How much more straightforward it would be if Donald Trump had settled for a garden dedicated to his mother’s memory in the place she came from, rather than on the other side of the country.

Instead of carting Lewis stone to the Menie Estate, homage could have been paid where both the stone and the young Mary Ann Macleod originated. Scotland’s over-stretched police force could go about its normal business, pursuing criminals. Multiple millions could be devoted to more useful purposes.

The Minch would have provided the best possible security moat and if ferries were diverted for a couple of days to deter the presence of hostile forces, who would notice the difference?

Mr President could have had a perfectly adequate round of golf in Stornoway then nip down the road for nine holes at Scarista though he would have had to be advised in advance that the Harris machair, which puts Florida in the shade, is not for sale. Then home, by the shortest air crossing, to New York. Job done.

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Alas, the truth is that Mr Trump has never shown the slightest interest in his mother’s actual homeland, except as the briefest possible stopping off point on his way to planning consent in Aberdeenshire. Rather pathetically, the truth behind his Scottish connection – the classic tale of an economic migrant who found the American Dream - has never been allowed its place in the Trump narrative.

In his book “The Trumps and How We Got This Way”, Fred Trump – Donald’s nephew –........

© Herald Scotland