer while he tries to set it up.

Meanwhile, Clarkson’s occasional handyman, Gerald, is unreasonably hilarious every time he tries to explain stone-wall repairs in his bewildering Cotswolds accent.

The wider cast of workers and advisors provide the perfect foil for Clarkson’s farming follies.

A 21-year-old local contractor regularly gives Clarkson a good dressing-down for his ineptitude in a tractor, while his farm advisor does his best to remain patient with his rookie client. These unlikely bedfellows ensure he stays anchored to the realities of the job.

Admittedly, Clarkson hams it up for the cameras as the clueless urbanite trying his hand at running a 1,000 acre farm. But there are enough genuine moments of anger, despair, delight and trepidation to allow Clarkson’s trademark OTT voiceovers fade into the background.

These authentic highs and lows resonate deeply with farmers.

But they also transcend the urban-rural divide to turn yet-another-farming-programme into the global phenomenon it has become.

After 20 years trying to capture the essence of farming on camera for Ear to the Ground, I have plenty of opinions on what constitutes a good farming programme. And I reckon that Clarkson’s Farm ticks every box.

Farmers regularly bend my ear about the lack of ‘real’ farming on Ear to the Ground, but of course there’s a reason for everything.

There’s never going to be a five-minute segment about the bloody torture of getting a three-point linkage lined up on some modern machine that will sooner squash you than yield to logic and sweat.

But insert the often comic personality of Clarkson into the mix, throw enough cameras and time at the production, and suddenly you can capture those real moments of tiny triumphs and catastrophes in an entertaining way.

And lest you think that it is all just Clarkson huffing and puffing over basic farm skills, the programme makers also manage to thread a lot of the big issues throughout the episodes.

Despite the huge size of the holding, getting endless advice, and buying all the kit required, Clarkson still only made a miserable £144 for a year of his efforts. Yes, he netted nearly €100,000 in CAP subsidies, but that might well evaporate now that Britain has bailed out of the EU.

The viewer also gets a flavour of the endless paperwork and bureaucracy as Clarkson tries to add value to his produce through a farm shop and grain assurance scheme.

The former journalist also wryly notes the alarming lack of diversity in agriculture as he surveys the sea of grey-haired white men that dominate a machinery auction.

Clarkson highlights the latent dangers of dealing with machinery, the farcical price that wool makes, the lottery that is nature and weather, and the obstinate thickness of a flock of sheep.

There’s also dollops of wackiness sprinkled throughout. Clarkson was convinced that a barking drone was the future for rounding up his sheep. It wasn’t.

A tweet to his seven million followers about his new farm shop results in mile-long traffic jams, only for customers to find the shed stocked with nothing but spuds.

When the water quality tests for his bottled water brain-wave arrive back, Clarkson discovers that his water is laced with E. coli.

If there is a criticism, it’s that there’s zero financial jeopardy for Clarkson, regardless of the outcome of his farming endeavours. With earnings from his writing and presenting estimated to be worth over €15m a year, Clarkson can afford to farm as badly as he likes.

But the farmer in me will be eternally grateful to him for the window he opened onto the agricultural world for people who normally couldn’t care less about farmers.

The presenter in me is also more than a small bit envious of the programme’s success.

But in an era when farming is struggling to convince the public of its merits, Clarkson’s Farm has done the sector a massive service.

Darragh McCullough runs a mixed enterprise at Elmgrove Farm in Meath