In good old Irish tradition the skies are grey over Dublin on St Patrick’s Day, but at least it isn’t raining anymore. And while tourists and kids are craning their necks and getting their eyes poked out by umbrella spokes trying to catch a glimpse of the Paddy’s Day parade, I am at home lounging around in my PJs.
As a kid my parents took my sister and me down to O’Connell Street and I do vaguely remember wet days, marching bands, small floats and cold feet. But those were the pre-boom era parades, now they have gone a little bit over the top with samba-dancers turning blue while shaking their hips to samba beats in the Irish weather and international marching bands putting on a display.
Nowadays I like to stay home, enjoy a day off and enjoy just being home. But a pair of shamrock socks are my little nod to Saint Patrick.