The Passion of St Patrick

There is no sainthood without prior martyrdom.
St Patrick was canonised after he took his 17 kids (St Patrick had 3 wives, which in a way was enough martyrdom in itself) down to the Holy Magic Mushrooms parade* for 17 successive years without ever slapping a single one of them.

I shall not bother applying for sainthood after today's return train trip from the parade.
I was tempted to snap and/or slap Luca and Mimi in equal measures, they were so out of order.
I gave in to both temptations.

Note that Iarnród Éireann reupholster the Dart trains in green every year for St Patrick's Day.
And every year they are so impressed by the result that they decide to keep the colour scheme for the remaining 364 days.

Rejects (and I'm not talking about the tens of thousands of drunken teenagers collapsed on the streets of the capital as I type):

Paddy's juice in Pearse Street station
The tallest leprechaun in Ireland
The parade was a bit of a wet squid this year. I mean, she was full of charisma but I was expecting floats and costumes and confetti and stuff
Oirish


* A pagan times ritual involving massive amounts of hallucinogenic mushrooms, fermented honey brew and spontaneous orgies, a true family-friendly event and very close in spirit to today's national celebration.