No Wheels on My Wagon.

What a delightful picture we’re getting from America at the moment. The President and his minions are huddled inside a wagon train formed into a tight defensive circle, all taking random pot shots at anything that moves (which often includes their own feet.) The Cherokees (aka Democrats and Trump-hating Republicans) have them pinned down with superior numbers and flaming arrows, at least one of which they hope will set Trump’s hair alight.

‘This is lookin’ real bad, Jim,’ says one of the minions to a man called Jim. ‘If I don’t make it and you do, would you take this letter to that little Russian guy who was sitting at the back of the room that day. Gosh, he sure was a cutie. Tell him I want him to find happiness with somebody else now that I’m gone.’

(Which just goes to show how courageous and gallant minions can be when they’re staring into perdition’s flame.)

Ah, but what do we see in the distance galloping to their aid? None other than the 7^th Cavalry in the guise of the President of Russia.

‘He didn’t say nuth’n,’ yells Putin,

‘I was in the room and I didn’t hear nuth’n,’ agrees one of the minions.

‘Oh yes I did,’ intones the wagon master defiantly, ‘and I was perfectly entitled to because I’m President. So there.’

And then the pantomime chorus takes up the shout (I do hope everybody knows what a pantomime is):

‘Oh yes he did.’ (Cherokees.)

‘Oh no he didn’t.’ (Minions.)

‘Oh yes he did…’

What an inspiring picture it paints. It’s the stuff of which greatness is made.