SAINT Patrick’s Day started badly.

I’d barely set foot in the city when I sprawled full length in Broad Street.

Passing the Museum of Science I spotted a notice inviting the public, young and old, to an event entitled Inside the Brain, which runs from today until Sunday.

“Interactive activities investigate fascinating...” The reading came to an abrupt end when I tripped over a vacant metal post holder.

Vanity brought me quickly to my feet.

I grinned somewhat embarrassed, in the direction of two late-middle-aged women.

One tutted loudly. “Trying to walk and read at the same time?” she asked. “You should know better – you’re a man!”

THE sexist rebuff was not to be allowed to spoil the day. The sun was somewhere in the heavens and there were smiles on many faces. The rest of us were trying to get accustomed to temperatures surprisingly above zero.

A couple of weeks back I mentioned there was a plan to make 200 embrioidered kneelers for St Mary’s University Church and administrator Ana-Maria Niculcea hoped there would be a determined assault on this figure by nimble-fingered volunteers come Mothering Sunday.

“We now have the first 40,” said Ana-Maria, delighted with progress. Only 160 to go, folks.

CHRIST Church Meadow beckoned.

The sight of dozens of four- to sevenyear- olds from the Cathedral School running around the playing fields laughing loudly, with young women teachers joining in football was a sight to gladden any heart.

Spring must be on the way.

I met Patricia and Andrew on the Broad Walk. They were celebrating their 36th wedding anniversary. Each was wearing an Irish harp brooch holding in place a small strip of cloth designed with the Irish tricolour (orange of the north, green of the south and white for the peace between). Were they the only people celebrating St Pat’s Day?

Patricia is from Tipperary while Andrew is very much an Englishman, but more than happy to be an honorary Irishman for the day.

They live in Wendover – for the non-traveller that’s Aylesbury with serviettes.

The couple make a habit of spending their wedding anniversary somewhere special. It didn’t take a marriage counsellor to identify they were blissfully happy. Their happy faces told it all.

FINALLY I’m told there are plans to choose a bird for England. After all the French have their cockerel, the Americans their bald eagle and Cadbury’s its penguin. Had I any preference, asked a young female student bearing a board and bulldog clip in Cornmarket Street?

The nightingale that sang in Berkeley Square didn’t impress. Sorry. I can’t help being an old romantic.