Presidential Black Mirror, my cleaner, and the week that was…

My cleaner is here today. I usually try to be out, but she was an early bird this morning and arrived at 8.30am. I was still in bed, asleep, because it’s Saturday and that is what normal people do on the weekend. Apparently we arranged the dawn chorus scrubbing last week when I asked her to come in early. I can’t think why I would do that? I can only think that somewhere, someone is waiting for her.

So, here she is, cleaning my flat, whilst I am in the bedroom feeling all the guilt. I offer her coffee every ten minutes. She’s been out for a fag already and part of me wonders if she has just left the hoover on and is secretly languishing on the sofa, texting her family in Italy. To be fair, I couldn’t blame her.

We just had a little chat. She showed me a photo of her daughter and got upset as her kids are in Italy and she is here. We then had a mutual ‘what a week’ Trump off, where she said ‘Trump, Donalllld Trump. BARRRRRSTAAAAADO’ – I was like ‘yeah Maria, yeah, he is’ and we high fived in the hall. It seems language barriers don’t impact on the universal code of ‘how the hell has that man done this?’

 I have been asking myself, since Trump won the Presidential episode of Black Mirror, just how I can get people so wrong? I know everyone doesn’t think the same way; it would be a boring world if we did. But I am bothered. Bothered how anyone can think that a man who uses the word ‘grab pussies’ and ‘ban Muslim people’ and ‘build a wall’ and talks about ‘finding my daughter attractive’ is a safe bet to have the keys to the Whitehouse, and the nuclear codes. Let’s just sit on that for a moment, he has the nuclear codes. You give power to a man with an ego that size and I truly believe anything could happen. Nothing surprises me anymore. It feels like some, not all, but some of the folk who voted for him are seeing it as one big reality show. ‘Hey, he’s great on the Apprentice, yeah, he’s a white mans choice, let’s have him.’

 In the meantime, Donald the showman looked worried in his victory speech. He was quieter; he was a man who was thinking ‘Holy hell, I have to do this now’. After 18 months of talking the talk, he now has to walk the walk. It’s going to be awful. I hope he falls over. I am pretty sure he will.

 Back in my house, the radio is playing ‘Wonderful World’. Maria is singing along quietly as she cleans my kitchen. I am still feeling the guilt, but it’s quite nice hearing her sing along. She seems happy. Donald Trump, and my scruffy way of living, and her kids being in a different country haven’t broken her. And this week won’t break us either.

I just hope they give Donald the wrong code.



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