Fiona Duff: Trump in White House? We’re Don for

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Whilst the choice of Jeremy Corbyn to become Labour leader may have surprised many in this country, I do think that there is nothing as mad as an American presidential campaign.

First of all, it costs millions of dollars to promote oneself in the race to become the most powerful person in the world. Indeed, it is believed that Mitt Romney raised and spent nearly $400 million just to win the Republican nomination in 2012. And Lord knows how much came out of the handbag for the actual presidential campaign.

In the past we’ve had the likes of Sarah Palin whose grasp on geography was worse than a primary three schoolchild. We may have laughed at her stupid comments, her inarticulate replies and blinkered view of life, but there was a chance that she could have been the second most powerful person in the world. Her appointment by John McCain, who had obviously decided to have her as his running mate during a senior moment, was described by Barack Obama as putting someone with “zero foreign policy experience a heartbeat away from the presidency”.

However, this time around it is that joke on legs that calls himself Donald Trump who is trying to get the Republican nomination. How on earth are we to take a man seriously when his hairstyle has been used to design a new hotel at the St James Centre?

He is a master of bluster and balderdash – he can dismiss McCain’s war record because he ended up in captivity yet he is a draft dodger. He has scant regard for the common man as seen by his dreadful behaviour towards property owners around the Menie estate near Aberdeen.

His life is a like an awful reality programme played out in the pages of celebrity magazines when they can’t get hold of Peter Andre or someone from The Only Way Is Essex. His own website claims that he is the Republican frontrunner, although I have a feeling that many who were questioned merely chose him as they had heard his name before.

However, I imagine that somewhere underneath the walnut whip of lacquered hair there must be some grey cells, as he has managed to run a business which he built up from scratch. But presidential material he is not.

Could he try and sort out the Middle East problem with conciliatory gestures and understanding? Naw, he’d just be for nuking the lot of them and starting over again.

So if he wins we could be in big trouble, and it could be that our only hope in keeping him away from that big red button and the White House might be a woman. How much joy would it bring me if it was Hillary Clinton who brought down the Trump.

Wedded to the idea of presents

I’VE been invited to three weddings this year. I know that compared to my niece, who is in her late 20s, this is a tiny figure, but considering these are all my peers it is quite an unusual situation.

Of course, at our age most people have everything that one might consider giving as a wedding present.

“Don’t bother,” they say when asked, but the point is not the bother rather the fact that we want to give something to help them celebrate.

At times I have almost given up – on the day of one nuptials I rushed along earlier to their favourite restaurant to buy a gift voucher (an idea that actually went down surprisingly well – almost as well as the food and drink they quaffed) and other times it’s just some good old John Lewis vouchers.

Next weekend’s bridal couple live in the country where they inherited several apple trees which are extremely prolific. So some of us have clubbed together and bought an apple press. I don’t think I have drunk cider since I was a student, but I reckon that I might well develop a taste for it once again. Hic.

It pays to listen to mum’s advice

OH my, the nights are fair drawing in, aren’t they? In the evenings the temperatures really are starting to drop and I look longingly at the central heating control.

However, earlier this year, when I received a heating bill that almost made my heart cease to beat, I finally got around to changing my electricity and gas supplier.

The new one reckons that they will save me about a third, but that could still be quite a bill. Instead I have invested in some nice hand-knitted granny cardigans found in various charity shops and nicked thermal socks from my husband.

It’s the sort of advice my mother used to give me whenever I complained of being cold and, rather annoyingly, it does work.

Of course I never bothered listening to her advice in the past. In those days I wasn’t responsible for the bills.

Your work is no great shakes, Kate

DID you hear about the woman who had her hair cut just before she went back to “work” after having a second baby? What a beacon of hope and enlightenment she is to all us mothers who have to earn a crust.

It’s a shame I don’t have a £1245 Ralph Lauren shirtdress to pop on after walking the dogs as I rummage around looking for something to wear that is clean and not too crushed. And it is interesting that smiling and shaking the hands of strangers is seen as an occupation. To me that’s just a night out at a party. Then again, despite dreaming of a life without having an office to which I have to be seen in on a fairly regular basis, I wouldn’t swap my life or my hairstyle with her for all the tea in China.