It had been the very bestest of bigly weekends. Two rounds of golf at his very own course in Turnberry.
On the Saturday Donald Trump had broken the record with a round of just 18. A hole in one at every hole. Largely because there had been men stationed about the course to pick up the ball and place it in the hole. Then on the Sunday he had gone one better. A round of 17. The ball had gone straight into the cup at the fourth hole, had rested there for a couple of seconds and then had flown out, soaring over the links and straight into the hole at the fifth. Scottie Scheffler could only dream of such a shot.
So The Donald was in an expansive mood as he waited for Keir Starmer and his wife, Victoria, to pay him a visit on Monday morning. Which was more than could be said for the small contingent of the British press who had been sent to the South Ayrshire golf course to cover the meeting.
On the table of the games room in which they had been penned, there were plates of sandwiches and biscuits. Just not for them. They were only for the US press corps. The Brits had to bring a packed lunch. Clearly, the special relationship still has a way to go.
Keir and Victoria arrived at the main entrance, where Trump was waiting to greet them, along with a bagpiper who drowned out the first couple of minutes of conversation. The Donald went into overdrive. His mum was Scottish, he said several times, as if reminding himself. His attention then turned to Victoria. She was a respected person all over the US. “I don’t want to get myself into trouble,” he added, “but she’s very, she’s a great woman.”
Victoria looked a little creeped out. Her husband might be a master Trump-wrangler, an expert at sycophancy and genuflection, but she wasn’t. She knew that almost no one in the US had heard of her and that’s the way she liked it. So she just tried to suck it up. She longed to get inside, away from the cameras.
The Donald had other ideas, taking question after question from the gaggle of reporters gathered for the arrival. The US president is like a radio presenter on the graveyard night-time slot. Uncomfortable with silence. Filling the dead air with a long rambling stream of unconsciousness. Saying the first thing that comes into his head. Needy – greedy – for any attention he can get. No longer just the most important person in his own life but the most important person on the planet. Life doesn’t get any better than this for the supreme narcissist: he speaks and people have to suck it up and listen.
Europe was in a bad place. Almost unrecognisable from the Europe of 10 years ago. Too many foreigners. He didn’t know anything about the small boat crossings, he admitted, but he was still sure they were all rapists and murderers. At this point, Starmer interrupted to say that he was very, very tough on irregular migration. Not that anyone was listening.
The Donald hardly drew breath. Yes, he did think people were starving in Gaza and Israel would have to allow more aid in. He seemed to want thanks for sending food, rather than seeing it as a legal and moral obligation. Putin had disappointed him. He was going to have to rethink his 50 days. And it was time to acknowledge the six wars he had stopped. Almost one a month. There was Thailand and Cambodia, India and Pakistan, Rwanda and the DRC. He couldn’t remember the others. It sounded as if he was nominating himself for the Nobel peace prize.
An hour later, Trump and Starmer were gathered in the modestly named Donald J Trump Ballroom for the press conference proper. It was billed as a double act but everyone knew it wasn’t going to be that way. Keir was there purely as The Donald’s plus one. This was to be The Donald Show, with just the occasional interruption from Starmer to allow the president to draw breath. A series of rambling, self-congratulatory monologues in which we actually learned very little.
We started by going over familiar territory that had already been covered in the 10-minute impromptu press conference earlier. Yes, Gaza was bad. Very bad, Keir added. So much so that he had upgraded it from “appalling but no need to do anything” to “appalling and something needs to be done”.
Trump ignored him. Hamas was bad. He had always said so. Israel must do something. He didn’t say what. As for Putin, he would give him 10-12 days. This was said impulsively, on the spur of the moment, rather than as a considered news event.
Then an acknowledgment to the British prime minister. He had negotiated a very good trade deal. Though it’s still not entirely clear Agent Orange understands that it’s US consumers who will pay the tariffs. Moving on. He had also just negotiated the bigliest deal in the history of the world with the EU. Starmer had just been put on notice that the UK wasn’t as important as all that. The Donald had been doing us a favour all along.
The questions came from all quarters. Anything goes. Windfarms? Hate them. Ugly and expensive. What’s wrong with oil? Here, Keir tried to stand up for himself. “Actually, we like them as part of a mixed energy portfolio. Along with oil.” The Donald didn’t seem convinced and started slagging off the London mayor, Sadiq Khan. “He’s a friend of mine,” squeaked Starmer. Trump wasn’t bothered. Speak to the hand. Talking of people he didn’t like, he moved on to Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. And Jeffrey Epstein. “I’m not a drawing kind of guy,” he said.
By now, time was beginning to seriously drag. Almost 70 minutes in and no sign of an ending. The Donald moved on to how he had spent £100m on expensive plywood while renovating the golf club. The Scottish tradesmen must have seen him coming. It looks like Trump has been stiffed. So much for the art of the deal.
Keir was just willing the presser to come to an end so that the talks and his confused embarrassment could be kept private. Eventually he got his wish.
Trump looked as if he could have gone on for another hour and a half. Still, good to get away to his other golf course in Aberdeen. Maybe he’d complete a round in 16 there.