Hail Glorious St Patrick lived up to his anthem. He organised not only the hail, but the snow and rain and a wind-chill factor that could yet see us twinned with Anchorage. Then again, he probably knew what he was doing, writes Kathy Sheridan in Dublin.
"You won't get a better anti-riot weapon than a shower of rain to keep the little f**kers off the streets," said an RUC man once, after a flashpoint July 12th parade had been rained into a damp squib.
The hardy ones who braved yesterday's foul weather spoke in a babel of languages, few of which were English or Irish.
Up at the Ceilí Mór on Earlsfort Terrace, the hit of the festival by every measure, a remarkable gathering of nationalities attempted the Siege of Ennis in an unbeatable atmosphere of high spirits and global co-operation.
With shamrock-shaped antennae - a work of genius from the sponsors - and high leprechaun hats bobbing with the rhythm, dozens of young people formed a dancing circle into which they spontaneously jumped to perform a country-style two-hander (two Italians) or a Michael Jackson-style breakdance (a young Japanese man) or a go at a tap-dance (a Pole) or a high-kicking Riverdance routine (three small Irish girls), each stepping out again to a roar of applause.
From the sidelines, spectators watched and smiled, beguiled by the colour, music and energy, barely discommoded by the odd flurry of snow.
The closer one moved to St Stephen's Green, the madder the mood became and the mad ones were indisputably Irish.
A young Dubliner who approached a woman with an unlikely request for the nearest McDonald's, began to wave around his fake penis when he was too close to ignore.
A girl who greeted a bunch of lads on Grafton Street with the news - in English that she was "on the pill - and was free" provoked an ISPCC fund collector to roll his eyes and express the pious hope they wouldn't be coming to his organisation in nine months looking for help.
The parade had its high moments too. Spectators watched boggle-eyed as a man waving a "US troops out of Shannon" banner chased alongside an innocent high school band from Powder Springs, Georgia.
The corporation man pushing his litter barrow behind the two ambulances that marked the end of the parade got the loudest cheer of the day.
As the long day stretched towards early evening, the effects of the early start were beginning to show. A dozen gardaí manning the entrance to St Stephen's Green were sniffing what looked like innocent bottles of orange. A half-litre bottle of vodka was confiscated.
"They just said 'no drinkin', no messin'," said a girl who said she had no problem with it.
A young fellow did a little dance with his trousers around his ankles outside the Stephen's Green Centre and his friend pulled them up again.
Down the street, people stepped around a couple of gardaí and a group of girls and boys, fearing the worst. It turned out that a boy with "Feck" written on his forehead wanted to take a picture of them all together.
In Temple Bar, as darkness fell, the air filled with buskers and drummers and songs - I Can't Get No Satisfaction vying with Don't Look Back in Anger and Brown-eyed Girl blending with a little Bob Marley - all inviting spontaneous sing-alongs with the chorus. A "St Patrick" complete with mitre and green beard played air guitar on his crozier.