St Patrick's Day. I always think back to growing up in Northern Ireland and what that might mean. Here's a picture of woggle-proud me, with my sister in the background, standing in front of our house in Dunmurry, Northern Ireland. Standing beside my dad's MGB. I remember my dad driving Santa around in that: he sat on the boot (trunk) On the bonnet (hood) were taped white inflatable plastic reindeer. I also remember driving full speed on my little bike into that white fence and flipping right over it. Whatever the physics, colour theory, rhythm, and landscape which explain childhood, for me, they developed here. Also, my cub scout leaders always called me Bary Garwin. I never learned to tie knots.