I was visiting a client, a farmer, in one of those areas the other day. Small talk is the foreplay of business and on this occasion we chatted about how the Irish Farmers Association (IFA) had acted so quickly, organising truck loads of donated fodder be sent to aid farmers in the west whose winter feeding stocks had been ruined. What Tom told me left me quite shocked.

Yes, the majority had acted as asked and gave whatever they could spare. Others, however had been quite unscrupulous and took the chance to rid themselves of their rubbish – 3 or 4 year-old stock with little or no feed value; rotten bales of silage; dust ridden hay and straw. Disposing of such rubbish is a costly exercise and the flooding provided a golden opportunity.

Think of the cost to the IFA of shipping this. Think of the cost of weeding out the dross and disposing of it. Think of the farmer in the west whose livelihood is all but ruined seeing a glimmer of hope but opening a bale only to discover it is unusable.

As I was leaving, Tom suggested I swing by one of the estates affected by the floods. “Take a look in the skips”, he said. “Call me back if you can figure out what you see. I can’t”.

I took a look. I haven’t called him back.

Maybe you the readers can explain this to me:

Among the sodden flooring, clothing, furniture and other items I expected to see were some strange items indeed.

Why would anyone throw out radiators? How could something whose sole purpose is to carry water be flood damaged?

Likewise how can plastic furniture be damaged by water? Or cups, plates etc? Soiled perhaps, but easily cleaned.

How could a wide screen TV that had been, given the visible mountings, on a wall have gotten wet? I seen no indication it had been. No staining whatsoever. Had the fuse in the plug blown and the entire set scrapped?

Most perplexing of all was why the need for a security guard to protect supposedly worthless goods? And why did he ask me to leave when I took out my camera phone?

· Practising reading upside down I see, Sneezy.
· Drunk again, Peadar?
· No harm in that, Sneezy. Shur I had a few meself.*
· I guessed that.
· You know, just one pint a day can save the life of a starving child in Africa.
· Really?
· Oh yes. The biggest Guinness brewery of all is in Nigeria. There’d be no work without it and the people wouldn’t be able to feed their families.
· But we don’t get our porter from over there. Ours comes from Dublin.
· See? Even better. We’re not just helping hungry kids, we’re reducing our carbon footsteps. Anyway, there’s loads of Nigerians in Dublin too.
· So during the recession our CO₂ emissions will rise?
· Through the roof, Sneezy. Through the roof. We’ll be choking we will.
· So the government should be encouraging people to drink?
· It’d be good for the environment and mean spending less on aid to Africa too.
· This place seems to be doing its bit. Busy enough. He has a sign in the window looking for part-time staff.
· He should be doing more – he should be looking for customers.

I made a phone call. Listed the fonts; styles; positioning; size. Within minutes I had second poster in the window, exactly matching the other in look and feel, except this one said “Full-time Customers Wanted”.

Peadar and I were very pleased with our work. The owner wasn’t and we’re both barred. Sometimes no matter what you try do to save the environment and feed the hungry, big business will block you.

* 2^nd oldest joke in Ireland. The 1^st is so old, I can’t remember it.

What we need are alternative sources of energy. Girls Aloud chained up in the basement rubbing their thighs together is an option I would like to look at.

But I’m hesitant. What hidden dangers are there? Would I go blind? Probably.

Way back at the dawn of time man discovered fire. At elevenses he discovered coal. A few minutes past lunch, oil.

Hey, what’s the big deal? he may have asked. This gunk is just lying there. What harm if I burn some of it?

Now we know better. It is harmful. And we’ve just about burned it all.

So we have begun to harness other sources. Besides Girls Aloud, there is wind, solar, wave. The first tidal power system has just gone live on Northern Ireland’s power grid.

None of these can be harmful. Nothing is used up. Not like oil where you drain one well and move onto the next. These sources replenish themselves. They are renewable. Oil is renewable too if you wait around long enough, but these are instantly replenished. Therefore, they are safe.

Ask the scientists if there are any dangers and you would likely be met with a blank stare. It’s not something they’ve ever thought about. They assume they are safe. Not great science in my opinion.

We are learning a little. Slowly. People living close to wind turbines have complained of the noise. Others have suffered constant migraine. The fauna have deserted the area in cases.

Flaws with hydro power are easier comprehend – the ecosystem downstream can easily get thrown out of kilter. But what of tidal power? Does intercepting waves have a knock on effect at their intended destination?

What about an array of solar panels spread over large area? Isn’t the sunlight meant to hit the ground, not be blocked enroute? Does the heat and light not have a purpose; a role in the greater scheme?

See, we don’t know. We do know that if you want to mess with nature, you have to be very careful. Close to home, a Tidy Towns Committee set about stepping a stream. The mini-waterfalls they created were ever so pretty and praised by one and all. Within months the moss and algae had crept into the slower flowing waters. The fish died or moved on. They had unwittingly killed the stream.

I just think we need to look into these eco-sources more closely before blinding embracing them. Me? Well I’m off down to the basement to see how Girls Aloud are getting on. If I go blind embracing them at least we will have learned something.

They were cut, front and back, despite my protestations, a couple of weeks ago. They look so bare and pitiable, like Britney, it brings a tear to my eye.

What couldn’t be cut was two large tress. One is an ash and will look great, if a bit lonely, given time. Like Britney. The other was a hawthorn bush that lost the run of itself, got notions beyond its station, and grew into a tree. A big ugly, gnarly, ivy encrusted monster. Like an Ent, but without the smarts. And, unlike Ents, without the ability to move.

But it wasn’t bothering me much. Live and let live. It has roots in this place as I do.

All was well until Sunday when I had two unexpected visitors. Pat and Elaine are what are known in Ireland as mickey-relations. No blood ties, but are vaguely related to someone who is (probably vaguely) married to someone vaguely related to me. You know they way it is. Relations who are your nearest and dearest when they want something.

Elaine rang ahead to say she would be stopping by to see how the building was coming along. Ten minutes later Pat called to say he was in the area and ask if I needed bread or milk. That’s a very Irish thing – even if you are visiting the house of a celiac vegan you still offer to bring bread and milk.

Oh, that’s fine extension, lauded Pat. A right one, added his sister. Pity about that auld tree there. If it falls, it’ll hit the house. I agreed, but pointed out it would only clip a few slates and that I’d cut it down if I seen it about to topple.

Well I have a chainsaw in the jeep if you’d like to get rid of it now. Shur it’ll only take a few minutes. I’m not one to look a gift chainsaw in the mouth so I gave the go-ahead.

True to his word, Pat had the tree felled in minutes and we set about cutting it up into manageable blocks. That’s great, Pat. I’ll be able to get rid of them during the week. Well if you want, offered Elaine, I’ve a big boot on my car and I could take them away. They’d probably burn in my fire once they’ve rotted a bit. Okay, shur work away then.

My neighbour noticed the missing tree the next day. Pat and Elaine turned up out of the blue and took it, I explained. Would they not just take tea and biscuits? He went away chuckling to himself leaving me wondering who had done who the favour.

In ways they were unwittingly shooting themselves in the foot. The hedgerows acted as natural barriers to insects and fungal pathogens. The artificial drainage systems, no matter how well engineered, seldom worked as well as the natural. Sheep farmers complained of foxes taking more lambs that usual. With the ditches and banks gone, so too were the rabbit burrows and the foxes had to find alternative food.

They were also destroying the habitat of so many animal, bird and insect species. Insects! you say. To hell with them. Horrible little annoying things that get in my hair while I’m out walking. Ever stopped to think what the pretty little birdies you so admire on your walks eat? I haven’t seen figures yet, but I can guess that many fledglings hatched this year died before leaving the nest, or shortly after, because their parents, or they themselves, couldn’t source enough food during the cold wet summer.

But were the farmers wrong? Not when you consider they were being advised by the experts and encouraged by the authorities- the EU. Were those experts and authorities wrong? Not when you consider that was the accepted wisdom of the day. There were an abundance of alternative habitats pre-Celtic Tiger when the population was lower and very few roads, commercial premises and houses were being built. The farmers were ill advised and the experts mistaken.

Once those errors were realised, actually a long time after they were, steps were taken to reverse the damage. The non-farming community were aghast that farmers would be paid to leave land idle under the set-aside scheme. It took a few years, but a lot of species recovered. I could see this myself. The REPS (Rural Environmental Protection Scheme) came later and went unnoticed by the general population. Substantial payments are be made for ensuring the preservation of wildlife habitats including hedgerows. This had an even greater effect.

Now I’m not a farmer, but the place here is bordered by hedges planted by my grandfather in the 1930’s. The roadside section is barren – the volume of traffic keeps all wildlife away from it. But the back, a stretch of about 180m, is high and wide. Some would say overgrown, but I say natural. Hawthorn flowers white as if weighed down by a blanket of snow. From my window I see branches drooping under a heavy load of red berries. Both wonderful sights, the second for birds too.

[Did you get this far, by the way? Or did all the talk of farming send you away?]

My problem is the Council are on my case to trim the front one. They have a legal right to insist, but it wouldn’t be an issue if they hadn’t resurfaced and widened the road, without consultation and all done for the Ryder Cup, but with the knock-on effect of trebling traffic volumes. It’s strange they are quoting the law now, yet encouraged land owners to trim their hedges before the legal September 1 date last year so as to have them looking pretty for the golf tourists.

But I can give in on this – it’s barren anyway as I say. My greater issue is the back hedgerow. Some of it has to be cut down to about 1m because of the house extension. I can relent on this too. But I am coming under pressure from my perfectionist builder who is insisting that the remainder will look bad if the rest is trimmed. Some of the neighbours have commented too, in their own subtle way – what are you going to do with that overgrown pile of shite, Primal? I have fobbed them off as politely as possible until now – mind your own business, ya interfering auld bollix.

They are right though. It will be an eyesore. If I am to cut it then January or February would be best. The birds would not go without their winter food supply and it would thicken up enough in time for nesting. But that would mean getting the hedge cutter in twice which is more costly – he’d have to re-trim the front to match. Plus the land is dry now and could be a swam come January.

Cut it now and be damned, you say. There are plenty of other hedges out there for the birds. There are wildlife reserves for them. But isn’t that passing the buck? Saying it’s not my fault, I had to do it – a common trait of late in Ireland. BSE as one of the papers called it yesterday – blame somebody else.

And if you’d ever taken a stroll with me at dawn when all is quiet you’d smile to see the birds feeding or nest building where they were meant to. For me, that is a far greater joy than watching them use an artificial birdhouse or feeder.