Thomas Forde turned off the television once the final whistle had blown on the football, jumped up on the billiard table and announced the Bloomsday reading.
Joe Carolan read the chapter with the racist nationalist; Daphna read two bits from Molly's solliloquy, Lyn Lorkin and Hershell sang a Yiddish song. A few of the people in the pub were there for that, and those who were there for birthday party, or just for a beer, were happy enough to listen, even if there were bits that demanded Dublin ears.
It was a modest Bloomsday--compared with the performances that Dean Parker and the Jews Brothers had organised in the Dog's Bollix over the years--but the power and the humour of Joyce's words were not diminished.
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