The Reek should be the peak for millennials

THERE are sick stomachs and sore heads in places all over Ireland this morning, punishment for those who spent St Patrick’s Day drinking and carousing.

I escaped being part of the carnage from yesterday’s millennials’ scrum, and I smile to myself when I hear them boasting of what a great Paddy’s night out they had which ended with a thumping headache this morning, accompanied by total amnesia.

But there is another way to honour our patron saint without getting hammered when, every year on the last Sunday in July, people come from places far and wide to worship at our holiest shrine, Croagh Patrick.

Croagh Patrick is the third highest mountain in Ireland, lording it over towns such as Westport, and even as far as Tuam.

Back when people were truly religious, a lot more than the current crop of 20,000 would have done the climb annually. And the extreme pilgrims would sometimes climb in their bare feet, and even on their knees.

Women have slept on the plateau hoping to improve their fertility and ability to breed better Mayo footballers. Mayo, of course, have had the All Ireland snatched from their grasp two years in a row. Personally, I think it’s time to call on St Patrick himself to tog out. He just might get away with it, nobody will cop him behind his faddy beard.

Beards are worryingly popular at the moment, though frankly, between you and me, I reckon too many people have been watching too many episodes of The Vikings. And spare us the Viking Amphibians in Dublin and the roaring tourists that go with them.

St Patrick climbed Croagh Patrick and did 40 days penance whilst fasting. I’d say he must have had a quare few hallucinations. I wonder in those spacey moments did he look down on Tuam, at the foot of the mountain, and get a glimpse into the future to see what an unholy mess was happening below.

My Da was a Mayo man and climbed the Reek every year in his bare feet. It’s about a two-hour climb and you can be guaranteed that there will always be sprained ankles, broken arms, bunions and blisters before the day is over.

Three years ago an American friend of mine brought his 90-year-old dad back to his home county to climb the Reek.

It was no bother to him and it makes one stop and think of the contrast between our old-fashioned respect and love of religion, as expressed by climbing the Reek, compared to our Godless modern generation, who will hopefully discover that a lot of benefit goes with a little deprivation .

Alas, self-gratification seems to be the objective in modern society. Me, me, me, me all the way home.

The end result of too much selfindulgence has given us a generation of self-aggrandising, thoughtless millenials, who would prefer to worship some lunatic on YouTube who climbs up the outsides of a modern skyscraper rather than tackling the Reek and giving a shout-out for Patrick (I know, I know, I’m exaggerating).

And now with more and more transgressions being uncovered reflecting such heinous disrespect for our humanity, it is ironic that it is is all happening literally at St Patrick’s feet.

WITH the loss of faith in general, this coming July will still see the gallantry of the undeterred men, women and children who will still ascend the Reek because, like Mount Everest, it is there.

There’s one good thing you could say about St. Patrick. He has a great hymn, Hail Glorious Saint Patrick.

It has a good tune and would really suit The Sawdoctors from nearby Tuam.

Can you imagine the craic if ‘doing the Reek’ became an alternative St Patrick’s Day?

Now there would be a chance for millenials to do something that doesn’t entail instant gratification.

Everyone is equal on Croagh Patrick.

There’d be no room up on the holy moutain for your Louis Vuittons or your Jimmy Choos.