Dream, shortly before morning, that I'm on a high balcony - looks, actually, like a walkway outside a flat in a London slum clearance project - when there's an earthquake. Not truly violent, but goes on for at least a couple of minutes. All my effort is concentrated on protecting my iPad. Wake up wondering whether there really was an earthquake that worked its way into my dream. But googling produces nothing except a series of magnitude four quakes in Iran, and it seems unlikely that they would have been felt this far away.
Only suitable St Patrick's Day drink in the cupboard is a Baileys style cream left from Christmas. Really just dregs, so we finish it.
