It was St Patrick’s day, so I was on the look out for merriment. But I was most surprised when, on K Road, I spied what appeared to be a man wearing a Santa suit, complete with a long white beard. But he smelt like paint (had he been painting toys?) and he was staggering along the footpath. I looked again.
It turned out to be a guy wearing a baggy red tracksuit. The long white beard was created by him holding up a white T-shirt over his mouth and nose to help hide the bag he was inhaling solvents from (green paint, perhaps?).
Over at the over side of the colour wheel, there were plenty of people dressed in green and staggering down the footpath, participating in various kinds of St Patrick’s Day festivities.
I saw some guys, who sounded American, wearing those green plastic hats, which I associate more with American Irish (the madness of Boston) than Irish Irish.
The Belgian bar down Vulcan Lane seemed to be doing a roaring trade. Well, you know, beer, mashed potatties – who cares what country it’s from?
At work, there were scones with green whipped cream. They seemed to be quite popular, but the green was too much like that green food mould to stir my Irish blood.
Hey, how do Irish celebrate St Patrick’s Day? Not by dying everything they eat green, I’ll bet.
Here’s a cookie for ye.