It is not all that long ago that Ireland’s farmers were showered with grants for hedgerow removal. The reasoning was simple: taking out the hedges, filling in the ditches and laying new drainage systems meant larger field size and more arable surface area. Tillage farmers could use bigger, faster and more efficient machinery, and they could use it more efficiently as a machine covers more area in an hour the less times it must turn at a headland. Hedgerows on headlands also impeded crop production - they shade the crop and lower yield, and weed and pest infestation is more prevalent there.

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.

Well I’m impressed, Primal. The extension is coming along very well. I love the gun turret. Great idea. It’ll be right handy come the council elections. Listen, if you need to borrow the tractor and trailer to take away that pile of rubble just let me know. I’ll have it hitched up, filled with diesel and I’ll leave the key in it. No rush bringing it back.

Harry was being extra pally. Normally I just get a grunt over the hedge. I had intended cadging the tractor. Now it was being offered. This was great.

Then it dawned on me and I got that sinking feeling. The one you get when you press basement. That sudden panic you get having made it to the jacks just in time for a world record flash-dump only to realise there’s no bog roll.

The feker was looking for something.

You wouldn’t be free for a few hours on Thursday? It’s just that, with Tom off sick and the young lads away in Spain, I’ve no-one to give me a hand sorting a few sheep.

The golden rule of the countryside is stay in with the farmer with the best tractor. The silver rule is keep out of his way until you need to borrow it. I think they should be the other way around.

Now those of you, who like me, are desk jockeys and spend your days massaging lumps out of your chair with your arse, may think sheep are lovely fluffy white things that you’d love to have roaming around your lawn. Let me tell you they’re not. They are stubborn fekers that will lull you into a false sense of security when being herded through a gap and change direction suddenly, for no apparent reason, and run like greyhounds to the far end of the field and laugh at you. Their wool is not soft and downy - it’s got more grease in it than the fifth wheel on an artic. When penned they won’t shy away in a corner - if they think you’re blocking the exit they’ll jump at you and knock you senseless if you don’t hit them with an American football blocking tackle.

When Harry said sort a few sheep he meant a little more than that: Select lambs for market; select more for next fortnight’s market; dose lambs to be kept; dagg them if dirty; spray them with dip; check the teeth and elders of the ewes; pare hooves if needed.*

There were 350 ewes and 500 lambs. I came home as exhausted as a hooker from the rugby world cup. Either type of hooker.

Scrubbed and scrubbed in the shower and I could still smell them such is the way their scent permeates the skin. Lynx or any other smell-well doesn’t mask it.

And worst of all, not being used to manual labour, I woke up this morning with aches and pains in places where I never had places. Even worser than worser the builder has organised a truck so I don’t need the fekin tractor after all.

I’ve seen Snakes on a Plane and it didn’t scare me. Goats on a Boat didn’t either. But one movie I know I couldn’t watch would be Sheep on a Ship.

*If you don’t know what some or all of this entails, believe me you don’t want to know.