By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist with a big list of words that rhyme with Keir
IN last week’s and multiple previous columns I have described Trump as our one true Caesar and the saviour of freedom. That stands, but with a few notes.
He is still a warrior against woke, the nemesis of net zero, an implacable foe of illegal immigration, a crusader countering the corrupt cuckocracy, and Daddy. But we have minor differences on Ukraine.
Largely that – and perhaps this is easier to see from Europe, benighted graveyard of free speech that it for the most part is – Russia invaded it, plans to take the whole of Eastern Europe back and Putin will slaughter us all with a smile on his KGB features.
Now, I admit it wasn’t always that clear to me. When Russian cash was saving those twin white supremacist institutions Chelsea FC and the Tory party, I was all for it. ‘Let it rain down,’ I said, ‘and polonium for the dissidents.’
But the removal without warning, if you discount warnings from dangerously soft-headed liberals and Trump’s campaign promises, of the US protection umbrella has caused some reassessment because I have never wanted to die.
And, much as I applaud the rise in defence spending Trump has forced upon us which should be 95 per cent like ancient Sparta, my hopes of him bluffing grow dim. He really is f**king off Europe and leaving us to rely on the frogs for nukes. Shit.
So while I applaud his America First! stance in theory and believe he should extract so many minerals from Ukraine that it’s down to the magma, I still selfishly feel he should save us. I’d be happy if the security guarantees only covered my bit of London.
Nonetheless, I stand by all those other columns while reserving the right to rescind them if he leads the world into economic depression, invades Canada and kidnaps the King, declares democracy over or sets up internment camps. All of which I now judge likely.
Oh, Daddy Trump. You are a one.
