Recently, I’ve been watching Three Hungry Boys on Channel Four.

I know that I started watching the series because I’m a River Cottage fan and it comes from the same stable. What I cannot explain, other than to wonder whether I have a hitherto unknown masochistic streak, is why I’ve watched more than one episode.

It follows three rather smug and charmless young men as they jaunt around west Scotland in a funky VW Camper that they’ve been given.

The premise is they live off the land, and food/produce that they work for, or barter.

It’s all plainly, and painfully, rigged and staged, which kills the thing stone dead and it doesn’t even come alive on the one occasion they do actually have to rough it – bleating like sheep as they do so.

This is doubtless why they buried it in the scheduling at 4 o’clock on Saturday afternoon, but what I don’t understand is why Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall put his name to it.

Luckily the series ended today, so I won’t be doing any more televisual self-harming.

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