Saint Patrick may have banished the snakes from Ireland, but it's time he did something about the ladders as well.
Time was, being six feet tall guaranteed you a reasonable view of the Dublin parade. The availability of super-light aluminium stepladders has changed that, however; and every second spectator seemed to be on one yesterday.
It was a metaphor for the economic boom. Not having your own ladder was a bit like living west of the Shannon. The social climbers might let you onto the bottom rung, but without your own steps you just weren't at the parade.
It was probably the experience of last year, when balmy temperatures brought record crowds into the city, that sent so many to the hardware shops.
There was no repeat of that weather on this occasion, and the only sun that made an appearance was the giant plastic one on the Eircom float. But the exuberance of the parade was undimmed.
"Hullabaloo" was the theme of this year's production, a word defined by the dictionary as "tumultuous noise, uproar, clamorous confusion," and one of the early floats set the tone.
The Ancient Mariners of Basle, representing the hitherto uncelebrated Swiss naval tradition, wheeled a real-looking cannon around the streets, firing it (using blanks, we hoped) at intervals, and causing seizures among the unsighted. "Jesus, what was that?" gasped a woman on Dame Street, who didn't have a ladder.
A marching band from Hiroshima was one of the many contributing to the more musical noise; and whenever the parade let hullabaloo levels drop, the spectators filled in. Whistles were a big seller for the street hawkers yesterday, and children responded as though they had a whistleblowers' charter.
Generally, Dublin on St Patrick's Day is not for the squeamish. From a pontoon on the Liffey, where a band called Dance to Tipperary belted out Irish music (but not as we know it) with a jackhammer beat, to the "Monster Ceili" on St Stephen's Green, the city centre throbbed like a hangover.
The more quietly humming hotdog vans did a roaring trade, as usual, as did the jarveys. Every horse that didn't make it to Cheltenham this week was pulling tourists around the streets; and the other main form of transport in the city - baby-buggies - again caused gridlock at bottlenecks such as the pedestrian entrance to St Stephen's Green.
Litter reached epic proportions, although street cleaners were on the scene within minutes of the parade's end.
Evangelists can't afford to be squeamish, however, and with potentially rich pickings always available in Dublin on March 17th, the soul harvesters were busy. One group handed out leaflets at College Green asking, "Who was Saint Patrick?" A Scottish Presbyterian was what the leaflet suggested, inviting the curious to call "Reformation Ireland" on a mobile-phone number.
Wilmer Ardis from Armagh, a regular visitor on the national holiday, was standing with his portable speaker and his Bible tracts at the top of Grafton Street. Crowds jeered, shouting "Repent," and "The end is nigh"; but he carried on preaching.
As darkness fell even Saint Patrick had fled town. The pubs were filling up and the wild Irish were once again embarked on the descent into paganism.
Gardai in Dublin and around the country were very active last night, with many arrests being made for public order offences such as being drunk and disorderly.
In many cases gardai were too busy to comment but at Store Street station, "one of the busiest nights in a long time" was reported. The mood overall was said to be good-natured, with most quarrels being "resolved by talking".