Irish patriot, poet and eminent surgeon Oliver St. John Gogarty (1878-1957) once played a wily prank on a drunken acquaintance. He stuffed the poor chap, who was catatonic, into a sack and sold him to The Royal College of Surgeons strictly, one would assume, in the interests of medical science. His friend apparently woke up and struggled free just in the nick, if you will excuse the expression, of time.
A few days ago, I returned from a trip to Dublin, where I found the state of the Irish economy was similar to that of Dr. Gogarty's hapless friend. But whether, like him, it revives before sustaining really deep wounds is certainly debatable.
Just a year ago, my previous visit to Ireland had revealed a Celtic tiger roaring loudest among the fat-cat nations around the world. The country then was not so much being developed as redesigned: construction sites were everywhere; snazzy, luxurious housing was selling at skyrocketing prices; and hordes of foreign workers, primarily Poles, were thronging the pubs.