Denis Lehane: Minister for Agriculture, my backside - he’s more like the Minister for Trouble
But today I cannot sit idly by and pen a witty piece for the inhabitants of rural Ireland. I’m much too angry to muster anything witty.
I’ve been let down badly.
I’m fuming as I clutch the pen, the paper crumples in my fist as I attempt to write.
To say I’m less than jovial would be an understatement.
I’ve a face on me like Donald Trump. I’m like a raging bull entirely.
‘And what has you looking like an old constipated ogre?’ you might cry. Where did it all go wrong?
Well, my dear friend, let me start by saying it has nothing to do with you. My problems stem from a crisis not of your making, so relax.
The reason I’m purple with rage and bloated with fury is all to do with that so-called minister of ours. Minister for Agriculture, my backside, he’s more like the minister for trouble, if you ask me.
Minister Creed’s fantastic work in delivering my Basic Payment on time has lead me down a right quare road, a road I have never travelled before. Is it any wonder that I’m so cross?
Around this time each year, us farmers receive what is called the Basic Payment. This payment is given to farmers on account of us making no money in the first place. It’s a sort of substitute for a real income.
Anyhow, each year since the beginning of my farming career, this payment has never come to me on time.
Some class of a hold up has always delayed the thing, sometimes ’tis well after Christmas before I see my money.
But this year, nothing of the sort happened. My payment arrived last week as prompt as be damned. It shot in my back account like a spray of scour from the backside of an over-fed calf.
And this unexpected windfall couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
The money has me in a state of utter bewilderment.
You see, I had become very accustomed to its lateness.
Twas the one thing in farming that I could always depend on. And with no money in my pocket, there were many things that it allowed me to do.
Firstly, scolding the Department in October and November had become a sort of ritual for me.
Ringing Portlaoise and complaining about the thing not arriving, and giving out about farming in general, I found was very therapeutic.
A bit like a bull at the end of the season who might find an earthen bank in which to stick his head and tear it asunder, I found my calls to Portlaoise to be a great way of getting a whole lot of things off my chest.
And in fairness to the staff in Portlaoise, they were always great listeners.
But better again, with no Basic Payment to speak of, I got all sorts of discounts and credit from businesses sympathetic to my plight.
Yerra, even my missus was sorry for me. Telling me not to worry about the Christmas, with my pockets empty.
The arrival of my payment in January saved me a fortune over the years.
Well not this time. With cash in my hand, I have been forced to pay all my outstanding creditors. And now with Christmas just around the corner, my missus too is making noises, expecting some class of a smashing present to make up for all the slack years.
Yes Minister, your punctuality with my payment could well lead to my ruination.
