Pancake Day

As everyone knows, this is the day Saint Pancake was born to humble parents in Glasgow.  His father was a part-time boilermaker while his mother earned an honest living as a seamstress and  they doted on their only son, Shuggy.

Young Shuggy's first miracle occurred after a prolonged family celebration.  Awfuckmaheid'sburstin! exclaimed his father, indicating severe cranial discomfort.  Unlike many youths of his age, young Shuggy immediately set about relieving his aged parent of his agony.  Quickly assembling a makeshift batter from eggs, flour and milk, he fashioned a small thin cake which he served to his progenitor with a light smile of concern.

Hereyagofaither, he offered. Gettitdoonya.

Deid on, replied his faather. Yerragreatweewean.  Atsafuckinmeeracle. Maheid'sareetthenoo.

And so it came to pass that young Shuggy's miracle cure raised many dead men in Glasgow until eventually he came to the attention of Archbishop Hegarty, who took him under his wing.

Does this hurt, young man? Archbishop Hegarty would enquire, to which young Shuggy would always reply with a cheery smile, Nae-borra  faither!!

And so it came to pass that young Shuggy's cure became known far and wide throughout the land until one day he felt moved to bring the truth to foreign lands.  Won't you stay here with me forever? implored Archbishop Hegarty but Shuggy was unmoved.

Geesafuckingbreakman, he announced. AhmawataeDublinfaethecrack.

And so it was that he sailed to the neighbouring island, where he met another young man called Patricius, a lad of Roman extraction, also destined to become a saint.

See you, Jimmy, demanded Shug. You're some kinda wop like Paulo fuckin Nutini, right?

Something like that, bach, agreed Patricius.  I came here for the rugby five years ago and never went back to Wales.  Spent my time  sticking a spear in people's feet and they seem to like it.

Kinky punters, observed Shuggy.  I wonder if ma pan-fried meeracle cure wid work fae pierced feet?

He soon found out and so the fame of Patricius and Shuggy spread across Hibernia.  Patricius impaled insteps while Shuggy eased the pain with his beautifully-flipped crepes.  The tragedy of this story is the dreadful falling out between the two young proto-saints when eventually their faiths diverged and Shuggy fell into heresy, offering deep-fried chocolate bars to penitents instead of his traditional pan-fried cure.

Every schoolchild knows the story of how their battle raged night and day for seven weeks until eventually Saint Patrick killed Saint Pancake.

In his grief, Saint Patrick swore for ever more to eat nothing but shamrock and snake-spleens, even though the devil tempted him every night with tasty maple-syrup crepes and light pancakes drizzled with Grand Marniere.

This is known to generations of Irish people as Saint Patrick's Passion, but that's for another day and another story.  Sadly, the people of Glasgow have never shown due recognition to their light and tasty saint, preferring to venerate Saint Mars the Deep-Fried.