Once wandered thro' Glencolumcuil [somebody put my spelling right? Ta!] at dusk. Passing a local pub, I heard the lively sound of an Irish jig come breezing out the door. Ah---that was for me! In I went--a door to the right, and one on the left. The glad sound was coming from the right. It was jam-packed---no way in. I disconsolately turned and entered the room on the left. It was gloomy dark, with only the tv throwing a flickering light. All were watching intently; the Orange parades, Ian Paisley and all--in Ulster! I didn't fancy sitting in the dark, so I moved back out into the evening air of Saint Columba's birthplace. I looked up at the swinging pub sign; the Red Hand of Ulster ! A funny old world------