My experiences of St. Patrick's day have been defined by different things over the years. As a kid, everything was huge and exciting and I got to wear the St. Patrick's day badge my aunt had made me and watch our home town's parade. In my teens, I spent a couple of years drumming in the parade, which was far more fun but a lot more tiring, and my home-made badge had been replaced by ten-hole docs and a home-made tie-dyed t-shirt. The college years brought with them the Dublin parade, and all the added extras the city had to offer - firework displays, ceilidhe on St. Stephen's Green, rollercoaster rides at the Custom House - we took it all in.
By the time I left Ireland, the whole thing had escalated to a week-long festival culminating in a massive display of public drunkenness on the day itself. I took full advantage of the day off work but steered clear of the city centre. Most people I speak to back home are now doing the same.
Now, as an expat, I'm finding that I want to do something to mark the occasion, but the Irish pubs here are always packed and blaring the diddly-aye music for all they're worth. So this year, I went shopping for green party decorations and decked out our local as an Irish pub for the night. Oran supplied the music, Gabri looked after the shooters and we settled in for a night of sort-of seasonal fun. Not quite as authentic as home, but nowhere near as tacky.
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