Lighten Up: The ploughing... like Cannes, only better!
I scored on a few cattle, and it's such a rarity in our business that it has to be celebrated, writes our auld Lehane in this week's Lighten Up.
Don't be one bit surprised if you see me and my wife strutting around the ploughing fields of Screggan next week, like George and Amal Clooney.
Dressed to kill, as we stride over the furrows. Gliding through the mud, as if we were on the streets of Venice.
"And why all the glamour?" you might cry. "Aren't you a broken-down farmer?" Well, yes, I am. Or at least, I was a broken-down farmer.
Life changed for me dramatically last Saturday. I now have money to burn and am a highly successful individual. I am no longer the 'broken down farmer' that you refer to; Auld Lehane has hit the jackpot big time.
And here's how it happened.
Do you remember years ago, when we used to make money from beef? Yerra, most are probably too young to recall. Well, it was back about 30 years ago, back when Oasis were doing the rounds for the first time, that money was last made.
The mid-90s were a golden age for beef farmers. It was an era when you could make money out of the cattle you sold. You'd sell your cattle and pay your bills; it was as simple as that.
And you would even have money left over. It was called "a profit". 'Profit' is a strange word nowadays, but rest assured, back in your grandfather's day in farming, they spoke about it regularly.
They would talk about the profits made from bullocks, heifers and even dry cows! Every farmer made money back then, even cattlemen like me.
But alas, lean years followed, and the profit went the way of the corncrake. And as a result, we have been surviving on next to nothing for years.
But now in 2025, it has returned, out of the blue, like the Prodigal Son himself! The profit is back. Hallelujah!
Last Saturday, I took cattle to Macroom mart, and instead of leaving the seller's box in floods of tears, I left it punching the air like Rocky Balboa. I felt like the Champion of the world.
For the first time in almost half a century, auld Lehane made money out of cattle! I kid you not. I made buckets of it. My half-dozen cattle sold for a huge sum, a price so large I almost collapsed. I damn well nearly needed smelling salts.
I made money galore. More money than I knew what to do with. And my old pockets have been brimming over ever since. Beef is back in fashion. Praise the Lord.
I even purchased a few messages on the way home from that mart, and it had little or no effect on the sum I had earned. I was like Rockefeller entirely.
So next week at the ploughing, still flush with cash, I intend to go all out. And so, if you see me traipsing along with a top hat on my head and a monocle covering my eye, don't be put off by my success.
It's only that I scored on a few cattle, and it's such a rarity in our business that it has to be celebrated. I am a success now. I made a profit.
And with this newfound wealth, this year's ploughing is going to be like the Venice Film Festival, only without the boats, and a lot more boots.
It will be as glamorous as Cannes, only better, for you won't have any trouble getting a pint or securing a plate of mash. And should you bump into me, don't be a bit shy... you won't have to curtsy!
For underneath all the trappings of wealth and refinement, underneath my broad smile, I'm still yer same auld Lehane; it's just that for the first time in years, farmers like me are finally reaping a little of what we sowed.
