My partner Anthony was jealous as hell. I told him to wait and see how jealous he was after I'd spent hours standing around in the rain. And Murphy's law didn't disappoint! After 2 hrs standing around in close to zero temperatures, with varying degrees of snow and sleet (although, being Dublin, I've noticed that the weather really doesn't ever seem to turn anything on for longer than about a minute and a half at a time), I began to wonder why I was there. I'm sure the Latina dancers (who were wearing tiny bikinis, beaded fringe-skirts and huge headdresses and heels - but nothing else!) were wondering the same thing. They danced to keep warm, to the enormous appreciation of every bloke in the marshalling area...
But then we set off, and it was grand! Wind was still blowing a gale, so we spent a lot of time wrestling with our sponsors' banners. But once we got down into the city the buildings sheltered us and there was lots of time for waving to the crowds, and calling out to the crowd to 'get ready with a big Dublin welcome for Donegal, brought to you by Irish Ferries'. And the people DID cheer, and kids were holding out hands through the railings begging for high-5s (not easy when both hands are trying to hold a 10 foot pole upright in the wind!) as if I was someone important. Apparently I was (briefly) on the telly...
We marched all the way down O'Connell St, over the Liffey, past Temple Bar and down to St Patrick's Cathedral. Afterwards I was freezing and bone tired, so I took m'self off for meaty pasta and red wine, then a pint to watch the local Gaelic football final in a pub until it was time to meet up with my Irish pal Ciarra. A mate of hers was DJing at a pub in one of the main streets, and the place went mad - you should see the way Dubliners fire up as soon as ANYTHING by U2 plays.
Like anywhere with grand craic on Paddy's day, it was packed, and at some point (i have no idea what time) we took off to Ciarra's old local, a place called Cobblestones, which was quieter, but still lively - there was a trad band playing when we arrived, in the front bar, and later in the night, a singing session started up in the beer garden! We wandered out the back and Ciarra asked me to help her through 'black is the colour' (she always forgets bits of the middle verse)... then someone asked if I knew 'Waltzing matilda", and suddenly we had a 4-part harmony going that (after 6 pints) sounded glorious to me!! Of course, by the time we all wound down it was far too late for the last train, so I stayed at Ciarra's Granny's, as it was nearby - toast made from home baked brown bread has never tasted so good!
I think it was a very good way to mark a national day...
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