On Bloomsday 2025

Today is Bloomsday. Before, I used to organise something on this day—a public reading, a pub crawl, a library crawl, special lunch with a quiz, music session, films night. Today, I did a private reading in a pub, for my partner. He was delighted! The rest of the collateral public, the unwilling participants of this quiet debauchery, were not so amused. I caught repeated glances from the nearest table, and thought "ah, a fellow fan!" only to see the lonely woman in a scarlet dress move the tables. Oh well. You don't sit close to anybody if you want to enjoy your cider on your own on June 16th in a half-empty Irish pub.

We went for pints and hearty food, a delightful treat for those in exile from the rest of the world. Almost homely. Irish stew, battered cod and chips—life is good, a miracle and a blessing. Irish coffee makes me say that, no doubt.

In the weeks building up to Bloomsday I read "yes I said yes I will Yes"—a collection of articles, memories, quotes, and other textual memorabilia (with some lovely photos of Joyce and old Dublin) edited by Nola Tully. I enjoyed it profoundly, and was excited to read about how Bloomsday is celebrated across the globe, although for this particular book this meant mainly New York and across the North-American Sates. It still felt like I belonged to some larger community—unseen, unrecognised, forgotten by all—but still dreaming myself to belong. Someday, maybe, probably already in the past. Fatalism is inbred, it's part of my nature, I take it with me wherever I go.

Anyhow, I loved our private Bloomsday, and felt exalted to read and laugh at the jokes published 121 years ago. Still funny. After all this time. This day is still meaningful to me.