Lighten Up: Only Michael Flatley can save us from the rain

Our Auld Lehane says he is struggling hard to remember a time in rural Ireland when we didn't have rain, as he reflects on a month of endless rain in this week's Lighten Up

Our Denis says he believes Michael Flatley is the only man who can lift the rain clouds at this stage. He is, after all, the man with the feet of flames...

With the rain never ceasing and my prayers having fallen on deaf ears, I feel it's high time we called in Michael Flatley to do some class of a rain dance to deal with the deluge.

In America years ago, when native tribes desired rain, all they had to do was dance a merry jig to the rain gods around a campfire, and sure enough, soon down would come the rain like the shutters at closing time.

It never failed.

Things were far more straightforward in the olden days. A bit of dancing was all you needed.

Well, we need the same thing here in Ireland today, only in reverse.

The tribes of Ireland, namely the farmers, are in great need of drying out. Our livelihoods are in peril.

Our land is saturated beyond recognition. We need the rain to stop.

We are all getting that old sinking feeling, and I don't mean emotionally, I mean literally.

It's beginning to feel a lot like the Titanic around here, only without Kate Winslet by my side.

A shower that began here in January is still ongoing.

Never before have I seen the likes of it. If I had a flare gun, I would have fired it ages ago.

Anyhow, as a consequence, you can forget about dairy, beef or tillage farming, we are all aqua farmers now. We are all swimming around on the land.

We are all like Jason Momoa, only without the fancy hair and sparkling teeth.

And try as I might, I am struggling hard to remember a time in rural Ireland when we didn't have rain. A time when the sun shone. A time in the country when we drank cans of Harp while making hay and staring dreamily at Sally O'Brien.

The good old days feel like a lifetime ago now.

And so that is why today, as I watch the water drip from the ceiling into a bucket by my feet, I'm calling for action.

We need to dance. We need to dance like crazy to the rain Gods to tell them to dry things up.

And we need the Lord of the Dance himself to lead the chorus line.

And if Michael Flatley has to be taken to every farmer's yard in Ireland to do a quick step in the haggard, well then so be it.

I'll hire the minibus and pay for it personally if that is what it takes.

For I do believe Michael Flatley is the only man who can lift the rain clouds at this stage. He is, after all, the man with the feet of flames. Flatley, I believe, can turn his hand, or more especially his leg, to anything.

And better again, if his dance does prove to be successful, if the rain does stop as soon as he starts tapping like the devil, well then, perhaps auld farmers, like ourselves, could be taught the quick step needed.

A bit of learning can go a long way. A bit like learning how to do AI yourself, there could well be sense to the madness.

Anyhow, regardless of how long it takes, the dancing has to begin. Our Wellington boots need to be tossed aside and replaced with the dancing shoes of salvation.

Like Footloose, only without the teenagers, like Flashdance, only with the leotards, we, the farmers of Ireland, need to put our best foot forward.

Thirty years ago, Riverdance took the world by storm. All we need now is a repeat of the dance. Only this time, instead of brewing up a storm, we need to get rid of one.