First of all, let’s get it right I’m not a dwarf or a gnome or as I’ve heard The Gingerbread Man. I’m a leprechaun/elf. How hard is that to grasp.
My name is also Patrick, not Paddy or Grumpy, and most definitely not Happy. I have never worn green as it clashes with my gloriously luxurious and long ginger beard.
No the only colour I ever wear are various shades of red, so you may call it what you will with glorious gold buttons which sparkle and glitter in the sunlight.
My hat is also red and yes it does usually have a belt buckle right in the centre. The fascination of human beings with my attire never fails to fascinate me.
I do not slave all day over peoples thread worn and holey shoes, the treasure chest stories are true, I live of its proceeds very comfortably, thanks.
I adore solitude so when people come looking for the bag at the end of the rainbow I leave them on a merry uncomfortable journey there not likely to repeat.
The Hamster Wheel debacle was my favourite as I created and masterminded that contraption with my mind and bare hands.
That day if you had seen me you most likely would have been inclined to call me Happy. I nearly wet myself laughing watching grown men push each other.
I also adored the time I borrowed a Chihuahua and dressed as Santa the stories that went around about how small Santa and Rudolph were, tickled my funny bone for weeks.
A whole new myth and legend ran rife around the forests and hills. No dog was safe as the cleverer kids tried to make their own adventure and attempted to fly, many a creature was run ragged.
These days the visitors chasing the unreachable pot of gold are less and less as they follow the same dream by purchasing a lotto ticket.
All hoping for the same goal but the government is leading them in the dance, not me.
Although solitude is my preferred condition. The tourist board pays me to show myself every now and then.
There would be a lot fewer visitors to our fabulous lush and green isle especially the yankees if they didn’t believe they had the opportunity myself to espy.
I also have to leak some of my gold now and again but the aforementioned tourist board has the good grace to keep it topped up along with me aul pints of Guinness.
Yep, I’m definitely living the life of Reilly as they say, and my naughty side adds the O.
Yep it was plain Reilly until every time the boss heard of my antics and flagrant acts of disobedience he nearly always said Oh. So they called me Patrick O’Reilly eventually.
I quite like the O it gives me a certain ring.
I have oft thought about finding a Mrs O’Reilly when the head is immersed in Guinness but wake up the next morning green and as mentioned before that colour does not look good on me and I
soon recover my senses when I look in the mirror.
Ah, I see a fresh batch of gobshites. Don’t need a calendar there all clad in various shades of green, Paddys Day must be coming.
Jaysus time for me to get busy, when Spring is sprung my leisure time on the shelf is hung. I’ll leave you with good aul Irish saying -
“May the Irish hills caress you. May her lakes and rivers bless you. May the luck of the Irish enfold you. May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you”