St Patrick's Day

Tomorrow is St Patrick's Day and another opportunity for Brits to celebrate as only they can, by getting get pissed. Sunday being Mother's Day I worry she'll be left safe and sober. But Saturday first, with slopped glasses, silly hats and some good crack if I've heard it right, perhaps later if they're up to it. Nor will the festivities will be exclusive to O'Neill's or the other plastic paddy pubs, any place will do, and the young drinkers won't be on original drinks either, believed to be Magners, The Murphy's and legendary Guinness - the first nitro-keg beer - each one the invention of a marketing department and no more Irish than my granny. If you can fake authenticity you've got it made. The money rolls in.
But enough of my jeremiads, they are but by way of introduction. Here's a tale from O'Sullivan's Bar in Greenwich.

'Paddy is a gentleman!'

But he likes to drink the stuff

And when he's down upon the ground

He's still not had enough.

'Paddy is a gentleman!'

The kindest man you'll meet

So take him warmly by the hand

And help him to his feet.

'Paddy is a gentleman!'

He weaves a drunken dance

And we might be in his shoes

Not by choice but chance.

'Paddy is a gentleman!'

He'll call to you all day

And then he'll heap abuse on you

And you will walk away.

(copyright reserved)


Slainte!