|This is a pub I used to frequent (pub does NOT equal bar in this case because I don't drink). Ok, so it's not in Ireland, it's in England, but isn't so...pubby?|
I think this is a good time to give everyone a little of my histoire J. I love being Irish and I was taught, growing up, to feel sorry for people that weren’t. My mom’s whole family is Irish and so are most of the people in the town I grew up in.
I was born in California, but we moved to Butte, Montana (that’s byoot, now ) when I was nine because it’s where my mom and step-dad grew up. Butte’s heyday has long since passed with the closing of the mines but, Irish culture is still alive and well there and you can’t throw a stick without hitting a Sullivan (my very Irish family includes Sullivans).
Needless to say, St. Paddy’s is a big deal there and growing up, it was almost offensive not to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day.
So, one day in high school when St. Paddy’s was on a weekday, everyone’s attention was suddenly drawn out the window (teacher included) during English.
“It’s The Leprechaun!!”
Sure enough, it was The Leprechaun, and he was taking two one step forward and two back as he teetered his way towards the festivities uptown (the drinking starts around noon).
Butte, MT has a leprechaun. Everyone knows him. He’s a leprechaun year ‘round and finding him strolling the streets is common. He’s always wearing his shamrocked hat and buckled shoes, like any self-respecting leprechaun, complete with green waistcoat and breeches. Yes, he’s from Ireland. What he fills his leprechauny days with, no one knows. Except on St. Patrick’s Day.