Thursday, March 17, 2011

Luck Be A Lady

This is one of my favourite songs by an Irish band, which I don't expect to hear today, but that's okay. The standard of Auckland covers bands aside, I really only notice the music for the first half of my St Paddy's celebrations; one particularly messy St Patrick's one of my best and Irish-est friends and I got halfway through a loud and boisterous accompaniment before realising that, although in perfect time, we had been singing an entirely different song...

I don't know exactly why I've always been such a fan of St Patrick's Day (harhar - I'm quite happy getting very drunk any time, thank you); I have absolutely no Irish blood, have never been to Ireland, and don't look particularly good in green. The first I remember, I was in the car with my family, about six- or seven-years-old, when two very pissed middle-aged men walked straight out onto the road, and one was hit by a car in front of us. He got up, slightly dazed, and carried on walking, and my Dad said something about him celebrating St Paddy's. I was scared and I was thrilled.

St Patrick's Day is also my parents' wedding anniversary; today is thirty-eight years since they walked down the aisle of a little church in Epsom, Dad with shoulder length hair and a maroon tux, Mum with peach coloured nail-polish and my big sister in her tummy. They didn't have enough money for proper rings, but Dad promised Mum she would have one. Two children and about eight difficult years later, he brought home that ring. Everything about that makes me want to cry. I know their relationship has been far from rosy; they married young, were poor and stressed and scared and had three daughters with whom they didn't know what to do, but my memories of them as a couple are happy ones. I remember Dad calling Mum what I thought was "sweedard", and that every night they showered together; for a long time I thought all parents did. I remember them agreeing not to buy each other Christmas presents because we couldn't afford it and then Dad pulling out Mum's favourite perfume. Mum crying her eyes out for what Dad went through when he was little.

They'd be horrified by my blog; the swears, my obsessional ramblings about Vincent, and my ranting about everything else. Nevertheless, Happy Anniversary Mum and Dad. And to everyone else, Happy St Patrick's Day.

May the luck of the Irish
Lead to happiest heights
And the highway you travel
Be lined with green lights.

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