St Patrick's Day

Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
Trip End Ongoing

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Saturday, March 17, 2012

I do well to keep myself to myself in the early morning.  This is due largely in part to the massive crowd of crazy Irish that has come out of the woodwork for the all day bender.  The DJ has started early, the Guinness hats, shamrocks and green curly wigs are all over the shop, and you can bet your bottom shilling that there's a good chance half will be done by lunchtime.  Wait a minute, this is Irish we're talking about.

I think it best not to venture into the TV room while Ireland Vs England rugby is on.  After glancing through the doors, I see the rest of the lads have made a sound, similar decision.  Belting out 'Swing Low Sweet Chariot' would result in certain death, and I'm going to hazard a guess at the hands of one of these pissed up guys painted in green.

It's not until the early afternoon I decide to don the kilt and start matching them drink for drink.  At least if I make a few appearances I can convince them and myself I've been on it all day.  Pretty soon it's getting completely out of hand, with 21 man killer pool competitions, iron man alcohol games, beer upon beer upon beer and general hedonistic public lewdness.  Mental.  Mental to the point of I actually don't go out, but somehow still manage to see 11am the following day.  A few friends attempt to drag me to a "four-day-acid-house" thing, which is about an hour outside the city.  Even I'm not that stupid.

It was fourteen years ago today that I passed my driving test.  First time.  In my Kia Pride.  I loved that little car.  As soon as I could, I drove straight to a pub in the country with my then girlfriend, to sink a few pints of Guinness.  I was then pulled over by police a few hours later, taking a car full of lads home, because my rear fog light was on.  Somebody change my shorts.

Apart from being a special day for the Irish, it's always made me look back on that time and reminisce about those late teen years.  It's fair to say I really do miss them, even though at times it seemed to be a rough ride.  Certainly not compared to what other kids go through, and nothing compared to what I've seen while traveling.  We took an awful lot for granted.  I guess we still do.

My last girlfriend was from Northern Ireland.  In three years together, and a year before that, I never once spent St Patrick's day with her.  There was always an excuse, a lost phone, or sometimes no contact at all until she was blind drunk at somebody's house.  I should have learned from that rebuttal at the start.

Trying to smuggle a bottle of white wine out of the fridge just before dawn is never really a good idea.  I'm still knocking it back when I'm eye raped by the blazing 11am sunshine.  Revelers return from the trek outside the city regaling tales of mayhem, but I'm really happy I didn't go.  Perhaps I'm starting to recognise where to draw the line.  That said I just spent the last two hours debating with a friend who said you know nothing about love unless you know Greek, and a random girl who breezed in and declared that all men are jerks.  I'm drawing the line very loosely, but nonetheless it is being drawn.
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