No Bloom Today

Dublin, June, 16th 2006

What do you do when you travel to a country to celebrate a day that does not exist? M. Bloem, your own Vught Times reporter, fills you in with all the greasy details.

At the house of the Irish sculptor Rowan Gillespie there was great confusion this years Blooms day. Friends of the couple Gillespie flew in to celebrate Blooms day to find out that the day had been cancelled by the Centre baring Joyce’s name because of the death of Charles Haughey, Irelands former beloved and hated con prime minister.

Whisky aid

Even Roger Kohn, the cold-blooded British designer, sent by her Majesties Kingdom to represent the Empire, was thrown into confusion. Kohn, ready to wear his all time Joyce suit and preparing for months now learning the Ulysses by heart as not to stand out of the crowd, has been practising his Irish accent and a few basic Gaelic words which took him a lot of time and energy. He was flabbergasted by the cancelling of the day, like it doesn’t exist. The poor man had to grasp for the whisky bottle to cope. Standing next to him for support was Jamie, the sculptor’s nephew, a soon to be famous pop star contracted by Universal records. Jamie helped Roger Kohn to empty the bottle and made sure he didn’t miss Blooms day that wasn’t going to happen by drinking himself into a delirium that would last all cancelled and therefore not existing 16th of June.

Disappearing planes

Although Rowan Gillespie’s wife Hanne made sure her Norwegian friend was going to be there –she booked like three tickets for her-, the plane of Hanne’s friend disappeared together with Leopold Bloom and his lovely spouse Molly. Blooms day this year can only be equalled by the Bermudan Triangle. The obscure Dutch couple that arrived at the house dressed like Stephen Dedalus and Molly Bloom changed character every five minutes. They lost themselves completely as Nora and James to come back like twenty-first century Buck and Gert. The spectators where spared the masturbation scene Gert played in the book, thank God.

Scottish band

While the whisky was pouring and the fire blazing, because of the sculptor’s preference to chop wood in the dark, Kiri and Twigs, two young friends rooming together with Little One in Edinburgh, were the only ones to keep clear heads. Their blond hair fairly blowing in the wind, they kept on loosing crocket games and throwing balls for Pablo, the black FEROCIOUS Labrador, owned by the Gillespie family. Tess, the daughter of the house, tried to stay stabile too. And she managed quite well, until she met her Scottish friend who plays in a band that is about to break up. Then she decided to go look for the lost plane in Glasgow and while doing so, join her older brother Alexander. He, of course being the oldest son and searcher of human souls, was wise enough to stay away from his parents house during this crazy nonexistent day. In England everything was going on like it supposed to be and no days disappeared from peoples lives.

Well ironed scullprinted

The crowd gathered at Concleas Studios, a place no Dublin taxi driver is able to find without help, played bravely every role that was thrown upon them as nothing seemed to be what it was anymore. Roger Kohn symbolised their being with his spotless and well ironed scullprinted shirt he took from his small travelling bag that must have magicians power. The rabbit he managed to keep inside the bag, as long as the Dutch Dedalus did not put on his raggy hat. Then it jumped out, shouting ‘surprise!’, but of course in this chaos nobody was surprised by anything anymore, let alone a rabbit jumping out of hats and dancing the salsa on the soon to be pop stars soon to be new hit: THEY TOOK YOUR CHESTNUT.

The 17th

Luckily ‘round 00.00h the faded day passed on to June the 17th apparently without any problems and planes came back. Everybody took off feeling quite satisfied; having such good friends that they help you through Not Blooms day.

Caro Sicking