LIGHTEN UP! No fear of gold diggers on farms

Alas, the same cannot be said for the lack of love.

The love crisis cannot be solved by any Minister, or over one hot summer.

It could take many years of hard work and effort.

So how delighted I was then to open this paper last week and find an article on the subject written by solicitor, Karen Walsh.

“At last” says I, “someone is tackling the issue head on.” And better again, the image that accompanied the article was fierce exciting.

It showed this elderly gent, and he supping a milk shake through a straw. “Nothing usual there,” says you.

Well, what made the image all the more unique was that he wasn’t alone by the fire, or in a nursing home, or stretched out on a hospital bed. The lucky devil had this right glamorous looking blonde sitting opposite him, and she sharing the milk shake with him.

It was the grandest picture of love that I’d seen in some time.

A picture that gives fellows of a certain age hope.

A snap that might put the spring into a fellow’s step, by suggesting that there’s still hope for the old dog.

Inspirational stuff, really.

She with her good looks, and he with the farm and money.

What better match could there be? It was a win-win.

But alas, instead of the accompanying article being all about how a man of a certain vintage might be able to woo such a young lady, ’twas more about warning fellows away from such exciting encounters.

A warning to beware of the ‘gold digger.’

“But who’s the gold digger here?” I asked myself, as I sat down to read the article.

Was it the old broken down farmer or the lady?

Both had something on offer, both had something to gain.

If you ask me, all is fair in love and war. If the old man gets a bit of fun and the lady eventually gets the farm, good luck to the both of them.

The concern, you see, lay in the fact that some women might be wooing the older man for the pot of gold that is hidden under the bed or some place on the farm.

The money that some believe still exists in farming today.

Well, let me tell you something about money.

After the winter we have been through, there is precious little green stuff in rural Ireland.

Last week I came to the realisation that I was broke.

And I don’t mean broke, as in no money.

I mean broke in the farming sense, which is no more credit.

Most of us have been broke with years, it’s the line of credit that keeps the show on the road.

Anyhow, I have been living on fresh air and stale cream crackers ever since.

And will go on doing so until the Basic Payment arrives in October.

So don’t talk to me about money. The stuff doesn’t exist in farming, we’re all borrowed up to our eyeballs.

Any ‘gold digger’ romancing a farmer similar to myself would soon discover, after his passing, that he had debts as long as her legs, that his bank account was as red as her luscious lips. In a nutshell, the gold digger would have to do a lot of digging!

So, if you happen to find love, at whatever age, hold onto it for dear life, hold on to it like you would the head of a calf in need of a dose.

And don’t be worried about ‘gold diggers’, let them dig away.