This weekend at the Edenbridge bonfire in Kent, near where I live, an effigy of Donald Trump will be burned. Last weekend, at Halloween, people up and down the land went out dressed up as him, or as a woman being groped by him. It is hard to imagine any American doing anything like this in homage to our own least popular political candidate in a generation, Jeremy Corbyn. And that’s caused me to wonder why, exactly — when we’re so turned off by our own politicians — we are so enthralled by the Donald across the pond.
Having watched him trash Hillary, followed him on Twitter and listened to him repeat the word ‘China’ endlessly on YouTube, I’ve decided that we mainly love Trump as a result of the presidential debates, the spectacle of which we just didn’t want to end. Bored by vapid, politically correct discourse over here, we are riveted by the Donald. Or at least I am.
Yes, I am embarrassed to admit: I am addicted to Donald Trump. Not on account of his hair (even though I marvel at it). Nor his tiny hands (though I am transfixed as he waves them about so camply in the air). It’s his oratorical fireworks I can’t get enough of. In over a decade of writing about politics, I can’t recall any other political performance that has been anywhere near as entertaining or engaging.
By comparison, the 2015 pre-general election debates in Britain were pedestrian, dull and didn’t even feature the woman who is now Prime Minister — so they were ultimately pointless to boot. But we’ve been given a ringside seat as America makes its decision — do they want Trump, who seems to stalk his rival across the stage, or do they prefer Clinton and her ice-queen response (which, to be fair, is probably the only way to deal with him)?
(Photo: Getty)
I think the key to Trump’s perverse popularity over here is the power of his rhetoric.
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