“What did you expect? ‘Welcome, sonny’? ‘Make yourself at home’? ‘Marry my daughter’? You’ve got to remember that these are just simple farmers. These are people of the land. The common clay of the new West deep South. You know . . . morons.”

I joke, but only because the situation is farcical and deeply frustrating and it’s about all I can do from where I’m sat at the other side of the pond. Especially if the people that voted for this man, who presumably live much closer, can’t do anything either.