Tag Archives: Saint Patrick’s Day

Joke 359

17 Mar

I stole this one from Janie’s Place:

Who is green and stays outdoors all year round? 

Patty O’ Furniture.

English: Picture of a beam in the Guinness Sto...

Happy St Patrick’s Day!

Green Day

17 Mar
Saint Patrick's Day Parade, Dublin Ohio.

Image via Wikipedia

Today is St Patrick’s Day.  It had to be edited down to fit the 47-minute window after Idol, but as far as the taster that the audience had?  They loved it. 

I am of Irish descent; my Great-Great-Grandma Gavin came over to Liverpool during the Famine.  Perhaps that explains my love affair with food: it’s genetics rather than greed.

I have just realised that I never once heard of a Great-Great-Grandad Gavin.  Was he a naughty boy, not to be spoken of?  Or perhaps 4Gs was a naughty girl, if you know what I mean?

My Mum could be tart sometimes and she was once asked by an official who heard her accent if she was Irish:

Mum: I’m from the capital of Ireland.

Official: Dublin?

Mum: Liverpool.


That reminds me of a time before I was married to the Hub and he had not yet been trained to speak respectfully of women (he was seventeen, like today).  He was bored on a night shift and was using one of those old telex machines – or it may have been ticker tape – to chat to a bored young South African in Bloemfontein.

Pre-Hub: What are the tarts like there?

BYSAIB: Err…the creams are okay but the crusts are a bit soft.


I never usually remember to celebrate St Patrick’s Day, but I am technically English.  Ain’t that the luck of the Irish?


In case you are wondering about that first paragraph, today’s WordPress prompt was to Grab the nearest book (or website) to you right now. Jump to paragraph 3, second Sentence. Write it in a post.  I closed my eyes, thrust my hand into my book box*, and pulled out a copy of Gleeful!  A Totally Unofficial Guide To The Hit TV Series ‘Glee’ by Amy Rickman.  I’m not ashamed to say I won it in a competition; a competition for which I purchased a stamp and wrote on a postcard.  That’s right, I’m a Gleek.  Which makes me sound a bit Welsh, as well.  Reminds me of that old joke about the Englishman, the Irishman and the Welshman…that’s right: I’m a joke.

*If you’d like to read a poem about a box – and whyever would you not? – go to my new poetry site at I’m Not a Verse.

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