Golf. We can’t play it ever again. Dad says. Because of The Donald. You might remember last time I wrote (which is a while ago because I retired but forgot to tell anyone) me and my dad had watched some golf together. There was some talk that we might even go and play a round one day. Father and son bonding thing. Not any more. The world has changed. Not for the better. Because of The Donald. You know him, the man who is buying up Scotland one golf course at a time and is going to be the next President of the United States. Unless someone steps up and assassinates him, but since he doesn’t go to the theatre like Abraham Lincoln I doubt anyone will. I dream of a ‘grassy knoll.’ And with Fidel Castro dead now there’s no chance that Cubans will do it – if that’s your particular conspiracy theory for J.F.K. I can only live in hope because there is at least precedence for killing off Presidents. Mum says I shouldn’t write that, even if I think I’m being funny (which I don’t) because it might suggest I’m ‘radicalised.’ What about freedom of speech mum? We are still a democracy aren’t we? Well, aren’t we?
Now I’m not keen on The Donald because of the golf thing but also because I’ve got The Donald to thank for the fact that I’m even here at McRenegades today.
Mum told me that there was a McRenegades Clan Gathering and reminded me that it was really good of them to allow me to join – being underage and all that – and that I had a responsibility to my readers.
I told her I thought my responsibility was to school first (if I pass my prelims and then my exams I’ll get to go to college FINALLY) I don’t want to go to college, I want to be on the farm with Dad, especially now that John and Heather have gone abroad, but Mum says I can do that ‘in tandem’ with my college studies, what with it being HNC Agriculture that I’ll be studying. If I get the grades.
I thought this would be enough of a reason for mum to allow me to retire from writing, but she and Mr McStoryteller seem to have got their heads together and decided I should really be giving my views on The Donald and ‘the state of the world as it is today through the eyes of youth.’ Unless my eyes suggest it would be doing the world a favour to assassinate him of course!
As we all know, most youth see the world today via a screen. Not me. I prefer the real world. I don’t spend time on Facebook or Twitter any more because I’d rather be out with the dogs or the potatoes or driving the tractor and quad bike. Now I’m 16 I can do all these things, and now there’s no John to hold me back I can be really helpful to dad. Not as helpful as I’ll be when I get my licence of course.
But it seems like I’m destined never to be allowed to retire from critical commentary on the world around me. Or the world that isn’t around me but that everyone else (especially mum) seem obsessed with. I’m more like Dad. We don’t look further than the end of our nose mum says and we need to get more active. Politically she means. We’re both active enough running the farm, especially when animals jump over fences or some smartalec comes along to walk his (or her) dog and leaves the gates open. We do a lot of running then, I can tell you.
It all began with Brexit. Well, really, I think it all ended with Brexit. My Modern Studies Teacher couldn’t take it. (I’m not going to name him, but if you’ve read my earlier work you’ll know who he is. But I’m not going to take part in the ‘name and shame’ culture which mum says is all too prevalent these days.) Anyway, he said it was unreasonable for us to have to deal with this half way through our course and we would just ignore it. So I have ignored it. Even when mum said as she did in the summer holidays ‘wouldn’t it be nice to write a McStory about Brexit?’
‘And what exactly does Brexit mean, mum?’ I asked her. I knew I was on safe ground there. No one knows what Brexit means. Even Theresa May doesn’t know and she’s seen off all comers. She thinks she’s smart with her ‘Brexit means Brexit’ line but that didn’t fool anyone for long and Nicola Sturgeon is gunning for her. Rightly so.
I blame Brexit and Theresa May for mum being out and about again. We hardly see her. She’s got involved in the National Survey and all that sort of thing – she’s a political activist my mum. And she was really hoping that Hillary Clinton became President. She hoped for a clean sweep of women world leaders – May, Sturgeon, Merkel and Clinton. (Not Putin or China obviously) But it wasn’t to be. Not because men have had enough, but because… well, I really don’t know.
That’s the thing with politics these days. Especially The Donald. How can you work out how he won? Who does he appeal to? Mum says it’s to the aspirational working classes. And the people who are too stupid to get to college. Which is why (mum says) I have to go to college. Or I might end up stupid enough to vote for The Donald. He also appeals to the sort of people who want to play golf at Trump International. Who probably went to Universities never mind college.
Anyway, like I said at the beginning: Dad says The Donald is colonising Scotland one golf course at a time and so we’re never going to watch golf again. And definitely not play it. It is, he says, a gesture of defiance against the ‘way the world is going.’ It seems a bit of a toothless threat to me, but I guess everyone has their own way of standing up for what they believe in. I don’t think Alec Salmond will stop playing golf though. But I bet you don’t see Nicola Sturgeon on a golf course any time soon. Even when they let ladies play at Muirfield. They were going to hold a ‘second ballot’ but I think that after Brexit means Brexit and we all have to accept the democratic blah blah… that won’t happen any time soon.
But this democratic majority thing is strange because everyone I know believes that The Donald is A BAD THING. For the world in general. So how come he’s going to be President? Before he went on prolonged sick leave (because of the Brexit thing) my Modern Studies teacher said that the people who voted for The Donald are Turkeys voting for Christmas. He said that the slick media campaign got some of them. And the rest of them seemed to see something to celebrate in someone getting away with being so rude to anyone and everyone. And then of course there’s the fact that he’s a billionaire businessman. In a world where anyone can be President (if they’re American) he offers the best democracy money can buy (my dad says). Dad didn’t like Hillary Clinton but he didn’t want The Donald to win. At first he argued with mum about Hillary but when he saw the way things were going he very smartly kept quiet. As did I. But we had a bad feeling about it. We’ve been there before after all.
Dad said he knew The Donald would win because after The Independence Referendum we had woken up to realise how bad the world (even our own country) was with people not caring about each other or wanting to be free but just wanting to be ‘better off’ economically – in their dreams. And after Brexit it was just obvious if you ask me. I mean the world (which hasn’t been sensible for a long time – probably not since the First World War if you want my opinion) has finally lost the plot.
Which is one reason I retired from political and social commentating. And why, contrary to what the majority of young people do, I’ve given up on virtuality and am going to stick with the reality in front of my face, living day to day just trying to find ways to keep the farm afloat (global warming may make that a real challenge) with my dad. I’ve chosen nature over culture. It seems the only way to go. It’s not that I’ve lost hope in the future (although I think I might have) it’s more that I’ve realised that that world out there, by which I mean the BIG world, the one which has CELEBRITIES and THE DONALD is not the world I want to live in. And the only way to avoid them is to live your own life and just suck up the changes. Which are always for the worse (dad says).
So maybe I’m an example of disengaged youth. One man can make a difference it’s true. If that man is The Donald. If that man is Jack MacRoary, he’d best stay home and tend the farm. The End.