Happy Bloomsday. ReJoyce. Tae time. Ciabatta with mascarpone and berry jam 'stead of Anna Livia Plurabelle's blooms of fisk, meddery eygs, yayis, and staynish beacons on toasc and a cupenhave so weeshy washy of Greenland's tay or a dzoupgan of Kaffue mokau an sable in truart pewter and a shinkobread (hamjambo, bana?) to plaise any manhog's stomicker. Yessh. Reading material with my tea? Rather a crossword, considered clues, not dirty letters to Nora Barnacle, native of Galway, written from the dim cloisters of Joyce's heartsfoot, odes to his little depraved blackguard's fart and rump. To the shameless ways of Language, yes I said I will yes.

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