The quarter of me that is genuinely Irish often talks the remaining portions into having a few pints. On St. Paddy’s day the quarter becomes a whole, because everyone is Irish on St. Paddy’s.
By far the quietest I’ve spent in a number of years I suspect we may have woken the poor bar keep from slumber when we walked into the Cobble Hill Pub. The highlight of the evening was actually the long drunken walk home. Oh, and catching a photo of Dennis in his beer coaster goggles.


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