Perhaps it is a sign of respect to Queen Elizabeth as she prepares to visit. This week it was confirmed that Irish civil servants are to be allowed to retain a day off that was originally given in honour of the British monarch's birthday.
And if that is not enough to ease the pressure of their exertions, the mandarin class will also continue to get the traditional day off to mark Empire Day.
The sun may have set on Her Majesty's dominions some time ago, but the privilege days remain in jolly old Ireland. The free time is now to be included in the civil servants' annual leave.
One doubts that many of these bureaucrats will use these days of leisure to polish up their Kate and William commemorative wedding mugs, or practise their curtseying.
But the ancient perk is a reminder of some of the quaint and not-so-quaint customs, laws and practices that survive in the modern era.
In so many ways the transformation of Ireland from a blustery imperial outpost into an independent state amounted to little more than painting the red post boxes green.
Nowhere are the time-honoured practices of our colonists more evident than in the law courts. Senator Ivana Bacik, Professor of Criminal Law at Trinity College, said most of our laws were simply a legacy of British rule.
Irish barristers are still apparently in mourning for King Charles II. They donned black gowns in 1685 out of respect to the deceased and dearly departed monarch, and have not stopped wearing them since.
Traditionally barristers were not supposed to ask for payment, but after they had given their advice, money could be slipped into a pocket sewn into the back of their gown (this pocket is still there to this day).
Any visitor to the Round Hall of Dublin's Four Courts may be flabbergasted by the sight of a unformed minion walking in front of a High Court or Supreme Court judge holding a staff.
The tipstaff, redolent of one of those figures who accompany the king in a pantomime, escorts the judge to their court, and call for order as M'lud or M'Lady takes their seat on the bench.
Back in the middle of the last decade, Bertie Ahern announced to great fanfare that some of our most archaic laws were to be repealed. But, as far as anyone can ascertain, these measures remain on the statute books.
Even the most reactionary taxi driver might baulk at the punishment specified in a set of medieval laws known as the Assizes of Clarendon.
These allow for suspected thieves and murderers to be subjected to the "ordeal of water", where they are thrown into deep water tied to a millstone. Those who sink are deemed guilty.
Other measures that might be deemed ripe for reform include:
- An 1181 measure forbids Jewish people from owning armour.
- An act of 1360 makes provisions "against people associating with the Irish, using their language, or sending children to be nursed among them".
- An act of 1310 provides that "only those of the English nation (are) to be received into religious orders".
The award of the Freedom of the City has become Dublin's highest honour and past recipients have included Nelson Mandela and Mother Teresa. How many of these Freemen and women comply with the law passed in 1465, requiring that they have a longbow (of their own length) made of yew, witch-hazel or ash. They must also also have 12 arrows made of the same wood.
A 1454 statute states that "Merchant Freemen'' must possess a coat of mail, a light helmet and a sword.
According to Dublin city council, the Freedom of the City confers "the right to pasture sheep on common ground within the city boundaries -- including Hoggen Green (now College Green) and St Stephen's Green''.
Recipients of the award such as Aung San Suu Kyi and Mikhail Gorbachev have not popped along with a few ewes, but Bono and the Edge famously exercised their right to graze sheep when U2 received the Freedom of the City in 2000.
The U2 performers strode through Stephen's Green, each with a lamb under his arm, and Bono declared: "They are a lot easier to handle than pop stars."
While many of these laws and customs are merely a quirky reminder of a colonial past, others have real effect.
Anglers who wish to fish on the River Blackwater near Youghal must pay a fee to the Duke of Devonshire. As well as owning the fishing rights the 12th Duke Peregrine Cavendish controls the riverbed.
Families in Castlebar, Co Mayo, have steadfastly refused to pay ground rents to the family of Lord Lucan, the peer who disappeared in mysterious circumstances in 1974. The Lucan estate remains the ground rent landlord for 70 properties in Castlebar, but since he vanished residents have withheld payments.
While those who owe ground rents would be only too happy to dispense with imperial trappings, residents of Dublin seem keen to hold on to imperial pomp and circumstance.
Anyone carrying out a close study of Dublin street names would be forgiven for concluding that the capital is a city of royalist Jackeens.
Thom's Dublin Street Directory lists 17 Victorias, 12 Georges, three Edwards, two Prince Edward Terraces, two Prince of Wales Terraces. There is only one street named after Eamon de Valera, and not one dedicated to Sean Lemass or Liam Cosgrave.
Even the post boxes betray the sometimes half-hearted nature of our independence. They may have been painted green, but flecks of red can still be seen shining through in some places -- and hundreds of boxes retain the insignia of the crown -- VR for Victoria Regina, ER and GR (for Edward VII and George V).
Every so often republicans grumble about these imperial throwbacks, but most people are keen to keep the royal post boxes, according to An Post.
"People are very protective of them, and we find that in many areas people do not want anything done to them,'' An Post spokesman Angus Laverty told me.
If she happens to look in a Dublin phone book, Queen Elizabeth will notice a Royal Dublin Society, a Royal Irish Academy, a Royal St George Yacht club, and many other institutions that continue to honour her.
Of course a vocal minority is bound to make loud noises in protest at the visit, but if she looks closely she will notice how little has changed since servants of the crown packed up and left nine decades ago.