So the battle between Bill Clinton’s wife and your man who reminds me of the Bull McCabe has finally come to an end.
The American public have chosen a new leader.
Trump won, after all.
While I had a strong feeling in my gut that Bill’s wife would swing it, you could never rule Trump out either. A bit like an old half-squeezed bull, you couldn’t predict what he might do.
Trump has won, and for those now agitated beyond belief about the future, my advice is to relax.
I wouldn’t get too worked up about it.
For I have discovered down the years that there’s no point in getting too worked up about anything. It helps a man in no way at all.
Trump could well turn out to be a mighty president, and only half the jackass many have predicted.
It could well be a great move by the Yanks to elect the likes of him.
Sometimes, in life, what is originally looked upon as a grave error, can turn out to be the sharpest move ever made.
Like back in the spring of 2015, when I found myself in the calf ring in Skibbereen mart, with little money in my pocket, and wild hopes of purchasing livestock.
Anyway, half way through the sale, what should amble into the ring only a Jersey bull calf with hair the very same colour as the aforementioned American president elect’s unruly mop.
As he swaggered around the ring, naturally enough, he was greeted with tears of laughter and general hollering from those in attendance.
The Jersey bull, you see, has always been looked upon as a useless shagger.
Like some have said about Trump, a devil many claim is fit for nothing but the scrap heap.
Anyhow, being a man always open to opportunity, particularly when the opportunity is selling for the price of a pint, I snapped him up, thinking little of it at the time.
However, a little later in the day, after listening to a barrage of criticism from all quarters, feeling like an utter fool, homeward I did go, full sure I had made a grave mistake in giving the nod to the red-haired beast.
For the next year and a half, he remained here on this farm, eating, drinking and generally behaving himself impeccably.
There were times of course when I recalled the criticism we received on the day I gave him the nod.
But the Jersey bull lost no sleep over the criticism, and just went on getting stronger and stronger. I may have purchased him for a song, but he left no sour note on the farm.
Time marched on and three weeks ago, at the height of the US presidential campaign, I decided to wave goodbye to my red-haired bullock.
Back to the mart we went, with the Jersey for sale, along with a far more impressive bullock which I had purchased for a more substantial sum.
Anyhow, they both sold, with the Jersey bullock by far surpassing any profit made on the more respectable animal I had on offer.
Indeed, the Jersey stole the show.
From the beginning, little had been expected of him, so to hit any price at all was a bonus.
So you see, it’s important to realise that, in life, the greatest of good can sometimes come from the unlikeliest of sources.
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