They came in dribs and drabs, the unwanted, the uninvited and the unloved. First to arrive in Washington was Liz Truss, wearing a red Maga hat and a bright blue coat looking like an extra in a Paddington Bear film.
Lizzie could be found standing on a street corner in downtown DC, screaming: “I used to be prime minister of the United Kingdom.”
“Of course you did,” said a kindly passerby, giving her a wide berth.
“I did. I did. I really did,” she sobbed.
“Do you need help?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine. Anyone who says I crashed the economy will be getting a letter from my lawyers.”
“It’s OK, Ma’am,” said a police officer. “Time to move on. Do you have anywhere to go?”
Lizzie didn’t. She wasn’t quite sure why she had come to America now. When even Donald Trump doesn’t want to know you, then your sense of futility is complete. Maybe she could find an electrical goods store and watch the inauguration on a TV there.
The same went for Suella Braverman and Priti Patel. No place to go, no place to be. They had only come because they had hoped they were marginally more popular in the US than they were back at home. Priti had been sure that being found to have broken the ministerial code twice would guarantee her a front row seat. Turns out The Donald had some standards after all. Suella had even turned up on the same flight as the freelance halfwit Laurence Fox. Hard to tell who was the most embarrassed.
Back in the UK, the sucking up started early on Monday morning. David Lammy on the Today programme trying to be cool about not getting an invitation. He was sure it had just been a clash of diaries. And hadn’t wanted to upstage the president-elect anyway. He went into rhapsodies about the brilliance of The Donald, the extended dinner that had been the best dinner ever, the incredible grace and generosity of the Trumpster. Words no one had ever previously said. Least of all the foreign secretary, who last we heard had called him a fascist. Pass the sick bag.
It was a bitterly cold morning in DC. Something every reporter remarked on. Minus 11, said the Sky man on the White House lawn. He sounded as if he felt he had drawn the short straw. How come he wasn’t anchoring the show from a warm studio? Or doing the commentary from the Rotunda?
The first real action was a sighting of Trump going to a prayer service at St John’s Episcopal church. Donald didn’t look exactly thrilled to be there. Then he seldom does when he’s with Melania. Joining him in the congregation was Javier Milei, Argentina’s answer to Liam Gallagher, Elon Musk and Boris Johnson. This was a real moment of hubris for Bozza. The Donald was born again while he couldn’t even give away copies of his memoir. The service lasted 45 minutes. There were a lot of collective sins to be forgiven.
Cut to JD Vance and his wife Usha being greeted at the White House by Kamala Harris and her husband Doug. Awkward smiles. No love lost there. Moments later the Beeb screened a ticker: Rump family arriving at Capitol Hill. Start as you mean to go on, BBC. Cue Donald and Melania meeting the Bidens. Perhaps they chatted about why Trump had chosen to post a video about Joe having spent the night in the seniors’ wing. That legendary generosity again. Still no smile from the Donald.
An hour before the ceremony began, the Rotunda started to fill with guests. There was Musk. As weird as only he can be. Friends, politicians, judges and ambassadors. But no Nigel Farage. Maybe not on quite such good terms with the president as he would like us to believe. George Bush and Bill Clinton were there with their wives. Barack Obama without his. The extended Trump family looking surprised to have been given day release. The ceremonials didn’t come close to a British state occasion. More like the political Oscars complete with cheesy announcer.
After a long procession of entrances, we finally got to Trump himself. The first flicker of a smile. He and Melania went to air-kiss. Their lips didn’t get within six inches of each other. Then the opening addresses. A reminder that ”equal justice under the law” was written on the supreme court. Just not for presidents. Or the very rich.
Franklin Graham declared that God had spared Trump to save the country. At least we will know who to blame. The Donald swore the oath on his own bible. The one that says “may all felons be spared” and “grab women by the pussy”. America had its 47th president. Chants of U-S-A could be heard in the overspill hall. Trump began to join in the clapping for himself. He hasn’t quite got the hang of this.
The gloves came off as he started his inaugural address. You couldn’t escape the threat in his voice. Donald is still a man who feels that Donald has been wronged. All he had was a narrative of betrayal. He laid into Biden for the decline of America. But he was on hand to bring about the golden age of America. This was the moment the US had been awaiting for nearly 250 years. So modest.
He too believed God had spared him to save America. Everything was going to change. There would be a national emergency on the southern border. Immigrants watch out. There would also be tariffs, though he wasn’t sure how they would work. And bring on the climate change deniers. Drill, baby, drill. He couldn’t make the connection to the disasters in North Carolina and LA.
Try to look on him as the messiah. A peacemaker. A unifier. The best. The very bestest best. The Gulf of Mexico would be renamed the Gulf of America. The Panama canal would be seized. Mars, here we come. By now, most of the audience were bouncing up and down in their chairs.
“The impossible is what we do best,” he ended. “We’re going to win like never before.” There was a minute’s unscheduled pause before Carrie Underwood sang America the Beautiful. It turned out it had been impossible to tee up the music on the laptop. Making America great again.
Comments