After a long lead-in time, the job interview was coming to a conclusion…

Interviewer: …and finally, for completion, do you have a criminal record?

Candidate: Yes, sir.

Interviewer: What for?

Candidate: I was convicted of 34 counts of falsification of business records in the first degree.

Interviewer: So you are a convicted felon?

Candidate: That’s correct.

Interviewer: Anything else?

Candidate: Yes. In the past, I did ask an election official to find 11,780 votes on my behalf.

Interviewer: Is that it?

Candidate: No. I was accused of inciting a riot in the Capitol Hill building, which I denied.

Interviewer: Why the riot?

Candidate: Question marks over the 2020 election results.

Interviewer: Was anyone hurt?

Candidate: A police officer died, and a further 174 officers and other citizens were injured.

Interviewer: Finally, any hobbies or pastimes?

Candidate: Golf, I lie a lot, and enjoy making personal attacks on people and nations.

Well, that concludes the interview. After due deliberation and taking your track record into account, I am pleased to inform you that 77 million people on the interview panel believe you are a credible person to carry out the role. Congratulations—oh, and by the way, talking of carrying, please don’t take classified documents home. It plays havoc with our filing system.

I’ll leave it to the reader to recognise the successful applicant.

Meanwhile, a much more parochial and personal view of life across the Atlantic. Back in the day (I hate the expression), we bought a home in Naples, South West Florida, and split our time between the US and UK, thanks to the wonders of the internet.

During our US trips, I found myself on a compelling learning curve of American behaviour and culture. Most Americans can walk and chew, but not necessarily at the same time. We had many American friends, but they tended to be the exception rather than the rule in terms of such multitasking.

A prime example of the cultural divide came when we decided to raise the Union Jack outside our US home. Stars and Stripes flags were everywhere in the 400-home, mostly Republican, golfing development, so I thought we should give a visual nod to our motherland. After all, at the time, we were allies in numerous volatile world theatres.

A week later, I received a letter from the General Manager of the development. Some residents had complained that I was flying a Confederate flag and that only the Stars and Stripes were allowed. The Confederate flag, of course, symbolised the Southern states’ push for independence in the 1800s.

I responded, correcting the manager and the uneducated complainants, and emphasised that as a coalition partner, I was sure the management committee would support the continued flying of the UK flag.

A further letter arrived. Failure to take down the flag, it warned, would result in the suspension of my membership to the clubhouse and its facilities. A special relationship indeed. If Winston only knew.

As recent events show, the walking and chewing challenge is still very much alive and thriving among our distant cousins.