Charm and charisma can be very disarming

SO there’s a surprise — Hilary Clinton is going to run for the US Presidency.

But that’s not what I am going to write about; it is her picture in the papers this week that has reminded me of a story that I was once told by one of Scotland’s golfing fraternity.

After he left the White House, President Bill Clinton, right (they always keep the title "President" after their term of office is over) was invited to play at the "worldwide home of golf" The Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St Andrews — and on the day in question he was cutting it fine, or put it this way, he was late.

The Captain of the Royal and Ancient and other dignitaries due to greet the President were waiting at the main door. The police had cleared part of the car park for the presidential limousine and his accompanying security escort, but still no President Clinton.

The tee-off time was drawing ever closer and anxiety was rising, when suddenly they arrived. The chauffeur leapt out of the big black car and snapped open the presidential door.

"Gentlemen — a pleasure!"

There he was. Charm itself.

Meanwhile I must take you to the part of the car park that the police had not cleared.

Nearest to the presidential limousine was a minibus, and in the minibus was a group of day trippers from the West of Scotland.

They had, perfectly understandably, earlier availed themselves of an off-licence and were by this time much enjoying their "carryoot". They also, for obvious reasons of strict security, hitherto had absolutely no inkling that they were about to witness the arrival of such a celebrity as Bill Clinton and they fairly goggled through the minibus windows as he shook hands with the Captain.

"Wait a minute, boys, I know that face!" said one of the day trippers, and the West of Scotland being the West of Scotland, and absolutely nothing if not very friendly, he, a short man with a red face and a bonnet, got out of the minibus and advanced slightly unsteadily towards the presidential party. He waved the police back.

"S’awright, don’t get yer knickers in a twist, ah’m just gonny say hello to an old pal."

"Hello, big man! How’re ye doin?!"

Clinton turned and shone his big smile.

"Why, friend, I’m doing just fine!"

It was the smile that did it — and the fog cleared and recognition began to dawn.

"Ah’m pleased tae hear it — and how’s herself keeping, er. . ."

Then he remembered.

"How’s Monica?"

Apparently time stopped amongst the VIPs: the earth stood still as the awfulness of it struck. But Clinton didn’t blink.

"Why, she’s just fine too! And now, sir, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to play a little golf. You have a great day!"

And with that, Bill’s new friend got back into the minibus and they all happily drove back to the West of Scotland.

The man who told me the story had been there amidst the VIPs and he swore that that was exactly what happened. He used it to illustrate the sheer charm and professionalism of Bill Clinton, and I have no reason to doubt it.

The only other light that I can throw is the account of a wife of an Irish politician I know who also had occasion to meet Bill Clinton, and this time it was when he paid an official visit to Northern Ireland.

At the outset I should point out that there was no way this lady was predisposed to particularly like Clinton. Her politics were well to the right of him, and any alleged presidential escapades would have met with her deepest disapproval. Nevertheless the way she described him took me completely by surprise.

"Oh, he was simply gorgeous! I could have eaten him!!"

And then she had the decency to blush.

Maybe, like the wee man with the bonnet, she also had taken one too many canapes.

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