Wednesday 17th March 2010 - Saint Patrick's Day

          My wander up the east coast has brought me finally across my previous path, near Glasgow Delaware.  Last time I was here, it was thick snow and freezing.  Now it's sunny and warm.  So I go out for a look about.  One of the things I meant to do last time, but was prevented by the weather, was to visit the Amtrak coach repair yards.  When I find them, it turns out it's just workshops, with no public presence, like tours or presentations.  The guard is very helpful, and gives me an address in Philadelphia I can visit.  It's alright for him to talk about going to Philly, he's got a gun.

          But the trip is not wasted.  Next door, I find another bit of Scottish heritage.  There is a new development, which they've called St Andrew's.  Almost all the street names are Scottish, although they do seem to be something of a golfer's view of Scotland.  But they also have Robert Burns, and, puzzlingly, Keats, perhaps honoured for his homage (with the French pronunciation!) on his visit to Burn's grave.  There's even a little town square, called Boswell Square, with a bronze plaque eulogising said Boswell ("still regarded by many as the greatest biographer in Western Literature", for example).

          The piece-de-resistance, however, right in the centre of the development, is, would you believe, "Cardiff Way".  The only explanation I can think of for this strange anomaly (apart from the ridiculous notion that people who could eulogise Boswell thought Cardiff was in Scotland) is that Cardiff Way comes to an abrupt end:

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Perhaps there is going to be a twin development, with all the street names Welsh.  Like "Glasgow", which we all know now is derived from Welsh Gaelic (or 'British', as it was then called)

          Anyway, all that Scottish and Welsh diversion seemed a suitable way to spend St Patrick's day.  Does anybody know what nationality St P. was?  Was he Welsh as well?

 

          Later that night, I sneaked out to parly with an ex-policeman who claimed to traffic in shoulder patches, to see if he could get one of my missing ones.  He certainly talked the talk (his name was Patrick too, and he was festooned with shamrocks).  I arranged for an intermediary to act as my agent, but I'm not going to hold my breath, as they say.