0.1 per cent

0.1 per cent of the US population owns more wealth than the bottom 90 per cent.

That is a phenomenal statistic and means that some Americans are seriously minted.

I suppose we must surmise that Trumpy owns 0.05 per cent of US wealth but we can’t be sure as he won’t let anyone see his tax returns.

But the extremity of that polarization is disquieting at the least. And I suppose it really explains a lot of what we are seeing in American politics today and producing such impossibly nauseating and smug human beings like Trumpy and Roger Stone.

In business as well this polarization pervades. I think the average remuneration for a US CEO is about 15 million bucks a year.

But it’s when money and its influence seep into the fine pillars of justice that we should really begin to worry. And this is manifestly happening in the US. What with the joke impeachment trial and now Bill Barr, the Attorney General for god’s sake, looking like he’s about as malleable as the bunch of crony half-wit Republican Senators swearing oaths, swallowing and spewing lies in the most esteemed and lauded chamber in the country.

Sickening what?

It’s a national televised extortion racket of the highest level, smack in the face of plain and evident truth.

But that’s where we are I’m afraid and that’s enough of that.

On this side, we have poor Sajid Javid having to leave the Cabinet because superhero Cummings decides he is in charge. Come on Boris! Use some savvy, do some work and don’t leave all the thinking up to superman. You are the boss old boy.

And it’s not all about old boys either. I can’t wait till the Conservatives get a bloke or lass from somewhere like Govan into their ranks and make them Chancellor. That would be entirely refreshing and good for all. Someone that responds to Boris Tommyrot with an ‘Aye’ or ‘ok pal’ or ‘hud ye’r wheesht’ or even may I suggest ‘ok outside now’. That would stop the irksome waffling.

Of course, I am not averse to well spoken public school/Oxbridge/Harvard types. Indeed I went to a public school myself. But give me a Billy Connolly type and accent any day.

They said that about Churchill. Not that he had a Govan accent, but that his voice carried great weight.

The voice does count for a lot. And I’m afraid Boris is too blustering for me. Fine in a Wodehouse book. But Churchillian? Nay.

Onto sport.

Wales are intimating that France will cheat at the scrum in their forthcoming match? Doesn’t everyone cheat at the scrum? The straight put-in now goes directly to the number eight. The poor hooker is snookered.

And there is an awful lot of dirty play now seeping into the international game which is a shame. The poor blokes can’t have more than two beers without being dumped, coaches are being blamed for poor performance and the national anthems are becoming the highlights of the match because there is so little open play and good old fashioned rugby. It’s like watching rugby league or, god forbid, scottish football.

And I’m of the opinion that bonus points should be awarded now for national anthem singing. Then we could maybe shelve that Eurovision Song Contest thing, like we shelved Europe.

It’s a knockout.

Remember that one? With that smarmy presenter chap, Hall, now in jail.

That was at least entertaining. Amusing even. The programme I mean.

Like when I mentioned to this hedge fund manager, Jann, who’d just joined Wentworth Golf Club for a squillion bucks.

Me ‘Oh my Dad’s friend used to live in a house on the 17th fairway’

Yann ‘Wow that’s cool’

Me ‘But he ended up in Wandsworth’

Yann ‘it’s nice there too’

Me ‘ No. The prison’

I actually have a friend who ended up in Wandsworth. And you couldn’t meet a nicer bloke.

Funny old world.

Ok I got that wrong

But I didn’t expect that in one of the most important trials in American history they wouldn’t call for witnesses.

It’s hard to fathom the above fact but it’s sadly true.

The American democratic process is shot through and the parlous state of its partisan politics laid nauseatingly bare, at the highest level.

The reality is that the world now is at the mercy of a laquered, mincy-haired, smug faced oaf who has the values of a dodgy, down-town second hand car salesman.

And worse, he is backed up by spineless millionaire sycophants who value the Dow Jones and their seats above oaths and their duty to the American people.

Deary me.

So what else is up? Not too much I’m afraid apart from feeding the roses and deciding on the way forward with an Edinburgh bistro.

On the sporting front, we’ve got the Calcutta Cup match in Edinburgh at the weekend and I strongly fancy Scotland. As long as Hogg doesn’t try pointless (yes indeed pointless) one-handed put-downs.

That honestly was a shocker. Even more so the fact that he pretended that he’d not done it. The camera doesn’t lie Stuart.

Also, I certainly hope that we don’t see any nudging off the ball and cheap penalties forsaken like we did against Ireland. We don’t want to go the way of football. It’s a bloody game after all.

But I do think the French merit winning the Six Nations Championship on the back of their crowd’s performance in singing the Marseillaise last Saturday in Paris.

That was truly awesome.

By the way has anyone read Bryson? I am gobsmacked at how mediocre he is. And the bloke has sold millions of books. How?

I am guilty partly, as I thought I’d take one on holiday ‘Neither here nor there’, recounting his journey through Europe.

I am not sure if he was trying to be funny when he put the following anecdote in about his pal’s chat up line in Amsterdam. But unfortunately after having read his book I do believe it was some attempt at humour.

Here goes.

The chap, seemingly, went up and tried the following line on several women.

‘Excuse me, I know you don’t know me but will you help me move something 6 inches?

I presume there was a massive amount of incredulity and a rightful demand to know just what at this juncture.

To which his friend seemingly replied ‘2 ounces of sperm’

Bill intimated that his friend’s line of chat up was not a successful one.

Well bowl me over Bill.

How on earth did this man become such a successful author by putting crap like this in his books? That’s almost as bad as listening to Lyndsey Graham orating.

Help ma bob. Lordy me. Get me a train. God save America or something to that effect.