Mrs T is following the Presidential campaigns with great interest.
Dear Hirrally Clitton, she writes, I suppose congratifications are in order, you having beaten the darkie in New Hampshire, but I have to tell you that I am a little irritated with you banging on about childbirth. It's not because I never had children (the late Mr Trellis, bless him, suffered from premature evacuation). Oh no, nothing like that. It's just that children get born all over all the time - too many if you ask me - and it's "no big deal", as you Armenians would say, so why make a fuss? I mean, you don't crow every time you have a bowel movement, do you? And anyway, look what happened to you! You daughter grows up to be a lebanese!
Well, I don't want to seem ungraceless, so I will wish you well in your campaign to become President of the Untied States. A word of advice from an older woman (well, not MUCH older): if you win, keep that hubby of yours out of the White House or he'll be going down on every secretary in sight, and claiming it isn't sex, if you catch my drift.
You and your daughter are very welcome to call in for tea if you are ever in Llanfairpg to dip your tongues into my honeypot. No, I really shouldn't!