Tomorrow is St Patrick's Day.
One of the great peculiarities of this date in my experience is that it tends to be a bigger deal anywhere you are but Ireland - or certainly the parts where I lived.
Clearly there are very obvious exceptions to this rule, with big parades in Dublin, Downpatrick and other parts of the island. But, to illustrate my point, where do all the major Irish politicians - including the Taoiseach himself - go to celebrate their patron saint's big day? Yes, they hop on a flight to Washington DC and spend it at the White House. (The Independent newspaper once gave me a cheque for £50 when I pointed that out, not that I thought it was much of a secret).
Although a national holiday in the Republic of Ireland, 17th March is a normal working day for most people north of the border. Indeed, as I was growing up, it tended to be notable only for the fact that the Ulster Schools' Cup Final in rugby was held on that date and Frank Carson was generally on the telly.
But, on this side of the water as in so many other parts of the world, loads of people will be wearing green, drinking Guinness and pretending to be Michael Flatley.
Whilst Vanessa and I aren't planning to go out, we will be marking the occasion with some Irish food and drink and watching Homer Simpson visit the Giant's Causeway (seriously, Sky 1 at 7.30pm - don't miss it).
After all, it would be a shame if we didn't diddly-aye-do something.
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