So I’ve had several a decade of slightly inauthentic Paddy’s Day experiences. It wasn’t easy, what with living in Nairobi and Islamabad.
There was the time Begley and I drove across Mumbai to find what we thought to be the city’s sole Irish bar, only to find none of the staff understood the significance of the date. And of course there was no Guinness.
One time I had to make do with ouzo, but that’s a long story.
Thankfully, I never had to stoop so low as attend The British Club in Islamabad, which without the slightest hint of shame would put on a Paddy’s Day party.
Anyway, now I’m New York things will be easier. Although it brings other risks. I don’t want my Guinness dyed green thank you very much. Nor will I be going to Jose O’Shea’s…