I went to Jeremy Clarkson's Cotswolds farm, a tourist trap proving 'Clarkson's Farm' fans are suckers for his brand

An American influencer who lives in the Cotswolds told me "Clarkson's Farm" resonates with her friends in rural Indiana.

"I have people asking me if they can pay me to ship stuff from the Jeremy Clarkson shop to their boyfriend because he just loves Jeremy Clarkson," Audrey Ann Masur, 37, who has lived in the Cotswolds for five years, told me in a quaint coffee shop in the town of Stow-on-the-Wold.

I learned that companies offer guided excursions around the various "Clarkson's Farm" filming locations, among them Glenn Osborne, the owner of Go Tours. He told me his clients are mostly US tourists, many of whom want to see the farm in real life and "get that social media post."

Its second season is Prime Video's most-watched UK original, with a fifth planned.

The show's locations — Diddly Squat Farm, Hawkstone Brewery, and the Farmer's Dog complex — are dotted around the Cotswolds.

My first stop was the farm, Diddly Squat, which spans more than 1,000 acres and features the original farm shop. Masur warned me that "there's not a lot" there.

"It's definitely not as quaint or quintessentially English, and it's nothing to look at — but again, I think it's what it represents," she said.

I had low expectations, but I thought it must be worth some of the hype when I pulled up to the parking lot on a dreary weekday afternoon in October and saw an events crew managing traffic.

The parking lot was big enough for the average mall.

There were seemingly hundreds of cars in the parking lot, mostly family SUVs and hatchbacks, some with bikes strapped to them.

It was well-organized and unchaotic, despite how busy it was — unsurprising given how much busier it must get during the peak summer season.

It was a short walk from the parking lot to the tiny farm shop.

When I saw the line to get into Diddly Squat Farm Shop, my heart sank.

After a brief walk from the parking lot, I stepped over a small, grassy mound and saw the line made up of families, older couples, and groups of friends. They seemed cheerful, chatting about Clarkson and the show. I, on the other hand, was dreading the long wait ahead.

A quick search online, backed up by locals I'd spoken to in the area, suggested that the lines can sometimes last as long as three hours.

A handful of people from the line had wandered over to a small bar behind the farm shop, returning with a pint of Clarkson's Hawkstone beer to keep them occupied.

I waited for almost an hour — long, but not as long as I'd feared.

About 40 minutes into lining up, when the store's entrance was finally within reach, there was something new to look at — crates of fresh fruit and vegetables for sale, and a "cow juice dispenser" where people could fill glass bottles with milk.

In total, it took 49 minutes to get inside the shop. It wasn't the three-hour ordeal I'd feared, but with nothing to do for most of the time other than make small talk, eavesdrop, and stare at green fields, it still felt like far too long.

There wasn't much to see once I eventually got into the shed-like farm shop.

As someone who isn't a fan of "Clarkson's Farm," it felt like an ordinary, unremarkable farm shop, stocked with shelves of jam, honey, and other local produce. Several products referenced the show, like "Cow Juice" and "Bee Juice."

The space itself was tiny, akin to a large shed, meaning customers shuffled shoulder-to-shoulder as they browsed and edged toward the cash register.

These sorts of farm shops are a dime a dozen in this part of the world, but Clarkson fans, particularly those unfamiliar with the English countryside, would likely enjoy it more than I did.

A guide said he tries to manage expectations when running Diddly Squat tours.

I didn't buy anything in the store, but I would have been tempted by a shirt reading: "I spent 49 minutes lining up outside the Diddly Squat Farm Shop and all I got was this lousy T-shirt."

Osborne of Go Tours said that long queues and slim chances of meeting Clarkson mean tour guides occasionally skip it.

"My key mantra is expectation management," he said. "We don't want anyone to be disappointed."

Familiar landmarks dotted the site, offering photo opportunities for superfans.

Back outside the store, I explored the small section of the farm that's open to the public on foot. By car, you can traverse other parts. Across the site, fans can spot familiar landmarks from the show, like the "Vulva Lake." They meant little to me, but I could see their appeal to those unfamiliar with the British countryside.

Even on a gray, miserable day, the rolling Cotswolds hills and miles of farmland were quite beautiful. On the horizon, I spotted Clarkson's failed restaurant, which some excited tourists pointed to with glee. Others posed for photos in front of signage.

American tourists can't seem to get enough of Diddly Squat.

During a pitstop at Daylesford Organic farm shop on the 25-minute drive to Clarkson's pub, the Farmer's Dog, I met Brian and Cindy Quinn from Michigan.

They'd booked a "Clarkson's Farm" tour from London with Go Tours between their cruise, which ended in England, and their flight home.

"It's kind of cool seeing the stuff we watched on the show," Cindy said of Diddly Squat Farm.

Brian, her husband, added: "If somebody's flying a plane overhead. I'm thinking it could be Jeremy, he's up circling. He got so much money he can afford a plane, fly over his own property, and yeah, it's beautiful."

I wondered if I'd see them at our next spot, the Farmer's Dog, and whether the pub complex would prove more worthwhile.

The Farmer's Dog was bigger, even busier, but still nothing to write home about.

The parking lot across the road from the Farmer's Dog complex was packed, with cars as far as I could see. I couldn't imagine it being any busier, so I dread to think what it's like on a sunny summer day.

The short walk — a couple of minutes across a narrow country lane and through a wooded path flanked by security guards — felt promising. People were walking toward the car park, smiles on their faces, some carrying crates of Hawkstone beer, while others carried big bags of purchased merchandise.

It seemed like a good sign that, unlike at Diddly Squat, there might be more to do.

The was a short line to get into a big tent, which had a bar, food stand, and store.

The pub was only open to those with a reservation, but on the grounds of the Farmer's Dog complex, older clientele sat eating burgers and drinking beer on wooden picnic tables.

There was a large tent in the center of the property with a short line of a few minutes for food and even less for the bar.

The atmosphere in the tent was vibrant, which made it feel almost like a small food festival. A "Grand Tour" sign hung from the ceiling, a nod to another of Clarkson's shows. There was a butcher and a couple of small retail areas: one selling mostly Clarkson-branded food and drink, and the other selling souvenirs and merchandise.

For the first time that day, I felt like I was somewhere interesting.

Still, if I'd wanted to buy expensive meat, beer, or artisan snacks, I would have rather gone to one of the Cotswolds' larger farm shops, like Daylesford Organic or the Burford Garden Company.

I went in with low expectations — and still left disappointed.

If you're a "Clarkson's Farm" superfan, the pilgrimage makes sense. Otherwise, there are far better farm shops and experiences in the Cotswolds — ones that don't involve a parking scramble or standing in line for nearly an hour.

I regret visiting either site, though I can't speak for those who love the show. For them, Clarkson seems to have the Midas touch — turning the most unremarkable patches of farmland into bustling tourist destinations.

In retrospect, maybe I should've spent those 49 minutes in line watching an episode. I might have appreciated the outing more, though I still doubt I'd have found a "Clarkson's Farm" tour of the Cotswolds worthwhile.

Diddly Squat didn't respond to a request for comment from Business Insider.