David Robbins: Why I sometimes wonder if I'm being stalked by Joyce. . .
I often get the feeling that James Joyce is following me around, if you know what I mean. When I was growing up in the suburb of Blackrock, there was a plaque on the wall of a house at the end of Carysfort Avenue announcing that James Joyce had lived there.
The house has since been demolished, but it stood beside an off-licence and a pub much frequented by my father.
When I was sent to roust my dad out of the pub, I used to look at the plaque and dream of a writer's life.