St Patrick's Day

St Patrick's Day! A reason for a celebration… not for religious reasons but because he got things done. Anyway, apparently he was born in Britain and was really called Maewyn Succat. That confused a lot of people as they all thought it was an anagram and for a long while nicknamed him ‘Anna.’ Maewyn didn’t like that so decided to reinvent himself and began to call himself Patrick. It was easier to pronounce and he realised that it would be more memorable since the Romans, who controlled Britain at that time (an early EU type thing before the Germans got the idea), had invented a game called ‘football’ where they kicked around the heads of defeated insurgents. It was common practice to award any Roman soldier who managed to kick a head into a bucket three times, with a flagon of wine and the practice of achieving the three bucket thing became known as a ‘hat trick’ because the head in a bucket looked like it had a new helmet on. Anyway, so Maewyn decided Patrick would be a better name.  

He arrived in Ireland and for while looked after farm animals but soon realised the fields were a treacherous place with all the snakes around so he decided that he would get rid of them. The locals laughed and said, “Sure ye’ll never manage that Paddy. (They had started calling him Paddy for short because they didn’t know what a hatrick was as they played a game there where they bashed a rock about with sticks – it eventually evolved into modern day ‘hurling’). Ye’d be a saint if you ever managed to get rid of them slimy fellas, sure ye would.” And they all laughed at him.

But Patrick was nothing if not a trier so he decided he’d show them all and make a name for himself (Not another name because he’d already done that, but a reputation at least.) So he called a meeting and all 7,934,895 snakes showed up. Anyway, he said (in his newly acquired Irish accent), “It's over fellas. The Irish don't like snakes. Yer culturally all wrong anyway. You don't fit here. So we're shipping the lot of you out. You rattlers, noisy bastards, are going to America. Pythons, 'fraid it's Africa for you lot. Hotter anyway. You'll like it. Bigger food there too. And if you get bored in the sunshine all day put yer heads together and write some comedy or something. As for you grass snakes we're sending you to Devon, in England. Don't look so miserable. It's nice. They'll take you in no bother, and the benefits there are great. You just have to pitch up and they give you stuff. Sure, the Devonshire people don't like strangers but lay low a while and you'll integrate. And they do nice cream teas as well. And now you clever feckers, you Adders, we're sending you to a place called Europe. It doesn't exist yet but it will one day and they're going to need your mathematical skills when they get their own money and nobody knows how the feck to sort out their budgets.”

The Adders were looking quite pleased with themselves but Patrick noticed that the Boa Constrictors were muttering to one another, so he held up his staff for silence.

“Don’t look so feckin worried you lot. You’re all off to a place called South Amerikey.” There was a gasp from the Boas and one looked up and asked where South Amerikey was in the world.
“Sure don’t be so feckin stupid fellas. Isn’t it down there below North Amerikey.”

The same Boa piped up and asked where North Amerikey was.

“Good question… and put yer, feckin tongue in when yer talking, can’t you. So, North Amerikey hasn’t been discovered yet either. At the minute there’s a lot of strange fellas out there who paint their faces and wear bird feathers on their heads. Don’t ask. But they’re keen to keep quiet about North Amerikey because they don’t want a load of people showing up and taking over. They’re none too keen on this immigration malarkey is what I hear, and want to keep the place to themselves. But that won’t affect you lot because you’ll be down there in South Amerikey and one day a fella called Trump that nobody is going to like too much will build a wall and keep you all down there anyway. But sure you can make a name for yerselves. If you don’t squeeze the life out of it, they’ll be naming women’s scarves after ye.” Before the Boas could question anymore Patrick turned to a group of snakes that were wriggling about in a nest.

“Are you Vipers paying attention there? Stop your wriggling and listen. You’re a poisonous bunch of buggers so were sending you lot way down to the bottom end of the world… a big place, ‘cos there’s so many of ye, called Australia. There’s a bunch of venomous spiders down there already so ye will all get along just fine. And, before ye ask, no, it hasn’t been discovered either yet. But you’ll do alright there. Once the nosey bastards of this world find out the Earth isn’t flat and get exploring in their boats, they’ll be sending their convicts out there to live and it’ll serve them ne’er do wells right if you bite their arses. Oh, and a little tip to help you Vipers out. Give it a few years and some clever clogs is going to invent a thing called the 'phone. Jump on that and create your own free call system. Right, be off with the lot o'ye, or I'll bust your heads with this stick."

Flushed with his snake success, Patrick turned next to ants. He gathered them all together, all 495 trillion and tried a similar speech. When he'd finished, one of the ants piped up, "We ain't goin nowhere geezer (he was a cockney ant). We're the workers, innit. You get rid of us and we ain't gonna build no more hills and this place is gonna be flatter than bleedin Holland, yeah. And then you gonna be overrun by nobheads on bikes wot wear lumo jackets and think they can drive round on pavements and right through red lights wot will be invented. So don't piss us off man or we go on strike, you get me?"

Patrick nodded. "Bejasus, sher I never give that a thought. I'm done here." And off he went to invent Guinness.