Myself and the Mother didn’t talk for three weeks after the auction. There was frost in the air and silence at the table. Like most family rows, the rift was never formally healed – there was no kiss and make up, the sight of a common enemy brought us to our senses.

Those of you who have followed this saga will know that the Mother attempted to buy my farm at Lisnapookybawna at auction and what a mess that turned out to be; the only winners were Tinky Ryan, the auctioneer, and a shleeveen of a solicitor from Kilkenny. We are about €5,000 worse off when we could have been a few hundred thousand to the good. She blamed me for trying to sell the farm out from under her and I blamed her for wasting our money.