Impressions of Ireland (in no particular order):

The Guinness Factory
The hostel in Temple Bar where we had 8 bunkbeds in the room, the bars all within stumbling distance, and a big taco dinner prepared in the miraculously clean kitchen
The granny coach tour of the Dingle Penninsula
“Where’s my fucking cheesecake?”
The Cliffs of Mohr and the silly people peering over the slippery-looking ledge into a drop of 100s of feet
The murals and quiet Sunday streets of Derry/Londonderry
Fighting on the ferry across the Shannon
Our driver getting all busy with the Kiwi girl on the tour and the rest of us laughing at them
Car games on the bus
My first Guinness ever, drunk in a Dublin pub
Yahoos kicking over a homeless guy’s change cup
Kayaking past a house where Jonathan Swift wrote
“Oliver the Bastard” and the ruins he left behind
Potato Famine stories
and pubs, pubs and more pubs. We did not dress for discos.

I like St. Patrick’s Day because its a holiday that doesn’t really require you to do anything – no gifts, no cards, no big dinner – except go have a pint and a laugh. Why people go to British pubs to celebrate is beyond me, though.