St Patrick's Day at St George's Cross

Work weary and plodding homewards, a threat of snow in the strong wind. Down and down the flights of steps to get the underground only to see the trains close their doors at my approach and head off, one clockwise and the other anti- . There are a lot of people still leaving the platform. I sigh as they squeeze by me. There is laughing and, even thought it's only 4 o'clock, a group of revellers in green mucking around and singing, trailing green balloons.

Ah yes, it's St Patrick's Day.

They ignore me and the fact that I just missed a train and carry on carrying on up the stairs. Their laughter feels mistimed, much like my ability to arrive on the platform just as a train is leaving. It seems like late night behaviour, not that of mid-afternoon. My frame of mind is all about getting home and having a cup of tea, not the easy laughs of drink and songs about Four Green Fields and whose round it is next.
Their Green high jinx recedes up the stairs and I'm mulling over being in that state at this time of the day. High spirits when I'm so heavy laden. Then a balloon escapes them and rides the displaced air back down the stairs and across the platform and onto the tracks. Another wee green oddity in the day. Another thing to pop the bubble of habit and mindlessness. I just wanted to get home, but really there was an hour of life between leaving work and getting home that I had been missing. All I had in my head was getting home and a cup of tea and that wasn't even real then.
So thank you revellers and thank you to that one green balloon. I noticed more of the rest of the journey home, even though the train that took me there burst my inspiration.
Happy St Patrick's Day.