Donald Trump stories

Trump and Michael Cohen are in the Oval office, when Omarosa Marigault Newman walks in. The moment he sees her Trump stuffs the piece of paper he was reading into his mouth and starts eating it. “Since Trump was ever the germaphobe, I was shocked he appeared to be chewing and swallowing the paper. It must have been something very, very sensitive,” she said. I don’t know why he might not think of shouting “Get Out!” at her, or even looking her in the eye and saying “get out,” in a friendly, conversational tone, but who knows. It is a big office, approximately 34 feet on the minor axis and 27 on the major, even though it’s the Oval Office, not the Ellipse Edifice. It’s built where the laundry drying yard used to be.

Brash Omarosa, a woman with no policy expertise, political acumen, or knowledge of the workings of government, who happened to be Black in a very White House, was fired by Trump’s fourth chief of staff, John Kelly. She could work on the Trump Campaign 2020, which was set up the day after the inauguration for tax purposes, if she didn’t make a fuss.

Cliff Sims, former editor in chief of Yellowhammer News- no, I hadn’t heard of it either, but wondered if it were connected to the Yellowhammer explaining that Britain would suffer food shortages if there was a no-deal Brexit- anyway, Sims was one of Trump’s shifting crew of Communications Supremoes, who wrote with some relish, “The inner circle of Trumpworld was not always a pretty picture. Too often, it was a portrait of venality, stubbornness, and selfishness. We leaked. We schemed. We backstabbed, for ourselves. We brought our personal agendas and vendettas. And some of us, I assume, were good people.”

“Only some?” is not the question you are asking. You got the allusion immediately.

Paul Ryan, right, Paul Ryan’s in the Oval Office briefing Trump on his big, beautiful plan to make health care great again. After fifteen minutes Trump starts staring out of the window, then gets up, walks into his adjacent two-scoops dining room, sits down and turns on the TV. HR McMaster, Mad Dog or something, when briefing the President of the United States, would set out the pros and cons, risks and advantages, of each option before making a recommendation.

It drove Donald Trump nuts.

That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it? He’s not a happy man, that Trump, with his gossamer thin skin and his utter narcissism and the way his Scotch mother was ill and could not meet his needs and his father was a shark and wouldn’t when he was small, World King Trump- not happy. There’s some justice in the world.

At Mary Lay-go, Trump’s earnest staffer puts a four inch thick binder by Trump’s seat. It was detailed research on every topic that might come up, lines to take, background, historical context, facts and figures. Weeks of work. Christ Chrissie, a very intelligent man who knew Trump so well he was prescient like that tells the staffer Trump will use it as a coaster. And, whaddyaknow, Christie was Right! Everyone else in Trump’s White House, said Chrissie, no, actually, Christie was involved with the transition to start with but didn’t actually get to be Secretary of State, that should be everyone in Trump’s Whitehouse, was “amateurs, grifters, weaklings, convicted and unconvicted felons”.

Gary Cohn tells “friends” he got the Tax and Job Cuts Act passed by giving Trump four key bullet points summarising the legislation, and ensuring Trump was in Asia when Congress was passing it.

Trump “insists” on having the Churchill Bust on the Redolent Desk, where sometimes he thoughtfully strokes the cigar in Winnie’s mouth, and the portrait of Andrew Jackson in the Ellipsoid Artifice, Old Hickory who in 1828 was described as bullish, defensive, quick-tempered, thin skinned, a populist, unfit to govern, who felt the ruling élites looked down on him and warned against alien enemies. Alien, here, means from foreign countries rather than from Space. Jackson killed someone in a duel and Trump has not yet shot anyone on Wall St, though who knows what’s happened to the 100,000 missing persons every year in the US. When Trump was supposed to be golfing, did DHS agents take him to the desert near the Mexican border to “help” them deal with Mexicans? Did they? Did they? What would Trump’s Base think of that?

Stories taken from Clown Car Disaster by John Sopel, BBC Washington co-respondent, pretty much. “Enjoyed the sample? Buy now in the Kindle Store!” I did, actually, enjoy it, not buy it, much as the alcoholic might imagine he could stop after two pints. I have the same rubbernecking delight in everything to do with Trump that most people do. I hope he’s re-elected, he’ll be even more entertaining next time. Whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, take account of these things.

Tolstoy and Love

Nikolai Rostov finds Marya Bolkonska, newly bereaved, alone and unsupported. The more generous she is to the muzhiks, the more rebellious they are. Their head-man rebels with them, her steward cannot control them. He goes and shouts at them, though he and one soldier are alone in the crowd and they could overwhelm him. They become obedient, and Princess Marya can escape the French, to Moscow.

She finds herself with tender feelings for him, and his comrades josh him about this plain, old maid- in her late twenties! Her luminous gaze makes one forget the plainness of her face, and she is extremely wealthy. Yet he thinks with guilt of Sonia, his parents’ penniless ward, who has loved him since childhood, and to whom he has promised himself. Dolokhov the duellist loved her, but Nikolai encouraged her love enough to make her reject him: so he beguiles Nikolai into a cheating card game, and wins 42,000 roubles from him. Nikolai’s father pays up, enmeshing him further in debt.

Marya’s brother Andrei loved Nikolai’s sister Natasha. She is not intelligent, but she is sweet. Andrei’s father opposed the match, and sends away for a year, for a German cure. Andrei was wounded at Austerlitz, feared dead, but taken to a French hospital. On the battlefield he looked up at the lofty, infinite sky. Everything is a deception, there is nothing except that sky. That changes a man. Theirs is a pure sweet love; but she falls into the clutches of Elena, countess Bezukhov. Elena’s brother Anatole fancies Natasha, so Elena overawes her with her social prowess, patronises her, adopts her and throws her together with Anatole. His contemptuous awareness of his own superiority arouses a woman’s curiosity, fear, and even love.

She sees him at the opera, and he stares at her. She is delighted that he is captivated. He speaks boldly and simply, and she loves his smile. He stares at her breasts. She would prefer him to look into her eyes, but when he does, she felt with fear and horror that between him and her that barrier of modesty which she had always felt between herself and other men was not there at all.

He wants to elope, and she consents. Dolokhov realises this is foolish: Anatole will run through his few thousand roubles in cash in no time, and is married to a Pole. Anatole has no thought for the future. He takes his carriage to her house at night. But her hostess, a princess and courtier, is wise to him, and thwarts him.

Though they have not kissed, Natasha is shamed forever. Pierre Bolkonsky pities her, and loves her; yet, trapped in his loveless marriage, he decides not to see her, though he is her only moral bulwark. Andrei feels terrible rage, and only desires a duel with Anatole. They meet at the field of Borodino.

And at Austerlitz, Nikolai loved the Sovereign, wanting only to see him, to be seen as a hero and catch his momentary attention, to die for him.

Borovikovsky, Grand Duke Alexander Pavlovitch

Loch Fyne II

Loch FyneI rowed to the mooring, and got into the yacht. I cast off and then hoisted the sails. I was on one side of the boat, nearly capsizing it, so I clambered to the other side and nearly capsized that way. Then I was in the middle, and the boat aright, ropes fankled and sails full, blowing straight for the rocks. I went about just before the rocks.


I had never sailed the boat by myself before. I wanted the challenge. I, I, I……

He wanted the challenge. He got it. He…

Nearly capsize, nearly capsize, then on an even keel and heading towards the Rocks, to rip the boat open. Go about, only a yard from them.

Triumph, delight, exhilaration, wonder, satisfaction, amazement, relief, terror

A moment where the body does what the body will, pulling on the rope, duck under the boom, push the tiller

Do you even remember it correctly? The rocks protruded from the shoreline, where the swans nested. The wind must have been blowing on-shore, sailing across the wind, to go about- or was it jibe? What detail do I need? Disaster, averted, delight. Everyone knows the exhilarating moment where you think you are done for and escape. The car, beside a stream of lorries in the other lane, begins to aquaplane. I think- oh, what next? Then I regain control.

I want you to feel what I feel. I want you to be with me. Or I want to produce words which communicate where I was. The challenge and the joy of it is producing the words.

What is it that I lack, or feel /fear I lack? What would delight me?

Travelling light II

File:1872 Degas Die Ochestermusiker anagoria.JPGWe’re all drawn to certain places. If you had the power to get somewhere — anywhere — where would you go right now?

-Nowhere. I would stay here.
-Oh, come on. There must be somewhere you want to go?

-Alright. Say I said Swanston. So I got there right now and wandered round the shops for a bit, then I would come home. That’s £2.65 bus fare! I’m not made of money!
-Swanston? But you could go anywhere!
-Well, where? If I went to Mars I would choke to death or explode or something in a few seconds. If I said New York, I know one blogger there, I’ve never met him, I’m not interested in the Statue of Liberty because I’m thinking well what next, I’m thinking, I don’t have a passport. I met this bloke in Rome who had lost his passport, and was waiting around for months while the embassy sorted him out.

-No, you get the power to go anywhere, and come back.

-What, anywhere?


-Still nowhere.

Don’t look at me like that. You’re asking me, what do I want to feel. Excitement, fascination, the wonder of seeing something beautiful, or meeting someone, or anything I wanted. OK, I want to meet Nicole da File:Edgar Germain Hilaire Degas 038.jpgSilva. She’s busy at the moment, and someone is calling Security. The Grand Canyon is one of the most inspiring sights in the world, but right now I want a cup of tea. I’m happy here, thanks. Who are you, anyway? How did you get in?

-What if you could- Do- Good?

You know what I mean. Change someone’s life for the better. Meet a new person, find out who they are, find out the problem which is besetting them, and help them sort it.

-What, like Jonathan Archer in Quantum Leap? Or like the Pope’s miracle in Earthly Powers?


-The Pope lays hands on a dying child, and against all odds the child recovers. After he dies, this is considered a miracle, making him a saint. But the child grows up to be a mass murderer. Mass murderer. Geddit?

It didn’t end well for Jonathan Archer. So I save someone and they make the world worse: their vote lets a Republican become US President. Or I save someone, and they fall into endless misery, because they knew their time to die had come. Or I tell Margaret Atwood to make her novels cheerful, and people are denied that wonderful angst, schadenfreude and  catharsis. Or I rescue someone from a knife-wielding maniac, except that was the moment he had to save himself, the iron would enter his soul and he would turn his life around. I would do him harm.

Why do you want to give this gift, anyway? I would go somewhere, and my first stop would be the bank vault, for cash; then I would cut a swathe of chaos through the town. You don’t want to do good, you want to rid yourself of this curse. Useless fairy godmother you are, you couldn’t sell a fridge to an Arab.

I’ll go into Swanston, please. I need the supermarket.

Travelling light

1226px-Fra_Angelico_069I died last night.

I know what you’re thinking, but who would go to Heaven if it didn’t have wi-fi? Pulmonary embolism, terrible pain in the chest on trying to breathe in, then I saw this bright light, moved towards it and now I am here. I hope someone finds the body soon: the bedroom window is open, so they should notice the smell. It doesn’t normally smell like that, honest.

Anyway. We have wi-fi. Typing with a “spiritual body” is a bit of a chore, but you get the hang of it. Opening the laptop, it looked a bit funny, but I soon got to understand Linux.

So why me? This great world-changing announcement, There Is A Heaven. Why my little blog? Six page views yesterday (eight likes, I am not sure what that is about) and this post will get no more page views than the others. Well, Tucking gets lots of page views, with searches for “adhesive tape tuck penis,” “inguinal canal tucking” and the like.

Why me? Precisely because this is a little blog. You read it, you think it’s a joke, no-one else reads it, they go on thinking there is no afterlife. I am not the first. Lots of bloggers, even brilliant writers like me, proclaim our ideas to the World and get ignored.

There Is A God. I’ve met him, you know. Well, seen him from the back of a crowd, but he looked straight at me, and it was just me and him, then he smiled and it was awesome. No, really awesome, not like when an Australian- oh, never mind.

You may be surprised by the word “him”. The Queen of Heaven was in another room, welcoming another lot. With 150 million coming to Heaven every single day, they have a lot of welcoming to do. Some of the Catholics were really really angry about this- why believe all that rubbish, and do all those silly things, if everyone gets in? Some of them get put in a separate place, only with Catholics, because they would not be able to understand why, and they would just be rude to the LGBT folks. They used to come here, but eventually their whining made the Buddhists angry.

Later on, I am going to get a tour. Heaven is very, very big with 107 billion people here. Adoration of the Godhead is popular, bathing in the light of their Countenances- they pop out, do a bit of quick welcoming, but wherever you are in that huge crowd, they look at you and it is like it is only you and them. I might try to get a piano. Celestial harmonies are all acoustic, of course. We have technology, but we have taste.

I understand it is so good I might not want to blog again.