WHEN you think about it, Joyceans have a lot in common with Orangemen. They like to wear bowler hats; they hold a midsummer celebration which involves walking traditional routes laid down by their forefathers; and, tragically, they remain badly misunderstood by the island's majority community.
Fortunately, there are still no problems with residents' committees, so events like yesterday's "leisurely stroll around the heartland of Joyce's north inner city, with readings, dramatisations and a few surprises along the way" passed off peacefully.
Indeed, while Ulysses remains widely unread in its native city, the annual festivities have had an educational effect. Ask any Dubliner to name the famous literary character whose day is celebrated on June 16th and most of them will be able to shoot back the answer (Senator David Norris).
But, despite the plethora of public performances and readings - often delivered in that authentic Dublin accent that you only hear on the stage - Bloomsday still has a long way to go before it becomes popular culture.
Not that anyone at Sweny's Chemists in Lincoln Place is worried. This is where Leopold Bloom bought a cake of lemon soap and yesterday - pardon the Joycean pun - the shop was cleaning up on it.
"Thousands," said an assistant when asked how many of the £1.25 bars they had sold. Fearful of suggesting a luxury lemon soap tax to the incoming government, the present proprietor, Martina Quinn, interjected: "Don't be mentioning numbers it's not in the spirit of the occasion."
Martina had to play the part of Sweny when the Balloonatics theatre group called for one of its day long series of reenactments. She also honoured her predecessor by placing his photograph in the window. The fact that he didn't live to enjoy the sweet smell of literary fame may explain why he wasn't smiling.
Fred Hanna thinks his grandfather's shop was mentioned in Ulysses, but wasn't sure yesterday. I'll have to read it again," he said. This was either a surprising lapse on the part of Dublin's best known bookseller or a deliberate attempt to hide the commercial tragedy of being overlooked by the 1922 version of the Golden Pages.
Either way, Fred was expecting to shift "hundreds" of Joyce's books yesterday, mostly to visitors.
Bloomsday's big winner, as usual, was Davy Byrne's pub on Duke Street, where all day long enthusiasts reenacted all the parts of the book which involve beer consumption.
McDonalds, inexplicably, failed to mark the occasion with a special McBloom burger (inner organs of beasts and fowls, nutty gizzards and liver slices fried with crust crumbs, topped with a sesame seed bun!).
So the catering was left instead to Bewleys, which produced 300 high cholesterol breakfasts at the James Joyce Centre for readers and listeners, who included Bertie Ahern, Tony Gregory, Niamh Bhreathnach and at least half a dozen ambassadors.
Telecom Eireann celebrated the day with a special call card, which was either very apt or very inapt, depending of your opinion. If Bloom had had callcard technology available to him, he mightn't have done half so much walking.
