This rural shortage is the last straw
We are short of a lot of things out here in rural Ireland. Post-offices, pubs, women. You name it, we’re lacking it.
It’s not our fault, that we cannot get a stamp, a drink, or a kiss, without travelling.
We have been let down by those in authority, and it’s a disgrace.
I’m blue in the face from calling for action, but alas I’m seeing very little.
Anyhow, this year, things have gotten a whole lot worse.
For not only are we short of the bare essentials, we are also short of straw.
A bad harvest meant little straw was baled, and what was baled was snapped up quicker than you could say Stanley Johnson.
With the result that, now, there are scores of farmers like myself crying out for straw.
Isn’t it a fright, in this age, when man can blast himself to the moon, that we still depend on straw?
That some genius hasn’t created something just as good, or even better than straw, is a poor reflection on the brain boxes of society.
Honestly, sometimes you’d have to wonder if them bright sparks with their white coats are half as bright as they claim to be.
Anyhow, looking into my own barn, I can clearly see that it is empty with regards to straw.
I have no straw for any calves that might come my way, and no place to lie
myself down when I need to reflect on the great mysteries of life.
I have no refuge from the rain.
The real trouble, of course, will begin in about a month’s time, when many of us will have calves on hand and no straw for their beds.
What will we do?
Will we be forced to take them inside the family home?
Will we have calves stretched out everywhere. in the sitting room spending Christmas under the tree, or in front of the television watching Willie Wonka?
It could well be the only alternative for calves needing warmth on cold wintery nights. If no straw can be found, Christmas could be a very crowded affair.
Over the past few days, I’m been doing my level best in trying to figure out some way of solving the situation and, damn it all, I’ve come to the same conclusion night after night.
There is really only one way to go, and that is to send a delegation of our finest farmers to some of the world’s hot spots in search of straw.
Ibiza, the Canaries, Costa del Sol. Wherever the sun shone brightly during the summer, is where they need to go. Places, in other words, where straw could be easily made, if the natives had a desire to do so.
Never a man to back away from a challenge, once funding is made available, I would gladly offer my services to lead such a delegation of farmers to the world’s sunniest climes.
Make no mistake, if the search for straw took us to every hotspot from the French Riviera to Barbados, I would not tire in my efforts.
No expense would be spared in our search for suitable bedding.
And you couldn’t ask any more from a fellow than that.
So today, as I sign off, my bags are packed, and I’m rearing to go.
With flip flops in hand, all I need is that call to action.
