Lá Fhéile Pádraig

I had plans to dress up as a cheerleader or perhaps a bagpiper and march down the main street, around the roundabout at the pier and back up to the main square where I'd get atrociously drunk on green Guinness and throw up. Alas it's not to be, the trials of celebrating Patrick's Day as an expat.

There are several flaws in this almost-perfect plan; no bagpipes or short skirt, no Guinness (makes me wish I'd bought those out-of-date cans I found in the local supermarket at Christmas), no green food colouring, no other paraders and a three-year old likely to be none to happy with the whole process. But I could perhaps have worked around these minor problems.

It's the thunder clouds, rising wind and steady rain that transformed a wonderful spring morning into a dull afternoon and killed the perfect plan dead. It must be all these years of living in a warm climate that's made me a Paddy's Day wimp...