I heard an extraordinary noise the other evening as I clutched my old stick and was in the process of checking my few bulls, bullocks and various other inbetweeners.
"Heavens above, Whitey!" I exclaimed to the bullock beside me.
For I thought the sky was about to come down on top of me and my trusted Friesian, such was the racket coming from the clouds.
I looked skyward, as did my bullock, and we soon realised the noise was coming from the arse end of a plane.
It was situated high up above our heads, at possibly the distance of miles the separates this farm here from the village of Kilmurry.
Although I could be wrong, it could be further afield than that. I was never a great man when it came to measurements.
Anyhow the rumbling continued as the big clapped out plane, leaving a trail of black smoke in it's wake, headed for God knows where.
I had never seen or heard an old banger like it, but I suspect it's a sight and sound that will become more and more common as a new dawn of aviation begins.
You see, because of Covid, lockdowns, restrictions and all the rest, air travel has become as popular, and as well regarded, as a sneeze.
The old days of high flying are well over. And alas, the plane above my head was telling me all I needed to know about the future of aviation.
The aviation business today, to my mind, is a lot like the enterprise of beef farming in yesteryear.
Once upon a time beef farming was the grandest pursuit of all.
The milking cow, a poor-mans game. The beef farmer, like me, was the man with the proud chest, confidently turning money hand over fist by purchasing cattle from the right fellow and selling them on to an even better fellow.
It was a profitable and indeed very well regarded way of life.
If you claimed to be a beef farmer you were looked at in a different light.
We were above and beyond the everyday pig, tillage, sheep and dairy man. You were only one step away from running for political office. And indeed some did.
But alas, just like the aviation industry which is now out in the cold because of Covid, the beef farmer's way of life changed too when other fellows realised buying and selling cattle wasn't brain surgery.
Anyone could do it. Even a dummy like myself!
And soon the game was up. Everyone was at it.
Dairy farmers bought and sold cattle with all the confidence that we used to do.
Indeed now competing with us. It was no longer the privilege of the few.
The genie was out of the bottle, and with the genie's escape the glory days of beef farming were over.
The big car went, replaced with a battered old jeep.
The tractor too, no longer the racing red monster it used to be, only now a faded bandy legged misfiring misfit.
No longer able to afford the premier bullock, we were reduced to buying the Friesian with a sniff of Jersey about him.
And alas my dear friend, that is where the airline business is headed.
The glamour days are over for them now too. The money no longer in the game, Covid has seen to that.
And with no money, I forecast the future of air-travel will be all about bangers in the sky.
Planes with the doors hanging off and fellows, with the best intentions in the world, still trying desperately to keep the show on the road.
I know this to be the future, because my dear man I've seen it all before.
The backfiring plane on Tuesday evening was just the beginning, a forewarning of the poor days to come.