In the spirit of boosting the ‘special relationship’, Sir Eugene Nicks KBE of the All-Portsmouth Conservative, Regressive and Imperial Association (established 1799), celebrates the similarities between the leader of Portsmouth City Council and the new leader of the Free World.
Isn’t this a whizzo time to be alive, readers? Me old mucker and business partner Donald Trump’s doing sterling work as the Lord High Maniac-in-Chief of Ol’ Washington Town. How delightful that, right now, his pus-coloured mane is drooping all over the nuclear red button. He’ll probably be dribbling over it too, but that’s one of many problems of his that I vowed to keep confidential.
I may be the only man on Earth – while it’s still here, anyway – who is personal chums with both Donald and Donna, his near-namesake and counterpart over here as leader of Portsmouth City Council. In other words, I’m on excellent terms with the most powerful, egotistical and offensive person in the world… and Donald Trump. And I view this connection as what the Donald might call a ‘golden shower opportunity’ – I think that’s business jargon for something or other – to bring two great minds and two great cultures closer together as we enter an exhilarating new epoch of hope, freedom and tolerance. Or something to that effect.
The other night, Donna and I went for a goblet of benefit claimant’s blood at our local public house, the Hypothermic Vagrant. (Incidentally, there was an actual vagrant dying of hypothermia just by the bins outside. He asked me for the price of a cup of tea and I replied, ‘I only have fifty pound notes, old boy.’ But I didn’t give him one, obviously.)
Anyway, Donna asked me what advice on statecraft she might pass on to Donald via yours truly.
‘But my dear lady,’ I begged to differentiate. ‘Ask not what he can learn from you but what you can learn from he. For Donald has disgraced himself in ways you cannot imagine and stooped to lows that even you have not nightmared of.’
Now humility isn’t normally Donna’s strong suit… which is why she screamed ‘That’s nonsense!’ in my face. But then she calmed down, the blood working its way to her head, and elected to hear me out. I’ve been in the political game a long time, recall, and I know it as well as the back of my hand, or even as well as the backhander that plops into my mailbox each morning because I shamelessly blackmail every single elected representative from here to the post-apocalyptic badlands of Wymering.
I reminded Donna that we Portsmouth Tories have done it all – well done them all, more or less: the unemployed, the disabled, the homeless, refugees, old people, young people, tall people, small people. But we haven’t been tough enough on the old enemy: the dastardly denizens of Southampton. So I suggested Donna re-purpose one of Donald’s classic raps but along these lines:
‘When Southampton sends its people, they’re not sending the best. They’re not sending you, they’re sending people that have lots of problems and they’re bringing those problems with us [sic] They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists… And some, I assume, are good people.’
And if that wasn’t tough enough, I said to Donna, how about this:
‘I will build a great wall – and nobody builds walls better than me, believe me – and I’ll build them very inexpensively. I will build a great, great wall on our western border, and I will make Southampton pay for that wall. Mark my words.’
Or we may go even further with something like the following:
‘Donna J Trump is calling for a total and complete shutdown of Southamptonians entering Portsmouth, until our city’s representatives can figure out what the hell is going on.’
‘But remember,’ said Donna, ‘that it’s not just the social undesirables and the people of Southampton who cause us headaches. We have dangerous political subversives who dare to question our fanatical devotion to austerity.’
‘Indeed,’ I concurred. ‘What about politely borrowing another Trumpian pearl of odium?’
‘Sisters Uncut are crude, rude, obnoxious and dumb – other than that I like them very much.’
Donna seemed to enjoy that one. I put it to her that, as all Portsmouth Tories know, foreigners – ones even more foreign than people from Southampton – are irredeemably awful. Amongst many many other things, they bring disease. With that in mind, Donna ought to adapt something else Donald’s said in the recent past:
‘Stop the Ebola patients from entering Portsmouth. Treat them, at the highest level, over there. Portsmouth has enough problems.’
We looked out the window at the inclement weather. ‘I wish it would improve,’ Donna sighed.
I told her that Donald has a spiffing one-liner that she might re-write and make her own:
‘It’s freezing and snowing in Portsmouth – we need global warming!’
‘I’m not going out there,’ Donna said. ‘I might mess up my hair.’
I pointed out to her that Donald also cares deeply about his hair and that this too might be a point of agreement betwixt the pair of them:
‘As everybody knows, but the haters and losers refuse to acknowledge, I do not wear a “wig.” My hair may not be perfect but it’s mine.’
It was getting late and time to meet my driver Melania – no relation to Donald or I – in the car park. As we parted company, I asked Donna how she manages to cope with the pressures of her high office.
‘When I think I’m right,’ she said, ‘nothing bothers me.’
Eerie, I thought, Donald said exactly the same thing in 1985. How similar they are. I’ve yet to see them in the same place at the same time. Have you?