As the 45th Presidency in United States history glides to its dignified conclusion, and with sweetness and light very much the order of the day, I personally like to think of Marcus Aurelius’ meditation, to the effect that ‘the best revenge is not to be like your enemy’.
For the first time in many years, we are having a paper delivered to our home these days, which means that I can accelerate by half a day my absorption of all the things that happened yesterday. Particularly, this morning, I could devour the column inches devoted to those who Donald Trump has just pardoned, which include Steve Bannon, a man so manifestly unpleasant that you might have thought even Trump would notice, and assorted rappers, cyberstalkers and purveyors of attempted murder. It’s a curious custom, but then so is Morris Dancing, so who am I to complain?
‘Finally, justice has been done,’ whispered no one at all around the silent corridors, as they watched through the windows a large man with orange skin walking un-mourned across the White House lawn to his helicopter for the last time.
Still, Washington’s loss is Florida’s gain, and it is to be hoped that he can warm his toes in front of the fire, or at least the barbecue, in the knowledge of a job well done, and a nation well and truly made great again. Maybe he read that bit in the bible which said: ‘But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive yours’, which kind of makes it a bit of a smart move, all things considered. Presumably, Rudi Giuliani isn’t holding his breath for his own pardon.
Having criticized all this by implication, I actually think that the process of formal pardon has much to recommend it. Personally, I have a longish list of people and things who have pissed me off in the last year or so, and I am announcing today my intention of pardoning them all once the pubs are open again. Here is a sneak preview from the candidates.
The Hermes delivery driver who dropped off half a new exercise bike, but never got round to bringing the rest of it.
Jeff Bezos for emailing me daily about what I am missing since I binned Amazon Prime five months ago.
The maintenance team from ‘Roads’ who just left, probably deliberately, that one vicious and perfectly formed pothole on the south side of North Bridge in Midhurst, deep and vertical enough to hide a hippo in.
The mobile camera operator who clocked me going at 58 mph in a 50 mph limit outside Bristol, docking me 3 points and £90 on the day Alex Salmond got acquitted.
The cricketing colleague who upheld a laughable LBW appeal against me at Coldharbour back in August, when the ball clearly pitched about 14 inches outside leg.
The BT Open Reach engineer who, in fixing one very small problem on our line, managed to disconnect us from the entire network for 4 days, just when I was finalizing the Shearwater book edit.
The radiographer in an empty St Richards Hospital who, after I had waited five months to get it done, managed to x-ray the wrong bit of my arm, from the wrong angle, and still be disagreeable to me.
The owner of the large local dog that, come rain and shine, craps at the point in our driveway that a person in a hurry is most likely to step over. And always when we aren’t looking.
David Warner for, well, for just being David Warner.
Meanwhile, good luck, Joe. I think you might be needing it. All of us might be needing it, in fact.
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