Needs must.

They were twin boys born in the 1940's in rural Ireland ,the only children of hard working parents who were slaves to the 25 acre farm they had.Life was a constant struggle.
The parents eventually passed to meet their Maker,were shooed through the door of Heaven and after a suitable period of mourning Tommy and Joey had a confab.
There was full agreement that whatever about one of  of them making a living from  the farming it was a cast iron certainty that they both would not.So they tossed a coin.Joey would stay and farm and Tom would take the boat.
And so it came to pass.
They wrote once a year to each other and in the way of Irish hetero men kept their feelings to themselves.
After 40 years ,neither had married and Tom came home for a holiday,his first.
Joe spent a month tidying up the place and took in the one set of cutlery he continuously used and washed after each meal from the outside window cill and put it beside the other unused cutlery, that were part of his parents wedding trove ,in the dresser that was built over two centuries ago ,when the house was constructed.
And the day finally came when Tom hit home.
Now Tom had spent his working life as a ventriloquist in a travelling circus.Joe didn't know this.
After a filling meal of jacket spuds and sirloin moistened with unadulterated gravy juices followed by jelly and custard ,all prepared on the open turf fire,they were well content.
"I'd love to see the land "said Tom."No bother "said Joe and off they went.
In the first field there were gambolling lambs .One looked Tom  in the eye and said"Welcome home Tom after all these years away."Joe was gobsmacked.
And so it went with horses ,cattle and goats.
When it came to the last field Tom looked around and no sign of Joe.Maybe I  carried the joke too far he thought and hastened back to the house..
From the pigsty he heard a fierce squealing of the sow so he peered through the cracks in the wall of the sty.
There was Joe kicking the shite out of the sow saying "If you tell that fella that we are courting I will  flay ya alive".
In Dunddry the craic never ends.