Crock of Cocks

I’m shit at political commentary or analysis. I once turned down a Labour Party nomination – on the grounds that I was shit at keeping calm and anyway didn’t think I was old enough or knew enough to be an MSP or MP.

I’ve not improved with age. I’m worse. Now that I know and have experienced more, I think I really understand now, just how much there is, that I really don’t understand.

Anyway. I’m sick of reading the ham-analysis of the US election. Or the working-class blaming that’s going on. I’m repulsed by the white supremacists and the Breitbart misogynists and climate change deniers now populating the most powerful House in the world.

I am frightened to venture onto social media platforms – because I know I will pick at the scab and read the comments sections and then get so fucking angry I’ll pace the house for the rest of the day. I’ve been incoherent with this burning rage so many times this week that I’ve ended up scaring Jamie – though I hope he’s learned that there are some things it’s just plain unsafe to play devil’s advocate with in this house.

This will sound like another idiotic comment (because yes, it’s the money stupid!) but this is just another thing that I don’t get about Trump’s success. That someone who knows so little – and has so few talents – should have this implacable, impregnable belief that he is ‘awesome’, ‘wonderful’, ‘just great, truly great’.

He’s the type of kid we all tried to avoid but were often in thrall to. You know the one – the one who’d have a tantrum if he didn’t get his own way; the one whose parents thought parenting was about how many toys you had; the one who blackmailed quiet, brainy kids and threatened to ‘tell everyone to fall out with you if you don’t give me the answers’ (yip, this happened to me… you can tell, can’t you…); the one whose self-confidence was so misplaced as to be pathological… malignant, malevolent, manipulating…

He’s the boss at work whose unpredictability and need to have his ego stroked means staff turnover in his section is sky high. He’s the person who is only interested in your praise or your usefulness to him.

I can’t comprehend how someone who is otherwise, at best, a consummate mediocrity can have so little insight as to think they are ‘the best’ ‘better than the best’. Shee-itttt… if Daddy hadn’t left him millions is there any chance he’d have achieved anything very much at all

My mother still says ‘don’t draw attention to your faults, talk about your positives’ and ‘you can do anything you put your mind to – you’re your only limit’. But that was tempered by ‘not everything’s about you’… and I was regularly decried as ‘selfish’ if I overstepped the mark…

Trump was never exposed to self-doubt. Or to criticism. Not even the ‘constructive’ stuff.

He could’ve done with some.

He could have done with a lot of it.

His (sadly, regrettably) Scottish Mother clearly didn’t like Rabbie Burns…

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait wad lea’e us,
An’ ev’n devotion!

(from his poem ‘To a Louse’ – written in 1786 ‘on seeing one on a Lady’s Bonnet, At Church)

Anyway… Ana came to the rescue last night with her anti-bullying poster for school. I’m not sure it’s what the teacher intended or expects but I love it.

ana-anti-bully-poster

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