Always ready to offer her the benefit of her insight:
Dear Hillary Clinton, she writes, I read in the papers that the darky fellow, whatsisname, you know, the foreigner, Origami or something, well, that he was going to give you a job in his new government. You know your own business best, dear, but if I was you I would precede with extreme caution. Mr Trellis, my late husband, did his National Service in Libya, where he learned to chainsmoke Woodbines, and he always reckoned that you couldn't trust them, you know, them bedwins: they were forever trying to sell you djellabiyahs and other dodgy underwear.
So, you be careful. I always liked you and the way you coped with your hubby's infelicities (the cross all we wives have to bear, dear!), and I wouldn't like to see you transgressed by this Origami person, even if he is President of the Untied States.
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, Widow, retired.