It's 51 degrees and the children of Southampton are unleashed in their green shirts, suspicious beverages, blasted music out the windows of questionable Irish authenticity.
And for me? Well, green's never been my favorite color, nor do I think I look particularly good in it. I'm in the mood for some Lady GaGa. And somehow I doubt that St. Patrick aspired to become synonymous with debauchery.
So a cold Guinness and good people should serve quite well, indeed.