Maybe we should do more than just duck. Maybe we should run. Run for cover. Run for our lives. Run as far and as fast as we can. Run and hide in a cave on a desert island. And there we could stick our heads in the sand for the next four years until his days are over.
Being a good ostrich this is what I will do. I will carry on with my own little, ordinary life. I will go to work, go to the shops, cook the dinner, make the beds, read a book, cut the grass. I will pretend that everything is just fine in the world. Pretend that this day didn’t happen. Pretend that love and joy will conquer all, no matter who we are, where we come from, the colour of our skin or the sex of our partner.
I will stop watching the television, reading the newspapers, listening to the radio, surfing the web. I will live in a bubble, believing that the world stops at my doorstep.
Because if I don’t, how can I accept this unacceptable result and the aftermath to come?
I vowed never to talk politics. But this isn’t just politics. This is real. This is it. This is our world today.
It’s been an important year, this year. A big, bad, hairy wolf of a year.
2016 – the year I turned fifty.
2016 – the year my girls became adults.
2016 – the year my poor mother-in-law died of an unknown illness.
2016 – the year a big, angry, xenophobic, homophobic, mysogynous, inexperienced cartoon-character of a man was elected to become the next President of the United States of America.
What will 2017 bring?
I can’t see a single Daisy on the path that lies ahead of us.
Just weeds, and thorns and dirt.