Even though St Patrick's Day has not yet arrived, I have already received several cards and messages. Some came the old-fashioned way, delivered by the postman, but most were like my friend Colleen's, the virtual variety, and arrived with a "ping' in my inbox.
Colleen's card, animated by leaping leprechauns, proffered a self-styled "auld Irish blessing":
May you have
No frost on your spuds,
No worms on your cabbage.
May your goat give plenty of milk.
And if you inherit a donkey,
May she be in foal.
Colleen's not Irish, she's an Aussie of Irish descent, interested in and proud of her heritage and she does what she can to sustain it.
But her virtual Ireland doesn't exist any more, if it ever did. I told Colleen about some of the significant recent developments in the real Ireland including the Sinn Fein vote in January to support policing in Northern Ireland — a first in the party's history.
Gerry Adams summed up the decision to support the forces of law and order in nationalist areas as having created the potential to change the political landscape of Ireland forever. Full political and community support for policing will in theory benefit the whole community.
We've also talked about the importance of the forthcoming elections to the Regional Assembly at Stormont in Belfast, which will culminate in the formation of a power-sharing Executive by 26 March.
And of course, we talked about how Ireland slaughtered the English in the rugby at Croke Park. This stadium's history almost gives it the status of a sacred site: it is the home of gaelic games, all foreign games being outlawed here. In 1920, 14 spectators at a Gaelic football match here were killed by British forces, and one stand, Hill 16, was built using rubble from the 1916 Easter Rising. So in the lead-up to the match there was some disquiet about how British national anthem would be received.
"An Irish army band playing 'God Save the Queen' at Croke Park!" chortled Colleen, "Was there a terrible barney?" - but of course there wasn’t.
You could hear a pin drop while they played it, and then the crowd applauded. It's a new Ireland now, I reminded her – educated, multicultural, aware. I pulled out a newspaper cutting and read Gordon D'Arcy's words after the game: "You always respect your opposition's anthem. So, great respect for 'God save the Queen' – and then when our anthems came, they boomed it out. That's the proper way to do it. I can't imagine how the English felt."
Her relief at these sentiments turned to pride when she heard how the Irish team had gone on to score a record number of points against an English side in 124 years of championship rugby. St Patrick would be proud too, I remarked.
""St Patrick??" she queried, "Didn’t he spend half his life on the side of a mountain minding sheep, and the other half trying to set up monasteries and convert the pagan masses?"
Yes, he had a first hand experience of slavery, and of the long, hard struggle to bring about change. He had dealt with a few slippery creatures in his time too. Then I reminded her how he used the shamrock to explain the concept of the Trinity, and asked if she could think of a better emblem of multicultural co-existence.
Colleen smiled, and lifted her glass, and proposed a toast to St Patrick - the man before his time:
May you always find blue skies above your head
And shamrocks beneath your feet,
Laughter and joy aplenty,
Kindness from all you meet...
Good friends and kin to miss you
If ever you choose to roam,
And a path that's been cleared by the angels themselves
To carry you safely home.
I'll drink to that! Slanthe!