St Patrick’s Day.
Or Paddy’s Day.
Or [if you are one of those totally brain-dead Americans on Twitter] Patty’s Day.
As a kid I remember all the fuss of putting on my Sunday Best and having a lump of weed attached to my lapel before heading off for Mass. On a couple of occasions I vaguely remember seeing a parade. Of course in those days the parade consisted of various vans, tractors and lorries celebrating their owners’ business. There were even a few pipe bands [bagpipes, that is and the sound of the drummers always announced their arrival before they were actually visible. Innocent times.
Things seem to have changed.
The old parade seems to have evolved into a sort of Mardi Gras with outrageous costumes and floats that must have taken months to build. There has to be a team of kids doing an American marching band thing where they dance and swing as they play. Naturally the parade is “inclusive” and “celebrating diversity” so there are a lot of nationalities and LGBQWERTY– displays. There will doubtless be several floats reminding us that the climate is going to kill us all in a couple of day’s time.
Good luck to ’em.
Good luck to all those who think being Irish means wearing big green floppy hats and false orange beards [not to mention inflatable hammers – what the fuck?].
I don’t mind any of it any more. I can happily cringe in silence while the world pretends to be Irish and goes mad for a day. I’m all for people enjoying themselves. May they get hammered on Guinness and may their hangovers be massive. May the Guards who are out in force to catch drunk drivers catch frostbite instead [fucking spoilsports].
Join in and have some craic. Or don’t. No skin off my nose.
Enjoy yourselves. Be Irish. Have fun. Get happy.and drunk.
Be Irish and Proud.
But not necessarily Gay Proud.