With the Iowa caucuses ( my sister Holly is now living there!) round the corner – and Donald Trump looking strong in spite of running his own ‘how not to do PR’ campaign – I’m reminded of my brief encounter with the US presidential candidate.
It was ‘Scotland Week’ in New York and I was there as a journalist and judge for annual fashion show Dressed To Kilt. Spotting the combed-over one I said hello and asked a few questions about what Scotland meant to him. I say a few questions. Actually, I didn’t make it past one.
He started off charming enough, telling me he was very proud of his Scottish ancestry. But half-way through his answer, his eyes boinged out his head like a cartoon character when a Victoria’s Secret underwear model strolled past in nothing but bra and pants.
Trump’s jaw opened, then opened a bit more, his gaze followed the stunning girl, followed by his whole body before he started a zombie walk towards her. And just like that, he’d gone. A result Hilary Clinton must be going for every day.