And so, humming Hail to the Chief, King Charles departs Trump town with a sense of constrained regal pride, clutching a decidedly valuable deal to cut US tariffs on Scotch whisky. The President is in awe. Charles, he declares, is “the best king in my book.” The customary Trumpian hyperbole? Or perhaps a reflection of Donald’s Hebridean mother, who was seemingly an ardent Royalist? Whatever, the good mood evaporates as soon as it meets the sour atmosphere of Scottish electoral politics. A political squabble over whether the Scottish or UK government secured the whisky concession.

Me, I think they both played a part. John Swinney in talks with the President. UK Ministers actively exercising their reserved trading role. Further reflection, in calmer times, would be wise. But, either way, there is no rest for His Majesty. When he returns to these islands, he faces a range of challenges. Among those, he will soon have to appoint Scotland’s new First Minister.

What’s that you say? Isn’t that our job? In this here election? Up to a point, Lord Copper. We are choosing Members of the Scottish Parliament, in the constituency and top-up list ballots. But it is the members of that elected Parliament who will then decide which of their number should be nominated to the Sovereign as First Minister. The King then appoints, admittedly from a decidedly restrictive shortlist of one. End of the lesson in constitutional niceties.

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