Denis Lehane: I'm a no-frills high-flying farmer
Being a West Cork farmer, well used to hardship, I got it to work, after giving it a few clouts off the side of the plane.
I flew to central Europe during the week. "And what took you to central Europe?" you might ask, and you struggling perhaps to get to Macroom of a Tuesday.
Well, if you must know, I went to central Europe to fight for the small farmer, who is hanging on there at the edge of Europe, on that stoney outcrop better known as Ireland.
I gave a speech about my life on the land and my struggles to remain there. And to be honest with you, when I finished there wasn't a dry eye in the house. "Action will soon be taken," I was promised. And you can't ask for more than that.
Anyhow, with cost a priority, I took one of those no-frills flights to my destination and, boy golly, was it no frills. T'was so cheap, the airline practically paid me to come aboard.
But before I boarded, as is my want, first I drew a few kicks on the tyres. "God above!" shouts the captain out the side window of the cockpit, "don't be drawing kicks on my poor tyres, they're in bad enough shape as it is."
And sure enough one of them blew out there and then. "Ladies and gentlemen," the captain then announced, "We will have a slight delay due to one of our important tyres having lost wind."
"Does anyone have a jack?" He then cried aloud. As I said, t'was a no-frills job, the kind of flight where having enough fuel was considered a luxury.
Against all the odds, the old bird was jacked up, with all 250 people still on board and mesmerised by my actions.
The nuts were the next problem. They were as rusted as the old jack and so I called on the captain to find a length of bar to give me some leverage.
Luckily, he located a spare piece of metal tubing on the side of the plane and, before long, the flat tyre was off and the spare (which wasn't much of an improvement) was on.
The crowd up above in the plane burst into spontaneous applause when the job was complete, for once again, I had saved the day. "Lord above," the captain exclaimed shaking my hand, "but did you ever think of becoming a pilot?
"With skill like that you could be driving a Jumbo in no time."
"Don't you mean flying?" I asked.
"Yerra, I do, I suppose," says he "the jargon sometimes confuses me."
"Anyhow, come on," he roared "we haven't a moment to lose, let's get this bird airborne."
He wasn't too worried about the tyres at all you see, for it was a bit of flying he was aiming to do. So long as the tyres lasted the length of the runway, the flight could progress.
Anyhow we took off. We rose like an albatross and blew out more black smoke than a thousand turf fires. The environment shook her green fist at us as we disappeared into one of them dark clouds that have plagued Irish farmers all summer long.
Against all odds, we stayed afloat for ages and when eventually we touched down in central Europe, I gave a speech to an assembled mass that will be remembered for generations.
It moved all who had ears. T'was the mighty successful trip for this no-frills high-flying farmer.
