Don't hail, St Patrick, on our glorious £500,000 parade

"OUR function is to promote Dublin as a tourist destination, not necessarily to entertain the people of Dublin . . . Having an artistic director for the parade is a pie in the sky idea. Aspects of Irish culture and heritage are already incorporated. Finglas, for example, does Cuchulainn every year with an Irish wolfhound." Frank Magee, Dublin Tourism, 1993.

And that, wrote an Irish Times correspondent, explains much that has gone before.

Here, then, is the new plan. St Patrick's Day. Dublin, Sunday, March 17th, 1996, 11.15a.m. The bells of a cathedral ring out to signal the start of the city's parade beside its ancient walls; a young and black Grand Marshal stands proudly at the head; and not far behind, a couple of Lambeg drummers from Belfast pound out a blood stirring tattoo from a rather different tradition.

It is a conjunction made in heaven for the parade's brave new wave of organisers, whose motto (after Keep it Moving, Donna) could be "new route, new theme, new concept".

Unfortunately, there have been hiccups. On Tuesday, the Lambeg drummers pulled out because they were "uncomfortable about the situation". Though they are to be replaced by didgeridoos, Ms Marie Claire Sweeney, the parade's executive director, confessed to being "bitterly disappointed".

Her disappointment counts for nothing to that of the festival director, Mr Rupert Murray, who was so keen on the notion that he wanted 100 Lambegs to begin with.

But the Grand Marshal, Paul McGrath, who says it is "the greatest honour" of his life, still plans to be there. He will ride in an open top vehicle, possibly sporting one of several thousand plastic ponchos being made available if our sullen saint bestows the usual blasts of hail peppered rain on his poor children instead of the sweet smile as requested.

(Maybe it's a terrible misunderstanding. What if instead of "Hail, Glorious St Patrick", we sang "Don't Hail, Glorious St Patrick"?)

Nor will the 800 year old St Patrick's Cathedral be denied its starring role. As the parade's starting point, it will at last receive due deference on the feast of the saint whose name it bears. From there, the non stop, £500,000 extravaganza will set out for O'Connell Street, taking one hour and 15 minutes to pass any point.

An expected 350,000 spectators will line the streets to fire approval and aspersions at some 3,500 participants (about a third of them from overseas) who make up 30 marching bands, a half dozen majorette groups, 25 floats and over 20 displays/spectaculars.

On the way, for the first time they will take in city landmarks such as Christ Church, City Hall and the Olympia Theatre in the upper reaches of Dame Street. And if, between the lot of them, they don't make your eight year old child pink with excitement, the organisers will deem themselves to have failed miserably. The eight year old is the yardstick.

After the national colours, followed by the Lord Mayor's coach and Paul McGrath (Ooh-Ah ...), a thrill a minute will be provided by the likes of Macnas with their unique take on the banishment of snakes, and pyrotechnic experts, Theatre of Fire, with their wheel whirring, crank clanking Luck of the Irish factory (which will be distributed to lucky spectators).

There will be John Renwick's 37 foot Stephen, a tribute to St Stephen's Green; Alex Pascal's Irish/Carribean celebration involving bodhran and steel band rhythms; Urban Strawberry Lunch with their musical float made entirely of scrap; and Oilean (Island), a 120 metre spectacular involving 140 performers, mariners and craftspeople from all over the country, propelled by giant horns and didgeridoos around a 20 foot high golden shamrock, and drawn by "10 wild men from Dublin".

In a shed in the south city, an example of one of the smaller but more ingenious spectacles is taking shape, where Laurent Mellet and Antoin O hEocha (collectively known as Stun), sponsored by the Little Odessa restaurant, are fashioning an evil, flighty 25 foot iguana dragon out of an old Citroen and copper scrap.

There was talk of a little car full of blow up dolls riding along in front from which the "monster" could occasionally pluck a "victim" into its fearsome jaws. But the dolls, alas, cost £35 each. Any offers?

If it all comes to pass, it will be a triumph of spirit, vision and goodwill over time and a natural human resistance to change.

THE chairman of the parade's board of directors, Mr Michael Colgan, is the man for the job, a man not afraid of fragile egos. "There are people upset. We're making omelettes and we're doing it in a hurry, but overall change will be good."

The retiring city manager, Mr Frank Feely, and the Lord Mayor, Mr Sean Dublin Bay Loftus, have been among the supportive stalwarts.

"We're naturals for something like this," says Mr Colgan. A party waiting to happen. Remember when Packie saved the penalty from Romania? Remember how the city burst into carnival? Now that's what a national festival should look like.

So they will attempt to ignite the city with flags, banners and bunting (make sure to get a look at the snakes and ladders banners in Temple Bar), as well as pre and post parade events, and entertainments such as a children's fun fair in Henry Street, an adult version in the Burgh Quay area or a steam fair in George's Quay.

Early risers could take in a band competition in Merrion Square at 9 a.m. and, later, catch canoe racing on the Liffey, or strange people abseiling down the Harp building on D'Olier Street, or glimpse giants popping up above Trinity College.

Stick around for Els Comediants in College Green, or head for Temple Bar, where Temple Bar Properties, supported by Guinness, has organised more than 60 sessions and late night concerts in bars and other venues over the entire weekend.