ireland


Dream Job

 Terrible pleased altogether to be asked to host this year’s Bloomsday Twiterature, The Definitive Indefinite Article’s 10,000-year project to broadcast the entire of Ulysses 140-characters per year.  I even borrowed Tony Balfe’s drape from when he was in the Showaddywaddy cover band – closest thing I could find to Edwardian garb at short notice.  Anyway.   Last year’s Twiterature was a huge success.  It is nice to get away from the box and watching the Copa America and the Euros and it was great to give the new intern Cidney something to do to go into town and get a copy of Ulysses and keep her out of me hair for a while.  Jaysus she has me driven up the wall complaining about not being able to get Hamptons Houseshare Hell on the telly below at the house or something but that is a whole other day’s work.

martello tower sandycoveSo without further ado, as the many says, I give you Bloomsday Twiterature 2016, a genuine cliffhanger, if I may say so.

then covered the bowl smartly. Back to barracks! he said sternly. He added in a preacher’s tone: For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine

Dream Job

 In the spirit of synergy and do-more-dynamically-with-dramatically less the Cliff Experience Reception Experience will be (I am informed) synergizing and dovetailing with some other Definitive Indefinite Article properties.  Sure it is like one of those media mergers here.  I can’t keep track of it at all!

 Anyway, apparently I am getting an intern, which is just as well cos no one seems to want the fecking job.  Seems there is a Free-Intern-Included thing with the solar panels I got a while back.  (Shoulda known there’d be a catch!) Some young wan or young fellah called Cidney.  Coming all the way over from America it seems to do an internship in Public Relations with the Cliff Experience Reception Experience.  I just googled Cidney on Ambrose’s phone and it seems she is a young wan who used to be in some blog folleyer upper or something called the Hamptons Houseshare Hell.  I can’t imagine what she would want to be doing away out here handing out flyers for dolphins on an unpaid internship of the summer.  I don’t know how this is going to turn out but she is supposed to be here this weekend.  I suppose she can doss down in one of the unfinished holiday homes with Ambrose for the time being.

The Cliff Experience Reception Experience (Disruptive Innovation in the Prefab Hut Space)

Dream Job

 Quiet enough today.  The wireless was on the blink again.  Fortunately one of the young Hurley lads came over on his bike after lunch and sat in the hut and read Samuel Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape to me to while away the afternoon.  A little odd but lovely in spots.  Apparently Mr. Beckett would have been 110 today.  Young Hurley says April 13th was Good Friday when Mr. Beckett was born.   Studious lad.  Full of bits of hard knowledge.   This bit I particularly liked:

Celebrated the awful occasion, as in recent years, quietly at the winehouse. Not a soul. Sat before the fire with closed eyes, separating the grain from the husks. Jotted down a few notes, on the back on an envelope.

 

Dream JobCold enough, mind you.  But since I put the insulation in the sides of the hut and that draft excluder round the door, I only have to have the small panel on the Super Ser lit if I keep my coat on.   Have to keep the window open a crack though or I start seeing things.  The young fellah who hands out the flyers for the dolphin spotting broke his leg last night playing pool in Gogarty’s so I’ll have to put up an ad in the window of the Eurospar.

The Cliff Experience Reception Experience (Disruptive Innovation in the Prefab Hut Space)

The Cliff Experience Reception Experience (Disruptive Innovation in the Prefab Hut Space)

Dream Job

When the sun shines on these windows you can’t see a feckin thing.  They’re filthy.  I’ll have to bring one of them old facecloths I have under the stairs in with me tomorrow and give them a wipe.  I thought the rain would clean them but sure it only made them worse.

Given that spring appears to have sprung or pounced or whatever it does and that it would have been Mr. Beckett’s birthday on Sunday, here is one of my favourite descriptions of said season from Watt:

The crocuses and the larch turning green every year a week before the others and the pastures red with uneaten sheep’s placentas and the long summer days and the newmown hay and the wood-pigeon in the morning and the cuckoo in the afternoon and the corncrake in the evening and the wasps in the jam and the smell of the gorse and the look of the gorse and the apples falling and the children walking in the dead leaves and the larch turning brown a week before the others and the chestnuts falling and the howling winds and the sea breaking over the pier and the first fires and the hooves on the road and the consumptive postman whistling The Roses Are Blooming in Picardy and the standard oillamp and of course the snow and to be sure the sleet and bless your heart the slush and every fourth year the February débâcle and the endless April showers and the crocuses and then the whole bloody business starting all over again.

martello tower sandycoveLoyal readers, it is time for our annual installment of Bloomsday Twiterature, our massive 10,000-year-long project of  one tweet-length installment of Ulysses each year.  The story so far:

STATELY, PLUMP BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THE STAIRHEAD, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressing gown, ungirdled, was sustained gently-behind him by the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

— Introibo ad altare Dei.

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:

— Come up, Kinch. Come up, you fearful jesuit.

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, ca

The Loyal Reader: Now you’re cooking with gas!  We are really starting to motor!  But tell us this, it is only Friday…

You are correct it is indeed only Friday but past experience has shown that the vast majority of our readers visit us during the workday.  I am sure their weekends are all too crowded with camogie and handball and fixing gutters and picking up the mother from Dunne’s to be visiting the web.

The Loyal Reader: That seems plausible.  I am reminded of advice I have been in the habit of offering at this time of year which is to include at least one gratuitous reference to spandex bikinis to attract new punters.

Will do.  Anyway, without further ado, here is our 2013 Bloomsday Twiterature offering wherein we finally catch sight of the bauld Stephen Daedalus:

tching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen

The Loyal Reader: Ah that’s lovely.  There’s eating and drinking in that.  That’ll keep me going for a while.  See you next year.

Well if you are still in need of more, you can alwasy swing by Ullyses of Stone Street in New York City on Sunday afternoon between 2 and 4 and there will be a great crew reading bits of Ulysses aloud into the sunshine.