Of course the elected president of any republic does all his own decorating. His wife does all the housework & cooking. They have to rush to the station for fear of missing the train when they go anywhere, and nobody helps them with their luggage or keeps a look out just in case there might be some joker around who wishes them a bit of no·good ...

Poor old Steve. Eaten up by class-envy & inverted snobbery. To paraphrase the perceptive barrister in the play You Never Can Tell by his distinguished late Irish namesake: "He thinks he isn't but he is".

"Carry on, Steve", as the old catchphrase regarding your late distinguished jockey namesake Donaghue used to go. It's a real caution, the way you chunter so furiously and obsessively on at the way the world wags.

Regards
≈M≈