Essays in Idleness

For reasons I gave yesterday, it is often better to write before something happens, than after. For then we have the advantage that it hasn’t happened yet. We are free of a weight not yet imposed.

We are told by most, if not all of the pundits, that Mister Trump will sweep the Super Tuesday primaries today, to become the inevitable Republican nominee for “Potus” — the improved, abbreviated designation for the more dragging, “President Of The United States.” Well, maybe he won’t quite take Texas, where I gather my preferred Cruz still has a chance, though rather short of the winner-take-all trigger. So that Trump appears “poised” (strange term) to carry off jumbo cartloads of delegates and momentum to the Republican National Convention in July; with “coat-tails” long and swirly enough to trip many of the most useful congressional incumbents in Texas and the South. Kevin Brady, for instance, if de-nominated, will lose Texas the House Ways and Means chairmanship, for just one passing example. And this on the Feast of Saint David, which, notwithstanding Lent, I feel bound to take with a little whisky.

Young “first-time voters” — a category which overlaps almost entirely with “low information voters” — are expected to clinch the result. They, and other hormonally challenged (I won’t say which sex) brought Boy Trudeau to power up here, in our Dominion election last October. But of course, the USA was ahead of us with Obama.

Though with Obama, it was still possible to predict which foolish and mindlessly tyrannical, leftwing policies he was likely to try on. The same might be said for his (criminally indictable) replacement, Misses Clinton: that the degree of American self-destruction and recess can be approximately calculated. (So much for the first term, then doubled for a second.)

With Trump, no one knows. Once in power, he could do anything. His mind is made from moment to moment, depending on what he thinks the market will buy; and on his own crass, kindergarten rages.

Compare our own prime ministerial child, at sea except when discussing marijuana, but carefully controlled from the Liberal back rooms. One might hope they will be satisfied to load their pockets, while euthanizing only their competitors at the public trough.

Little Trudeau disturbs me for the incredible lightness of his being; Big Trump because he appears to be smart, as well as extremely wilful, and ruthlessly indifferent to consistency and fact. You can get rich in real estate that way; I notice everything else he touched in business concluded in smoke and ashes. And one may make a reasonable inference from this — while observing that USA is not some minor country.

I may be writing of the fate of one planet only — albeit the one on which I live, with no other currently accessible to me. And true, I will be dead soon enough; but I will leave children and friends. Rather more than to pundits, one turns to God, for advice in such situations.