A farmer home alone: When the wife goes on her holidays

I’m in a terrible way this week, and there is no point in me telling you otherwise.

My missus has left me, and my world has been turned upside down as a consequence.

She left me on Saturday last to go to France with the children, leaving me all alone to fend for myself for the week.

You might wonder how have I been coping, as she enjoys the high life (with all six children, aged between 5 and 13).

The sad truth is that I’m coping very poorly indeed. And I’m man enough to admit I’ve been scared too, on many occasions, but especially in the dead of night, in bed.

Even with the duvet pulled up to my ears, my eyes can be darting around in the dark for hours at a time.

It really is a pitiful state for a well respected farmer like myself to be in.

And when I do manage to sleep, my head is filled with thoughts and nightmares of cattle breaking out, and me having no one to help keep the whole place in order.

In short, it’s a nightmare here on my own, either awake or asleep.

Food of course has been one of the biggest problems.

This morning, as I peered into the fridge, there was nothing left only some class of a salad concoction, and sure that’s not real food at all, I may as well be eating grass out in the field.

I will have to go to a shop or someplace later in the day, to buy a half dozen cans of beans.

And I’m quickly running out of clothes too. By the end of the week, don’t be a bit surprised if you see me farming in the nude.

With a wet couple of days behind us, and the washing machine idle since her departure, there is now a height of dirty farming clothes piled up alongside the washing machine.

It’s like a Himalayas of muddy ganseys and pants.

The kitchen is going to rack and ruin, and outside on the farm, things aren’t much better.

Due to the lack of proper nourishment, I have become a shadow of the farmer and stockman I used to be.

Of course, I have been able to console myself with the occasional pint on several nights, but ’tis no way to live.

Man doesn’t live on drink alone. We are nothing really without our women, and you don’t need to be a genius to realise that.

One only has to look at the return of British astronaut Tim Peake from Mars or someplace last Saturday, to see what effect being without a woman can have on a man.

Tim spent the last six months in outer space, six months without his wife, and when he touched down, he had to be carried away from his rocket in a chair.

“He’s very weak”, we were told. And it didn’t surprise me one bit.

I’ve only been without my missus for five days and I’m already only fit for the chair.

Make no mistake, come Saturday morning, I will be down at the port of Ringaskiddy, with tears in my eyes and my weakened arms outstretched, welcoming the return of my beloved family.

It’s been a week of hell without them... and it’s not over yet.