G'Day From Downunder

It's been a while since we had a cuppa together so here we go.

St. Patrick is alive and well along with his four brothers and living in Cork. "How do I know?," did I hear you ask. Well let me explain. At short notice I had to take a flying visit to Ireland and I spent St. Patrick's Day in Cork.

Now it's many, many years since I last saw a St. Patrick's Day parade in Cork and I will be the first to admit it's a tiny affair compared to New York, but, by Irish standards it was big. There were lots of ethnic groups represented; Polish, Bangladeshi, etc. showing the many new faces of Ireland and its embracing of multiculturalism.

Ireland is no longer the "quaint little island" on the West Coast of Europe.

It is now a fully fledged nation of the world, a real melting pot; all wearing green on March 17th. It was a wonderful sight with people from all different ethnic backgrounds coming together at a time of national celebration.

The new Irish faces of all colours and backgrounds appeared to take to the black nectar of the Gods as if they were native born. I assure you the Guinness taps were full blast all day. All the moms and dads obviously went to great lengths to dress up their children in their green and face paint for the occasion.

Here in Australia I'm asked many times if we have Leprechauns in Ireland and I always say no! Well now I can say yes because I will swear I saw thousands of them at the St. Pat's Day Parade and now I can add that we've got coloured ones as well as Polish and Czech ones. Yes we've got Leprechauns of all sorts and kinds.

As for St. Patrick himself I met him in the Grand Parade with his four identical brothers all dressed the same with their Bishop's hat and Staff (Mitre and Crook) and would you believe it, no bloody film in my camera (OK thenm no disk space!) to provide the evidence.

The only way to get into a pub after the parade would have been with a shoe horn to squeeze yourself in. However, I did manage to squeeze into Paddy McCarthy's watering hole, Pa Johnston's, which he frequents when he's visiting his Irish estates and dare I say not a bad drop there at all, but then again when you own and publish such a fine informative and noble publication as this you would only have the finest of tastes. I didn't get time to pack my swimming trunks and suntan lotion due to the short notice but let's be realistic who goes to Ireland to swim and get a suntan?

It rained, it was cold, bloody cold, but who cares, come rain or shine it's very hard not to enjoy yourself when visiting Ireland.

My flights from Australia to Ireland were delayed along the way by ten hours making my journey almost forty hours altogether, not comfortable no matter what class you travel.

So I arrived in Dublin for the first few days of my five day trip with a massive dose of jetlag. However, just being in Ireland made up for all the inconvenience.

Every time I step out onto the pavement or walk through Temple Bar I'm absolutely amazed with the music talent in Ireland, it still oozes in untapped talent; it resembles a giant size box of Smarties so colorful so pure and so exciting.

Tell me what musician, whoever, wherever, wouldn't want to hang out in Ireland and be inspired by all this talent. Give me back my Guitar and take off about thirty years and I'll be first in the queue.

Walking from my hotel in Temple Bar to my business meeting in Fitzwilliam Place just off Lesson Street I walked through St Stephens Green.

I had forgotten what a beautiful gem this park is in Dublin's Crown. Thank God this time I had some film in my camera so I can share with you some of its beauty and tranquillity. A true oasis in the desert of a busy city.

Every time I go home to Ireland I pinch myself to check if all this beauty is real then I suck in the beautiful smells and tastes.

It's true there are only two types of people on this planet, those who are Irish and those who wish they were Irish; and I'm sure if I asked Tommy "Smyth with a Y" after his historic march up the Avenue, he would no doubt say there's only one type.

As I couldn't be in New York to witness and share his proudest day as an Irishman I was in the next best place my home town of Cork.

Growing up in Cork in the fifties was quite cute in spite of all the poverty; there was an enormous sense of community, it was very comforting, much the same as an extended family.

There was little and scattered traffic, minimum crime only one murder that I remember in my youth. It was a wonderful, safe place to grow up in and learn at the University of Life.

All we young rascals didn't have the luxury of further education. What did we need it for? We learned it all on the streets, respect, dignity, courtesy, caring and sharing. Then it all changed.

Why am I telling you all this? Because while I always look at Ireland through rose-coloured glasses and I'm always willing to make excuses for things that go wrong there, this time I'm livid at what I saw on this visit.

Lines of cocaine being snorted by parents in their home while young children are present. I was invited to a birthday party while in Cork and as is customary "all back to the party boy and girls place for last drinks".

Then my Rose Coloured Glasses were smashed to smithereens. My illusion was shattered to see this happen in my lovely home town.

Cork brought to its knees by Cocaine. What would our forefathers say? Is this what they fought for, for the future or Ireland's sons and daughters? They would turn in their graves.

I have written many times of this curse throwing its ugly cloak over Ireland and I will continue to do so even though it may fall on deaf ears as it has for the last twenty years.

However, it won't stop me revisiting my homeland or diminish the love I have for it.

I make no apologies for finishing on such a tone but I felt it necessary to point out the extent of the drug problem in Ireland. The Caleigh in the kitchen is now replaced by the Coke in the kitchen.

The scenes I saw moved me to write the following on my return trip to Australia:

Until I talk to you again, be good to those who love you!

Slainte from Downunder!