'Where fiction and politics collide'

Regularly on my Facebook I get an advert for a poster. It’s a cat armchair with gnomic ‘I read books, I drink wine and I know things’ that sort of defines my life at the moment, well at least two of the observations do.

There are only so many times you can watch repeats of Judge John Deed and I’ve reached the stage where I’m almost line perfect with Martin Shaw, even though I sometimes get confused with George Gently, they both look so alike.

So books become the default position, apart from the ever-entertaining Alan Furst series set in exotic parts of wartime Europe, from Trieste to Budapest. If I want to ‘know things’ I need to move on to serious stuff.

This falls into two categories: ‘Lords of the Desert’ by James Barr, a fierce some explanation of Middle East politics from around the end of World War Two, centring around the struggle for dominance between the USA and the UK.

The narrative is one of

error and miscalculation, with a great deal of mutual stupidity thrown in.

Perhaps the highpoint (or low point) was the Suez debacle of 1956, and that explains almost everything that has happened in that region since.

But there is a line between fiction and real politic.

In the end, I much prefer that space where fiction and politics collide.

I don’t really mean fiction, I mean fantasy. There is a place where Hogwarts meets The White House.

I’m an absolute sucker for the tales of Trump and the Trumpanzees.

I think I’ve read the whole canon, from Michael Woolf’s two books to Bob Woodward’s brilliant expose (remember he co-wrote All the President’s Men). Entertaining and predictable, well written and factual.

Then there is ‘The Room Where it Happened’ by John Bolton. The first account of the Trump administration from deep within, all 494 pages (not counting footnotes).

In case you’ve forgotten who he is, he was one of Trump’s National Security advisors, and, depending on your age, looks like Mr Pastry or Jim Harker.

Just to make my observations clear from the outset, it is probably the worst book I have ever read, not only because I loathe every political stance the man has ever taken but also the appalling writing style - so bad that it makes Dan Brown(the Da Vinci Code) appear another Tolstoy in comparison.

Bolton signals his politics in every sentence, he started his political career as a supporter of Barry Goldwater and nothing appears to have changed since. People are often described as hawks or doves, Bolton is a bloody great albatross hung around the neck of the body politic like a bad smell.

It might seem obvious that he was a natural match for Trump, and in many ways that was true.

Both men have a set of prejudices and simple minded solutions to any problem: build a wall, bomb Venezuela, pull out of international organisations and agreements, go back to a bit more bombing.

But there are subtle differences that make their bromance a fragile thing.

Bolton is a far right ideologue with views he honed over 40 years ago; Trump has no ideology other than ‘What’s good for Donald Trump... well that’s all folks’.