St. Patrick's Day

I'll grant you that the photo on the right isn't the most artfully contrived thing you will ever see in your life. In my defence it was a snapshot I took on impulse as I left the pub last night after watching the football.

Apply your minds though to the terrifying implications of "GUINNESS & JAMESONS PROMOTIONS till 4pm" for today at the Standard. Happy hour doesn't begin at four in the afternoon, it ends.

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Such are the auguries for my first St Paddy's since Ancestry DNA (passim) reclassified my "sample" as 100% Irish. It will also be a sentimental occasion as we ruefully recall that this night of nights in this venue of venues (passim) was the last time (two long years ago) that we had a proper evening out before the government locked us all up.

A further anecdote ratchets me up to (by my calculations) more than 100% Irish. My brother John, the other day, was recalling a game at the Penarth Sevens years ago in which he played alongside our cousin Mike Murphy, and the Illts beat the hitherto undefeated Cardiff so bad that the Blue and Blacks didn't even get on the scoreboard.

John mentioned in passing something I didn't know. Mike was once called up for Ireland rugby at senior level, but had to pull out due to a recurring shoulder injury. 

If he had been a bit luckier I could be dining out on that still.