Sales of Guinness skyrocket; Plastic-Paddy pubs hand out shamrocked tat to anyone who drinks twenty pints of the old craic-juice. In bars everywhere, folksy cardboard leprechauns with articulating limbs are hung around as decorations, and bent by punters into hilarious attitudes. The humble spud, its price hiked, acquires a Today's Special cult status; the Irish eyes have it.
Into this spume-filled cauldron of culture, fighting, religious fervour and drunkenness, we introduce another dimension. Music to make your dog howl.
I love Irish traditional music. I've played it for years, and enjoy the company of those who play it. To listen to at home, I've a collection of beautiful, exciting songs and tunes. But what I find utterly toe-curling are the Irish standards, those terrible songs which every Paddy's Night get thrashed to death. 'Irish Rover'. 'Wild Rover'. 'Gypsy Rover'. And the all-time worst: 'Leaving of Liverpool'.
Why do I hate them so? Because they appear on oxymoronic CDs such as 'The Essential Foster and Allen'. Because they're mawkish slop. Because I've been driven quite mad by hearing them sung, or dribbled, year after year, by sweating pissed people in bars who want to be everyone's friend.
So this year let's really search our hearts, make an effort and learn some new songs to bawl out. Come round to my place, I've got the really good stuff.