In a move that left political pundits clutching their monocles and reaching for the smelling salts, the 45th president of the United States, one Donald J. Trump, graced Madison Square Garden with his presence this week. Not for a Knickerbockers game, you understand, but for the sort of political theatre that makes a pantomime villain look like a nuanced thespian.
The man whose hair appears to have been assembled from a startled ginger tom and a tube of Pritt Stick has once again taken to the stage, this time to rally his faithful for what can only be described as a royal visit to the People's Republic of Manhattan. The crowd, a curious mix of 'Make America Great Again' acolytes and bewildered tourists who thought they were queuing for Hamilton, were treated to a masterclass in the surreal. Trump spoke of walls, of trade wars, of the 'fake news' media, and of his enduring love for the great game of basketball, a sport he claimed to have revolutionised with his very presence.
He did not, notably, mention the small matter of his various legal entanglements. Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, His Majesty's Government has issued a statement so stiff with resolve that it could have been starched by the Queen herself. A spokesperson for No.
10 Downing Street declared, with the sort of gravity usually reserved for announcing a royal death, that the United Kingdom's commitment to the Atlantic alliance remains 'utterly unwavering'. This, despite the clear and present danger of a man who thinks that 'NATO' is a type of Italian ice cream. The subtext, of course, is that Britain is bracing for the possibility of a second Trump term, a prospect that has sent a shudder through the corridors of power from Whitehall to the G7.
The question on everyone's lips, though, is this: can the Special Relationship survive the strain of a man who once suggested that the Foreign Office should be renamed the 'Department of Making America Great Again'? It is a dilemma that has been described by one anonymous civil servant as 'like trying to have a conciliatory cup of tea with a gibbon that has been given access to a nuclear football'. As the world watches, I shall be in the press gallery, nursing a gin and tonic, and wondering if the bartender has any of that nice Bathtub Gin from the airliner.
The score so far: Trump 1, Reality 0.
