If only all festivals could be this cooperative.
St Patrick’s Day only starts after midday in my English village – in the pub whose owner is married to a Mayo woman, which is run by a Leitrim man and which is frequented by the denizens of Clare, Tipperary and Antrim. Some British people manage to squeeze in too.
The delay is to accommodate Mothers’ Day in the morning. (American mothers are even more accommodating, they mark it on another day altogether.)
So if you’re an Irish mother, you’re welcome all day. On the downside, you may have to put up with plastic Shamrock-tinted tat.
I may drop in myself – just out of politeness… to Mothers.
But beforehand, as is traditional, I’ll link to my all -time favourite St Patrick’s Day joke.
And leave you with this I Spartacus-type short Patrick-themed film Continue reading