It was the Manchester Irish Festival over the weekend.
Based in Albert Square, it was a celebration of rich heritage; enjoyed through the medium of music and traditional produce, bound together in a parade proudly endorsing all counties as well as felicitating the 3rd generation Irish connections to the past.
As gaelic football teams strode, floats ferrying Irish dancers trawled and cars emblazoned with county flags proceeded, the pride was tangible.
The bar was never less than 3 rows deep, naturally. The traditional stew ran out after an hour, naturally. & there was a buoyancy rich with gossip, Guinness guzzling and gaiety that transported me back to family parties from yester-year.
It's something the English don't have. As St Patricks day rolls ever closer, I think George who?
Top buys of the day
Stew (worth mentioning twice)
Whiskey & Diet Coke (I had 30)
Top sights of the weekend
Bumping into people I only see once a year wearing the same outfit, every year
Feeding gossip to a distant relation to see how long it'd take to get back to me in a chinese whispered mangle of lies (approx 18 hours)
Watching the little Irish Dancers slap away on their heavies whilst brushing a jealous tear away as I never got near that stage in my dancing career
People watching. It's my favourite