And so the second Presidential debate is upon us.
I can see from old Blighty Obama sweating, and in fact he might soon do every honour to his initials B.O.
The problem is, the man has to show some semblance of reproductive apparatus tonight, which is not easy for a liberal raised by women. Also, he will have to fight, rather a big problem for someone accustomed to be celebrated because of – and made untouchable by – the colour of his skin, the Endwaffe of the guilt-ridden liberal society. The chap played the race card for all it was worth, arriving in the Senate without having ever really worked, and taking the White House only a few years later in his stride. Not bad for one who would have aborted himself without blinking.
This time, though, it is a bit different, because the shine has gone away from his black skin and he will actually have to put up a real fight rather than simply promising hope, change, peace, and a couple of other cost-free soundbites.
We shall see how he fares, and I am sure he has trained extensively. But the terror that the entire nation may discover he is nothing more than a glorified social worker with a fashionable skin colour certainly will not make things easier.
I will, of course, not watch the debate, as I must confess I do not dislike Romney much less than I do Obama, and do not trust him – in social matters, of course – much more.
I see Romney, and think Cameron. It’s not a compliment. Actually, it’s basically swearing.
Therefore, I will go to sleep and if tomorrow BBC and Classic FM don’t say anything about the outcome I will know who has won, though I do not doubt if Obama does halfway well they will praise him to the sky.