St Patrick's day, 2014. Our friends over the pond particularly enjoy being Irish for the day with shamrocks and leprechauns and folk memories of famines and massacres and diseases and religious intolerance and green things and beer coming back up as fast as it's going down and shillelaghs and Blarney. Now, a little bit of the human part of my genome is Irish. But it's practically a fingernail.
My Great Great Great Great Great Great Great Grandfather was a French Huguenot immigrant. He founded a sugar refinery in the 1760s in Mullinahack, an area of Dublin. He married an Irish girl, and that is where the Mungo of my name comes from. That makes me 0.4% Irish. Sláinte, where's the craic etc! Of course there's also several other European nationalities, as well as a few off-world origins...Ben did come round before Scouts but we hardly had any time and I had to tell him not to mess up my room as it had been cleaned completely - I even did the hoovering. He got the man of the match award on Sunday but his Mum says they should have awarded 3 prizes for handbags (getting sulky, emotional and prickly for no reason like a buncha girls).
We got a badge for the centenary of World War 1 and I'm not allowed to bring a hidden bag of tools to the scrapheap challenge this weekend, because it might be unfair on any other team that didn't think of it.
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