DATELINE, Dublin, 1997, and there's something a bit uncomfortable about this new St Patrick's Day in post Catholic, Celtic tiger, Riverdancing Ireland.
Time was when March 17th could be guaranteed to be wet, dark, miserable, even freezing. Tacky floats advertising washing machines and security systems vied for attention with pearl toothed North American majorettes.
Hypothermia was one of the scars of battle. Why, some US participants who didn't feel happy enough with thermals wrote their wills before taking the flight across the Atlantic.
Yesterday, however, there was no sign of snow, sleet, hail, or showers as an estimated 400,000 turned out to watch one of the largest Dublin parades on record. Rain, when it did come, was infuriatingly light and sporadic.
Not only was it mainly dry, but the sun even shone at noon, as the capital's pageant stepped out from Christchurch Hill.
Accents, when foreign, were predominantly European. That this patron saint is not native, and that there is some question mark over his beatification, seemed incidental to the visitors.
Led by the Lord Mayor's coach and followed by the Macnas Theatre Company's Deja Moo, the theme of this year's theatre was "myths and legends". Wandering Aengus, Uranuaile, Fionn (Fanta) McCumhail, the Children of Lir were all well represented.
One wit in Parnell Square wondered when James Joyce, complete with pint of Guinness, had become a legend and remarked that the Defence Forces participants were "the best mythical figures of the bleedin' lot".
The theme gave licence to the imagination of companies including Pavement Arts and CAFE, and community groups from around the city. Manannan Mac Lir may not be aware of his Finglas connections, but at least the sea god didn't have to appear like one latter day Patrick in punk rock gear.
The Battle of Clontarf was lost, won and lost again on bicycles, as the "Recycle the City" campaign put its own message across.
A parade aimed more at adults than children, the best way to catch every one of the 50 entries was with harness and climbing gear. Some Dub liners were wise enough to bring lightweight ladders, while those with monkeys in their gene& took to the trees in O'Connell Street.
Apart from balconies in city centre hotels, the most exclusive vantage points were the statues. Charles Stewart Parnell's warning - "thus far shalt thou go and no further" wasn't enough to stop two young lads from squatting on his head.
It was only towards the close of the 2 1/2 hour spectacle that ice cream sales started to drop off. The wind came up clouds were out, temperatures were falling.
Two Italian tourists, Sergio Flamini and Maria Gambacorta from Naples didn't care about the elements. They had bought a can of green hair spray, and had green shamrocks painted on their cheeks.
They were, they said, going to the monster ceili afterwards up at St Stephen's Green. "The Irish don't need the sun to samba," Sergio said. This was better than Notting Hill, almost as good as Rio de Janeiro, in his opinion.
"All you need is a bit more sex, he said.
There were a few familiar elements on this, the second year of the revamped Dublin festival - which has successfully transformed the parade from a shamelessly commercial to a less embarrassing and far more enjoyable artistic event.
Almost one third of the 3,577 performers were US majorettes or musicians with high school bands. Three dance troupes had equipped themselves with warm tights, while the Celtic farmers from Ceide Fields in Mayo looked positively blue with chill.
The parade wasn't entirely godless or pagan. At about 2.30 pm., an hour after the main cortege had crossed O'Connell Bridge, a car proceeded slowly along the road, bearing a loud speaker and a statue of the Virgin.
She was surrounded by flowers on the roof. The Rosary was recited over the loud speaker. A small contingent of about eight people elicited responses as they followed behind.
And then it was all over for another 12 months. Met Eireann could confirm that less clement weather was on the way. The crowds dispersed, to the familiar sound of hundreds of drink cans being kicked around the streets.
