Denis Lehane: A bus run for rural love
All aboard our Denis' love bus...
With an election looming, there has never been a better time to get it all off your chest.
And should a candidate come knocking on my door, here's what I'll be asking.
"What have you done lately for the bachelor farmer?"
It's a fair question and one, alas, I already know the answer to.
The County Council have done bugger all for the bachelor farmer, Europe even less.
Like yesterday's newspaper or a forgotten fertiliser bag, the single farmer has been left blowing in the wind.
While single men languish on the peripheries, we talk of derogation and climate change!
What utter codswallop!
What good is a nitrates derogation, when your bed is empty?
What's the point of worrying about climate change when it's always raining in your heart?
We need to change the conversation, as they say in polite society.
Politicians have been whistling Dixie on nitrates while grown men all around me are singing the blues.
There is no romance in remote parts. It's as simple as that. And I'm purple in the face from calling for action.
Things have got to change. And here's one way, perhaps, to begin.
For many years now, a handful of West Cork politicians, along with a few of their Kerry counterparts, have been organising a bus trip they call 'Belfast or Blind'.
A venture whereby people with cataracts, with failing eyesight unable to get treatment in the Republic are whisked way up north to where treatment is available.
It has been a godsend and indeed a life changer for many, and speaking as one whose eyesight right now is in very poor condition, I feel it is one of the noblest ventures ever undertaken by servants of the state.
The politicians behind the practice deserve high praise.
Anyhow, I was wondering if we could also get a bus on the road to help those of a lonesome disposition.
A bus that could whisk them away, too. Just like the Belfast or Blind passengers, whisk them to a place where their needs are met?
A sort of 'Bus for the Broken Hearted', if you want.
You see, the problem with romance in rural Ireland today is all to do with location.
The very thing that sets us apart, sets us adrift.
It's hard to find a wife when all you have to cling onto is a furze bush.
And with eligible women leaving rural Ireland faster than a jet plane leaves Farranfore, the chance of finding love before they get to the departure lounge is becoming more remote with every flight.
Online dating, of course, is one way around the problem.
But that's OK if you are in the first flush of youth.
The men I'm talking about here would be of the more well-seasoned variety. They are like old oaks, as opposed to young saplings.
The men I speak of wouldn't know an online platform from their mother's clothesline.
But just because you are not up to speed doesn't mean you have to give up driving.
Far from it.
If a bus could be located, I believe it would be full faster than a calf given two buckets of milk replacer.
A bus specifically arranged to ferry eager individuals to a place where romance could flourish.
A place where the love-hungry could find nourishment.
Is it too much to ask?
Up north someplace surely lies the promised land, a Nirvana populated by nymphomaniacs.
The men I speak of are not looking to win the lotto, they only want a chance to spin the wheel.
We need more buses in rural Ireland, and that's the truth.
Buses not only to help those looking for better eyesight, but buses also to help those looking for love.
