K.M.R.I.A.

Ulysses at the NLI

Well, we're home, and I never thought I'd see the day I'd be relieved to leave Dublin, but.... ohh, phew! It's the first time I've been over since they brought in the smoking ban, and it really is a pain in the Royal Irish Arse. The weather was oppressively hot too, and O'Connell Street seemed much more crowded than I remember from before.

Why are people so stupid? Is it impossible for someone to walk along a pavement in a straight line at a reasonable pace? It seems so. I found the same phenomenon in London, so I'm not singling out Dublin for criticism. I expect it's the same in Aberdeen, but since I've now got to the point that I'd rather shovel shite along the Lang Stracht than be on a city's streets in amongst hordes of apparently dyspraxic numpties, I can't comment on the Granite City as it's been so long since I cast a shadow on Union Street. Dublin, however, seemed to have more than its fair share of folk who walk in front of you and then stop dead, completely randomly, for no discernible reason, and turn in a wee circle gaping vacantly. (Maybe they're listening to the voice of some invisible maleficent presence, giving them some form of instruction: "Stop now. Go. Annoy this poor lassie. Be a right tit.") Then there were the wimmin with vast amounts of bags from department stores sticking out each side, who'd take up three times the size of your average American tourist on the busy pavement, and suddenly slow down to snail's pace as they approached another 20% Reduction on Designer Shoes sign. And then there were the slappers pushing buggies, with a knack of steering them as if wielding recalcitrant shopping trolleys. At a 45 degree angle like a shot off a shovel, indeed.

No wonder Jolly Jimmy Joyce left. In 1904 when he got on the boat with Nora, I wonder was he thinking the same as me as I boarded the Ryanair flight home this morning? All that bustle, crowding, and frantic traffic, but all to no purpose. They were just running round in circles like headless chickens. The whole experience of Dublin this time round was a perfect demonstration of Joyce's observation: 'that city seemed to me the centre of paralysis'.

Despite it all, and despite the so-low-key-as-to-be-practically-invisible Bloomsday celebrations, there was a sparkling gem amidst the tat. The Ulysses Exhibition at the National Library was stunningly good. [And free!] The first edition No. 1 copy in all its glory (safely behind glass of course), and a splendid touch screen computer provided, which allowed you to virtually turn the pages, magnify the inscriptions, and generally browse The Book in 3D (complete with useful episode summaries, discussion of the correspondences, and just about everything else you could possibly want for an afternoon's entertainment). On its own, that would've been enough, but there was much, much more. Joyce's notebooks, physically present in all their crayoned glory, but also available to examine via the screen (magnify, transcribe, remove crayon... aaaaahhhh); a very thorough presentation of the host of characters in Ulysses - even down to the Blind Stripling; a episode guide that flashed up images from Dear Dirty Dublin in the 1900s and traced the routes of Bloom and Stephen on a virtual map; a reconstruction of the Shakespeare & Co. shopfront; countless rare editions of the works; a Joyce family history; the famous family portraits including the Tuohy of John Joyce; music and songs from the book; a 'World of the Blooms' installation with sounds and objects from 7 Eccles Street; the social and political context expressed through leaflets and cartoons; and O, so much more. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. And when I finally dragged myself away (via the extremely well stocked book/gift shop), I visited the Ladies in the National Library, and honest to God, it has to be the nicest lavvie I've ever peed in. What more can you ask for? I forgive Dublin for the crowds, the heat, the ridiculous traffic, the inflated prices and the complete lack of hospitality demonstrated in most places, simply for that one haven in Kildare Street.

My rapture was complete when later we found that Sweny's the Chemist was open, and my man purchased a lemon soap for me. It's in a wee brown Sweny's paper bag as well, and I will treasure it forever. Yes I will yes.