‘HE didn’t say that, and if he did, he didn’t mean that. Also, if he did say it, you didn’t understand it, and if you did that means nothing and if he did do that Obama and Clinton did worse than him.” That’s the twisted logic of a Trump supporter on social media.

I stood on that grass of Turnberry with my now famous sign in June 2016 and I knew then what everyone surely must know by now. He really is a cu*t. What bothers me isn’t Trump being the dirty horrible monster I always suspected that he was, it’s the fact that millions of Americans are backing his policy to cage children after separating them from their parents who are trying to cross the border that doesn’t have the wall he promised them all – like a new slimy step father buying the affections of surly teenagers in the middle of a bad divorce.

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“You will get that wall,” he said and they cheered. Then he spoke about Germany and its crimes due to immigration and nobody said to him, “Maybe not mention a wall, Germany and putting kids in camps on the same day”. By the way Germany has its lowest crime rate in decades – but facts mean fact all to Donald.

Now, we can debate the semantics of “Are they illegal aliens vs Are they seeking refuge”, though in this age of globalisation I don’t think the answer matters all that much.

The fact is, he is now withdrawing from the UN Human Rights Council. Trump has decided he and America are too good for the UN Human Rights Council.

They are “bad hombres” whose scolding words and derisive looks have brought him to the realisation that they are in fact the problem and he is the solution. How dare they allow China, Venezuela and Cuba a seat at the table while he is tutted at for locking infants in warehouse cages! No doubt they are all just jealous of his mansions and hair.

He is the man who demands freedom of speech whilst anyone who criticises him has to be immediately silenced, either that or he slams his desk hard until he gets attention.

Well, he can’t silence me neither on his golf course or online.

I know men like Trump. I owned a bar in the east end of Glasgow for 15 years and I watched bloated men with fake Rolex Oysters and second-hand Mercedes talk about “taking lassies for a champagne breakfast at the Holiday Inn” and how much money they had and how “women need to shut up and wear more make-up to please the boys”, and “can you not answer back so much as it’s making you sound like an angry lesbian”.

These men hated women. They hated themselves, and their sons for being younger and fitter and they paraded their teenage daughters like glittering prizes who may give you favours if the deal was right.

Trump is like a dodgy old guy from Townhead whose car dealership is going ok despite the tax issues and has a gold painted toilet in his caravan in Rothesay, but even that guy wouldn’t cage weans that scream for their mammy and daddy.

I never expected anything better from Trump. I knew what he was like after we had a spat on Twitter in 2012 over storm damage on his golf course, which he blindly refused to acknowledge.

He tweeted: “My golf course in Aberdeen has coped with a big storm.” I replied: “Here’s a hint, why don’t you grow the grass long and comb it over the big hole in the middle of the green?”

He blocked me. Which is fine, but he did read it so I’m happy.