By Denis Lehane,Irishexaminer.com

Copyright irishexaminer

One minute you might be shaking the hand of the great Marty Morrissey, the next you could be rubbing shoulders with the Sultan of Brunei.

From Dáithí Ó Sé, to Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta Jones, you can never tell who will come bounding out of a Portaloo door or squelching around a muddy corner.

It’s a day to keep the eyes peeled and the autograph book close to your beating chest.

And this year, if you are sharp enough, you may even catch a glimpse of Den Diesel.

Yes, the fast and furious farmer will also be present, at no extra cost to anyone.

“And who,” you might cry, “is ‘Den Diesel’ when he’s at home?” having perhaps never heard of the rascal before.

Well, Den Diesel is none other than meself.

I have changed my name for this year’s ploughing.

I will be known as Den Diesel for the duration of the ploughing, for I have a head on me now that matches the Hollywood hardman in every way possible.

You see, I too, am now as bald as an egg.

In an effort to spruce me up for the ploughing, my missus pulled out the electric hair cutters last night in order to give me “a little trim”.

And while I felt I didn’t need a little trim at all, particularly with the cold showers we are now experiencing, I was coaxed into it with the view that I looked like “a scraggy old mountain ram”.

So, my dear lady wife set to work with this electric hair cutting gizmo and t’was the sorry day for me that she did.

With speed and efficiency paramount, she forgot to attach this important guide to the apparatus — a guide that controls the depth at which the hair gets cut.

And so, without any guide whatsoever, she drove the yoke up the back of my head, leaving nothing but skin and bone in her wake.

“Oh dear God!” she cried aloud, but it was too late then, of course.

The damage had been done.

I now had a long bare landing strip going up the back of my head, the likes of which would impress the late great Monsignor James Horan himself.

Laughter then erupted when all gathered round to take a peek at the calamity.

Everyone in the house seemed to be enjoying the mishap, bar myself of course.

It was then decided that there was nothing for it, only to drive on and compete the head shave.

So that is what happened.

And the result, well, I was transformed from a scraggy-looking old mountain ram to a perished-looking shorn old mountain ram.

Shocked at the sight of myself, I ran from the kitchen and into my bed I clamoured in an effort to shield myself from the elements.

Sure, how can I go to the ploughing now?” I howled from under the duvet, “and I looking like Kojak”.

I was in a right predicament, for I dearly love going to the event. It’s the highlight of my year.

Well, my family weren’t long rallying around and began to tell me that I was a long ways from looking like a grumpy old TV detective.

“You look more like Vin Diesel,” one of my youngest declared. Admittedly, her eyesight isn’t the best, but I liked where she was going.

A pink Vin Diesel, I suppose. A Vin Diesel who keeps his pants up with a length of bale twine. A Vin Diesel who is a little worse for wear, but that was ok.

Soon I was being called ‘Den Diesel’, and so out of bed I got, I was feeling great again.

So should you see a bald-headed farmer strolling around the ploughing fields of Screggan this year, who looks a lot like yer pal auld Lehane, and yet has the sniff of Vin Diesel about him, well then, it’s probably me, Den Diesel.

The famous farming celebrity of the fast and furious variety will for sure be in attendance.