The Luck of the Irish- St Patrick’s Day
As I’m half Irish when St Patrick’s Day comes around each year I circle the day with a big green pen and book the following Monday off work.
I don’t speak with an Irish accent, even my dad’s Irish accent has faded, and I’ve only been to the country a handful of times. But I qualify handsomely to play for the Republic of Ireland ladies football team so as far as I’m concerned that’s more than enough justification to drink Guinness on a Sunday once a year.
Despite my relatively poor Irish credentials I do feel a little bit possessive about it. The whole world has decided it’s a day for a party and suddenly friends who can trace their English ancestry back to the Middle Ages are donning silly green hats and revealing a distinct lack of aptitude for River dancing.
St Georges Day, I say to them, wait for St George’s Day and do something English. Like drinking tea or Morris dancing. Invariably they ignore me.
This year I decided to ignore them and with a small band of fellow Irish-ish pals in tow I jumped on a plane and booked in at The Dawson Hotel & Spa.
I’ll admit, there are more typically Irish spots to stay in Dublin, but I’m a sucker for a decent spa and and an easternatmos’.
Plus I figured we would have all the Irish-ness one could ever want in the bars and streets of Dublin.
And I was not disappointed. For once I was the fraud, but the locals didn’t seem to care. Dublin is as welcoming a place as you’ll find. Inside the hotel we were royalty, outside we were long lost friends. With just about everyone.
So when your 2014 calendar arrives ignore your other half’s birthday, forget your summer holidays. Get out your green highlighter, turn straight to St Patrick’s Day, and book a flight to the Irish capital. Even if you are a Morris dancing tea drinker.