A Vote to Kill For.

I see Tim Waltz, Kamala’s right hand man who hopes to add VP to his credentials next month, has been out letting the men of America know that he’s a true blue (in both senses of the word) macho type. He invited the press to photograph him wearing his ‘hunting gear’ (an orange dayglo jacket with orange baseball cap) and carrying a shotgun. It was all about shooting hapless pheasants, apparently.

A few people still shoot pheasants in Britain because pheasants are relatively easy to shoot. (At least they are with a shotgun that shoots spreading pellets, rather than a rifle which shoots a single bullet, which is why lots of pheasants are merely injured and left to die slowly rather than being killed outright.) This is because pheasants walk relatively slowly, run relatively slowly, fly relatively slowly even when they’ve been scared witless into flying in the first place by people making a lot of noise, and don’t bite your head off if you miss.)

But if that’s all it takes to turn the all-American macho male into your best buddy, so be it. What can I say but Go America! (I’ve known too many good Americans – some of the best of people anywhere – to offer a thought on the question: ‘Go where?’)

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And yet a thought occurs to me. Waltz’s message – however pathetically it’s presented – is projected at fellow males and says 'I’m one of you.' So how is Trump going to woo the women at next week’s all-women convention? He can’t send the same message, can he? To do that he’d have to wear a fake ponytail and carry a clutch bag. Will he instead rely on the old Hollywood favourite ploy and present himself as the big strong man who will 'protect you li’l ladies, so no need to worry ma’am while I’m in charge.' You know, the John Wayne type who puts li’l ladies over his knee and slaps their butt if they try to get above their natural status. Could be interesting.