A cold November's day not so far away.

I sit here in a rather chilly York bedroom reading, pondering, and watching the world, and especially squint at the myopia that is the United States of America, or rather the circus that is its presidential elections. Part of me is enthralled by the whole process - we Brits has the cozy comfort of a hereditary monarch ensconced above us without the need for muddied politicking - but the bigger part of me winces every time I read about the awfulness that in the GOP campaign. 

Come on... on the one hand you have an eloquent, if slightly distant, Barack Obama, and on the other you have the disaster zone that is the McCain/Palin camp. Okay, so Gordon Brown is hardly JFK, but at least he knows when to keep stum and let his very intelligent wife do the talking (sound familiar?). If the cowboy on Pennsylvania Avenue has done one good thing in the last eight years of all things torrid that would be to dispel the myth that Joe Sixpack is good for the nation. Now if I were a god fearing rural type then maybe I could bye into that notion, but no, I am not. In fact I an Economist reading, Guardian spouting, Liberal Conservative who had come around to Barack Obama faster than W chasing tail... cough... 

Indeed, such is my general antipathy to a certain former resident of the Hanoi Hilton that I know that unless Americans follow the true path on that November day not so far off this world will surely be a far poorer, and ultimately more desolate place. Tea and crumpets in Tehran any one?

Rach

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