On Sunday morning, thousands of revelers gathered in Central London to celebrate the annual Saint Patrick’s Day festival and parade. Patrick may be the patron saint of Ireland, but it’s not so well known that the man mythology claims to have driven the snakes from Irish shores was actually born in Britain. In light of such a revelation, it seems only befitting that London should hold a parade in his honor all its own.

There are only few occasions in a year that a person is afforded permission to wind oneself into a drunken frenzy before noon, Paddy’s Day is, of course, one of them. It was a sea of faces lining the streets in Piccadilly Circus and although it was a Sunday morning and the actual celebration isn’t until Thursday, I’d say at least a quarter of them had dedicated their mornings to getting cranked-up on some concoction or other.

Alcohol carries with it the magnificent potential to make even the most tedious of situations bearable and after waiting in the grizzly March air for over an hour before the parade got started, I certainly could have done with a slight tipple of whisky to hold me over. Unfortunately, we forgot to bring anything to tide us over and so our wait for the parade to start was an entirely sober affair.

The Americans love Saint Patrick’s Day more than anyone and I don’t think I’ve ever met one of them who didn’t claim at least some Irish heritage of their own to me. Not that this is in anyway a bad thing, I am of the school of thought believing that “the more, the merrier”. If there is the offer of a pint accompanying such a claim, then I’m even happier listen to whatever else you’d like to share about your family history.

I may have mentioned drinking twice in this post, but I didn’t touch a drop all day. Thursday, however, may be an entirely different story. As you can see, there were certainly quite a few curious characters who took part in the proceedings this year.