Trump is earmarked for the White House

I think the Donald will miss a trick if he doesn’t start his speech at the Republican Convention by saying: “Friends, Americans, countrymen, lend me an ear”.

On the one hand, this will demonstrate his knowledge of English classics, an erudition he has so far securely kept under wraps. On the other hand, it’ll show he’s a man who can afford treating English classics cavalierly, which only highly educated people can get away with – and only in the company of other highly educated people. And then, of course, taking his near brush with death so lightly will reinforce his image as a man of courage.

Unfortunately, I’m not in a position to offer unsolicited advice to any politician. Hence I’m sure Trump won’t make light of that tragic episode. Then again, he doesn’t have much in the way of a sense of humour, at least none that’s instantly discernible.

American politicians in general tend to come across as sombre people who don’t find the world a laughing matter. They are inclined to take the world, and especially themselves in it, seriously. Sure enough, they all have a repertoire of stock jokes they deliver at the beginning of their speeches, but then they tend to wipe the smile off their faces and start waxing serious or rather solemn.

When they do crack a humorous aside, it often comes across as rather inappropriate and heavy-handed. Thus J.D. Vance, Trump’s running mate, attempted humour by identifying Britain as the first Islamist nuclear power. “I was just beating up on the UK,” he explained when asked what he meant. That’s a time-honoured kind of fencing, but perhaps it would be better if practised with a rapier, rather than a cudgel. Anyway, what happened to making France the butt of American jokes? She too is a nuclear power, and she has more Muslims than Britain does.

Ronald Reagan stood apart from most American politicians, what with his ready chuckles and “oh shucks” asides. His famous joke about his age during a debate with Walter Mondale (“I’m not going to exploit for political purposes my opponent’s youth and inexperience”) was probably pre-prepared, but I remember his amusing lines delivered off the cuff at talk shows even before he was elected president.

But Reagan was rather an exception – just compare his reaction to being shot with Trump’s. Reagan’s response was a charming quip delivered with a smile; Trump’s, a gesture of belligerent defiance made with a scowl.

In general, it’s hard to imagine an American politician like Boris Johnson, a P.G. Wodehouse Englishman pretending to be a P.G. Wodehouse Englishman, full of one-liners, wisecracks and anecdotes, all introduced with “I say…”. The desired impression to convey thereby is that there is a man of substance lurking behind the light-hearted exterior.

A closer examination of Mr Johnson’s political career, however, reveals no such man ready to spring to action from the depth of his real character. The flimsy outer shell is all there is.

By the accounts of people who know him personally, Johnson is a joy to have around at a dinner party. But when it comes to leading the Tory Party, one would rather have a man short on sense of humour but long on character. And even public figures who have a knack for keeping us in stitches with witty epigrams and clever asides should limit that ability to a bare minimum.

People like humorous men, but they follow serious ones – even in Britain and certainly in America. That point was made by the advertising guru David Ogilvy, a Scotsman who spent most of his career in the US. “People don’t buy from clowns,” he wrote. True. But they used to buy from salesmen who charmed them with inoffensive humour.

When advertising was at its best, in the second half of the 20^th century, it was full of humour both in Britain and the US, but more so in Britain. It wasn’t wit of the calibre of Oscar Wilde and P.G. Wodehouse or, for that matter, Mark Twain and Ambrose Bierce. But then neither was it usually the hard sell preaching that a different brand of toothpaste or deodorant could change a person’s life.

If we study the famous witty aphorisms by American and British politicians, we’ll find that most of them go back decades if not centuries. As time went by, politicians apparently began to lose their sense of humour, or perhaps politics no longer attracted people endowed with that talent.

Again, this tendency is more noticeable in the US than in Britain, though my experience of the two nations doesn’t suggest that Americans in general are any less humorous than Britons. The explanation, I think, has more to do with class than with nationality.

Until relatively recently, it was the British upper classes that staffed most political institutions, including government. And not taking themselves seriously, or at least not showing that they do, is a hallmark of British aristocracy and the upper reaches of the middle class. Actually, that attractive feature cuts across the whole British social ladder, but skipping a few steps in the very middle, those occupied by unsmiling nouveaux riches bourgeoisie.

And yes, I agree that my blackish jokes at the beginning of this article aren’t in the best of taste. But I can afford the luxury of questionable humour. After all, I’m not standing for any political office – and, between you and me, hold a rather dim view of those who do.