The word 'irony' is sometimes preceded by 'delicious' because the ironic point or situation lays bare a hitherto unlooked for juxtaposition or intention.
The Economist reports the delicious irony, for example, that in France — the accepted cynosure of gourmet taste — 'the French can't seem to get enough of their "McDos", as the icon of American capitalism is known locally. McDonald's is opening 30-40 new outlets a year in France ... more per head than most of its European neighbours ... '
What is delicious about this, of course, is not the burgers but the confronting leadership of France, of all countries, in the fast food stakes.
Indeed, as The Economist also reports with schadenfreudian pleasure, one José Bové placed himself at the ironic centre when, having declared resoundingly that 'the French people are with us in this fight against junk food', he was arrested and jailed for trashing one of France's 900 McDonald's restaurants.
But irony is not usually delicious. For now it is sour and wounding, for example, in Ireland, where British withdrawal from the European Union — Brexit — and the Irish Republic's firm intention to remain, raises the possibility of what pundits are calling a 'hard' border between the Republic and Northern Ireland.
The Irish have vivid memories of hard borders — not the ones protected and monitored by customs and officials as is being presently mooted when Brexit is completed, but invisible, notional dividing lines where your attempt to cross might see you roughed up, abused, aggressively searched or shot.
Such was the case on 18 October 44 years ago when, having accepted an invitation to speak at a conference in Derry — or Londonderry as the British call it — I arrived in Belfast. In the words of the only cabby of the five I phoned from Belfast's besieged Aldergrove Airport who agreed to drive me to the heavily fortified Dunadry Inn, this was 'the worst night in the worst week' since 'the Troubles' had resumed in 1968.
"The air might be 'different' in Donegal if you could get at it, but we seem to have brought the smoke and the smell of burning with us."
After three hair-raising days of conferencing, punctuated by gunfire, bombings, smoke endlessly drifting across scenes of ruin and destruction, Patrick, a postgraduate student, suggests an evening out. 'You might like to get out of the Province for a while and have a few drinks in a Donegal