Waking up in Trumpland: the new USA

Clintonduly fled into the night. She would not be giving any concession speeches till the morning. The balloons floated listlessly in the open plan area of this company, and the bottles of champagne remained unopened, chilling away in communion in the fridge. No one even noticed the fridge being opened, or the cork being prized open. Glued to the television in Trumpland, the remaining watchers gazed in bruised disbelief, some looking through a curtain of tears, eyes swollen with grief.

Then, the Trump victory speech, a painful, heart wrenching exercise for those who remained at the gathering. Masochism knows few boundaries. The now paltry audience, slumped in the set up couches, woke up briefly from their dejection, wondering what Trump would do. Prejudices would surely be confirmed by a ridiculous remark or a moronic reflection.

Instead, Trump braved himself to some generosity, thanking his opponent for a sterling campaign, claiming that Clinton was "owed a major debt of gratitude for her service to our country." Having thrived on the polarising and stoking, Trump promised to be healer-in-chief. "Now it's time for America to bind the wounds of division."

The speech concluded, the trash men converged, swooping on the detritus of what had been a desperately sad party. Be they the forgotten, or the invisible, the voters who haunted this gathering were the ones who never featured before the vast, dynastic Clinton machine. They were America's Brexiteers, yearning for nostalgia.

Trumpland may well be a vicious one prone to the free expression liberated instincts, but the tearing of the United States to its core was a long time in the making. May the creative chaos that ensues ultimately be a constructive one. It certainly cannot be much worse.