Are you getting tired of Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall?

Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall has become something of a paradox. He’s got first world problems yet, he’s trying to live like he’s in the third world.

Okay, that seems a bit glib, but you know what I mean. He’s concerned about the welfare of animals which, admittedly, is an admirable thing… all the while, advising that we go and catch our own tea in the sea or grow our own meals in the garden.

However, at a time when humans feel like they’re suffering, with their houses being repossessed, losing their jobs and generally eyeing up those tins of corned beef because the days of sirloin have passed, it seems a bit trite to be on the box and preach whilst we all look on with utter lifestyle envy.

That said, the aforementioned gripes aren’t my real bugbear with Hugh. Basically, I’m just tired of getting preached at. I am weary.

In last night’s Hugh Goes Fishing or whatever it was called, our Hippie 2.0 talked about the environmental impact of catching fish and the like, all the while, completely forgetting that he’d driven from his rural southern idyll all the way to Scotland. There’s a lot of petrol/diesel fumes coming from your direction, son.

This is what I’ve resorted to.

See, I don’t normally pick the holes in the armchair like this… but people on the TV don’t constantly go on at me and how I could live my life better. If this was 10 Years Younger, trying to improve my face, I’d give it such a royal beating and not think twice about it.

Instead, with Hugh, I’m just tired and cranky. I haven’t got the energy to pick a fight and instead, like someone barking at you from the front of the classroom, I’ve developed a system where I can cancel Hugh out with the white noise in my head.

There’s no question he seems like a nice enough chap and I really would like to go to one of those wild boar hog bashes he throws in his shows… however, his shows are becoming a chore to watch. The envy I have of his life is slowly eroding with each bit of advice thrown my way.

Going catching my own meals is not really an option for someone who has an actual job. By the time 6pm comes around and I’m all worded out, or indeed, my girlfriend comes home from the office, the last thing we want to do is begin planning a fishing trip in the Hebrides to catch some mackeral.

Sometimes you want a McDonald’s, y’know?

About the author

I'm Mof Gimmers.

I've been writing about TV for a long time. I love it and loathe it in equal measures. I'm pretty sure the TV feels the same away about me too.
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  • Darren Saunders

    For the best part, I fully agree with you here, Mof.

    For years I’ve loved HFW, even going as far as to procure several of his books (which still get used today), but I simply haven’t been arsed with his last few series.

    Where it’s nice to be inspired to think more ethically about what you eat, it’s not so nice to be- as you say- preached at. Hugh crossed that line with his campaign to remove cheap chicken from our supermarkets, and then smashed it up fully with that boot camp style effort he presided over afterwards. He ran the risk of becoming every bit as interfering as Gillian McKeith by sneering at what less privileged people could afford to eat, and instructing them as to how they might change their ways.

    Now, if he were to return to that twee alternate universe that Bridport seems to inhabit, and carry on catching snails to boil with puffball mushrooms, then I could get back on board the good ship Whittingstall. Until then, I shall have to carry on eating from the KFC-alike down the road from me.

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