IRISH STEW

On the way home from Easton I rode past a St. Patrick’s Day parade about to move off towards town from Goodhind Street. I stopped, got off my bike and filmed as the column passed where I stood.
‘You’d think it’d be bigger with all the Paddy’s in town,’ said a man next to me.
‘There is a large Irish community here, isn’t there?’ I said.
I used to co-own an Austin Half-Ton van we’d bought from a buthcher was going out of business. One day while I was giving it a much needed wash a pony and trap driven by what looked like a young teenage boy drew up.
‘You want to sell it?’ he said with an Irish accent and pointing at the van.
‘No thanks.’
‘Go on. I’ll give you a good price.’
‘No thanks.’
‘You sure? I’ll do you a deal.’
‘No thanks.’
‘If you change your mind I’ll be around for a while.’
‘Okay,’ I said.