As Drumpf rolls on— as I watch with fascinated disgust— I remember a day in 2009 in Ireland, on a pub-to-pub outing with good friends in County Clare. We ended the day at a mausoleum of a place, an enormous golf resort called… Boondeg.

While my friends talked business with their associates, I wandered the mostly deserted hotel facility and ended up in the luxurious women’s locker room, where I took a shower under one of those enormous rainshower shower heads and then rejoined my friends.

When I heard last week that the Prime Minister of Ireland had promised Drumpf some choice words of welcome and that as a result The Donald had canceled his scheduled trip to Ireland, my fondness for the Irish people was reinforced, and I remembered that late night in Doonbeg, which was to become another Drumpf boondoggle five years later.