With Trump’s peerless history of lies, convicted sexual assault, impeachments, war mongering, racism, mocking the disabled, galactic self-absorption and self-aggrandisement, wrecking the American economy, shredding public health and environmental protections, separating refugee children from their families, enabling the Netanyahu genocide of Palestinians and you-name-it, he has given his billions of critics around the world an unending arsenal of material to hopefully hasten his exit from all our lives.
But there is also a lot of truly despicable cruel ridicule thrown at Trump.
Orange and balding
Like millions of people all around the world, Trump is considerably overweight and never appears in public without being caked in his fake tanning lotion, attracting names like the Mango Mussolini and the Tangerine Toddler. This has caused a tsunami of ridicule, that I admit to impulsively sharing during his first term. His fake tanning puts arc lights on his inexhaustible vanity, but in that he’s hardly Robinson Crusoe in a world of botox, cosmetic surgery, hair colouring and all the other ways people ameliorate their insecurities.
Trump’s unruly comb-over is often the butt of ridicule. Being entirely comfortable with my own follicular-challenged pate, I’ve little sympathy with elaborate and obvious efforts to disguise hair loss. So personally, I don’t supress laughter when I see Trump’s coiffure in a mess. He may well have done wonders for the hair loss industry, but for me it’s a case of fools and their money here. So I’ll happily laugh along.
Overweight
His weight is another matter. As I wrote about similar ridicule of the portly ex-Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison when he was seen in swim trunks on the beach “Body shaming is often a toxic combination of fat shaming and unadulterated ageism … The message being sent to Morrison is a message that is also received by everyone with an older and less than perfect body: stay out of public sight. We find you repulsive. We shouldn’t have to look at you. You should understand how bad you look and keep your awful body covered up.
These messages can have serious repercussions. A large majority of the population don’t measure up to this standard with its neo-eugenic sub-texts: the old and anyone falling outside some ideal body type cover millions of Australians. The net impact of this sort of shaming across the population for feelings of low self-worth, esteem and acceptance manifests itself every day in dieting, anxiety and depression.”
Dementia?
Trump’s endless succession of bizarre word salad speeches and remarks is increasingly drawing comments that he is showing signs of dementia. This is of course of immense relevance and public importance, raising critical questions about his fitness to govern and giving someone like this codes to the nuclear Armageddon button. But so often, new instances of his incoherence are mocked unmercifully, something not inconsequential to public attitudes toward dementia.
If Trump were to ridicule someone with dementia (and on his form it surely can only be time) we’d all double down on this latest low watermark of contemptibility. Yet it’s apparently all good fun if we openly smirk about Trump’s incoherence and gaffes. Let’s document and republish these, but let’s always be mindful of the impact of implying that those with dementia should be swept out of sight.
Incontinence
The most recent of all these taunts is the “diaper Don” guffawing at the possibility that he’s now incontinent. So funny? But what sort of person snickers at an older person buying nappies in the supermarket or makes an older friend self-conscious about their urine smell?
Much of the merciless ridicule is heavily gendered. Anyone publicly laughing at the hair loss or obesity of a female political leader would be rightly wear misogynistic blowback: here we go again, judging female leaders on their weight, looks, dress, fashion sense etc.
Every time these cruel taunts are amplified across social media, millions — particularly among the aged — must privately wince and feel that Trump provides open licence for widespread unleashing of the cruellest jibes that many probably feel others may apply to them too.
446,500 Australians live with dementia. One of them is a very dear friend who at just 70 loses his way in nearly every conversation. Just like Trump. Laughing at this would be unspeakably disgusting.
If anyone laughed at our aging parents or grandparents as they struggle with all the challenges of aging, we’d feel contempt. But we do it openly about Trump.
So are we sometimes being drawn in to the very same despicable ways of talking about disability that appal us with him? In 2016 Michelle Obama famously said “when they go low, we go high” during her speech at the Democratic National Convention. But among all the richly deserved criticism, insults and ridicule Trump attracts are barbs about his appearance that can never pass ethical standards of criticism.
Let’s never hold back with daily excoriations of Trump’s mendacity, character failings and the danger he poses to the world. This piece by Nate White is one of the best I’ve read. But let’s always be mindful of the collateral damage some forms of this can do to many vulnerable people.
My wifeTrish, with George Clooney in Bellagio, 2014
[updated 3 Jun 2026]
If someone’s had a brush with fame, they tend to want to tell everyone about it. I’ve had a few. So OK, let’s get them out there.
Peter Cook and Sir Alec Guinness
I lived in London in 1973, working in the library at the Natural History Museum in South Kensington (see short story here at p 24). One day I went to browse in a record bar in Mayfair. Behind the counter was an ex-Bathurst boy, Peter Dixon (I’d grown up there). As we chatted, he was full of stories about who came into the shop and their musical tastes. One who did so often, was Barry Humphries.
Humphries had been on the wagon for many months with his alcoholism and was soon to perform in an invitation-only comeback show in the small, intimate theatre of the May Fair Hotel. Peter had been given a ticket. I had long had a passion for Humphries’ Sandy Stone character and still own both of the very rare 7 inch 33rpm Wildlife in Suburbia records from 1958-59, that I bought as a boy (pictured below). I can recite lengthy monologues of two of them (Days of the week, Sandy’s Christmas). [both for sale if you’re interested]
I told Peter all this and he said he’d ask Barry if I could have a couple of tickets (one for my first wife, Annie). I went in next week and was handed the tickets and an autographed copy of his recent LP The Barry Humphries Record of Innocent Austral Verse.
On the big night, we shuffled into our numbered seats. I was right next to Sir Alec Guinness (1914-2000) and Peter Cook (1937-1995) (of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore) was in the seat in front of me. I had to squeeze past Dianna Rigg (1938-2020), star of The Avengers.
What a night.
Mel Gibson
In the 1970s and 80s, I was a regular at the Roma café in Sydney’s Haymarket, just down from the Capitol Theatre. I worked for a time in the McKell Building just behind the Capitol. I’d always have a cappuccino and one of their legendary almond twists. Mad Max had been released in April 1979, starring Mel Gibson. It was huge for him. So one morning I was alone at a table in the Roma, and there he was, on his own, standing and asking me would it be OK if he shared my table. No problem, Mel. No small talk. Just a quiet coffee.
The Rev Fred Nile
I was flying from Amsterdam to Sydney, and in business class in the upper deck of a 747 where you are next to another passenger. It was before the days of the pull up screen that shielded you from the person in the next seat. I had boarded earlier than whoever it was who would be sitting next to me. Then along he came. It was Fred Nile, Australia’s dour morals crusader. The Sodom and Gomorrah cataloguer, stepping out of the Amsterdam cesspool. Oh Jesus. I nodded at him as he took his seat but that was our only interaction on that very long, silent flight.
John Brass, dual-code rugby international
On a flight from Sydney to London, I had the third seat in an economy row with John Brass and his wife. Brass was an Australian dual rugby and rugby league international, playing 12 matches for Australia in rugby (1966-68) and 6 in league (1970, 1975). League match commentator Frank Hyde used to say he had the best pair of hands in rugby league. I’d been a huge Eastern Suburbs Roosters fan in the 1970s and so had lots to talk about. We got through quite a few beers and he loosened up about all his old team mates. The nicest of guys.
Tina Turner
Many years ago, I’d seen Tina Turner perform at St George Leagues Club in Sydney’s suburbs. I went along with some Aboriginal health students who were down from the bush. She was without doubt the most high energy performer I ever saw. The students were hugely excited. I think it must have been around the same time, I was on a flight to Melbourne. She was on board, it was her birthday and she came down the aisle with a trolley with a giant birthday cake, serving every passenger a slice. People loved it!
Luc Longley
On July 20, 1995 I found myself at a table at a black tie dinner at Sydney’s Darling Harbour for the 2000 Sydney Olympics. I’d received an invitation to attend and had no idea why. I’m far from loaded and while we have always donated to various charities over the years, forking out for the Olympics couldn’t have been a lower priority. This was what I imagined was the purpose. But no.
I was seated in a pre-arranged seat around a circular table along with about 10 others. Opposite me was a towering figure who was vaguely familiar. I sheepishly asked the man on my right who he was. He didn’t know either, but it was Luc Longley (2.18m) who played for the Chicago Bulls basketball team. So who was my other ignorant informer? Only Allan Moss, the CEO of Macquarie Bank. When he retired in 2008, he walked away with an estimated $100m package.
Oh boy. What could I talk about to him over the next couple of hours? It was well before the time when your bank sent those infernal messages “after your experience with his today, how likely are you to recommend us to your friends and family”, but even back then, talking about banking was still about the least interesting topic I could imagine. I knew nothing about investment banking. At the time Macquarie did not have a consumer division with actual customers to allow me to ask all the scintilating questions I didn’t have.
I knew his wife was Irene Moss, former head of the NSW Anti Discrimination Board, but figured he would feel my asking about his wife’s important job rather than his was sub-par. I don’t recall him asking me anything about my work or life. So it was a long night. We both had little conversation for each other.
I found out later that the dinner was all about bringing the top end of town on board the Olympics, with hopes of corporate splashes. Each table was assigned two “interesting” people to embellish the event: Longley and me, apparently. I was a fizzer. Moss might have got his $100m but, hey, I still have the souvenir wine glass.
Slim Dusty
In the 1970s, worked with a woman for while whose boyfriend played violin in Slim Dusty’s band. She called me one Saturday morning and said Slim was playing Cronulla League’s Club that night and they were short of a road crew dog’s body. Did I want a night’s work? I jumped at it and went down in the afternoon to help unload the sound gear from a truck. They then asked if I would stay around till the end of the gig that evening and act as door marshal to the band’s backstage room, and then help pack up.
The brief was that after every gig there would be small queue of people who would want to meet up with Slim. My job was to explain nicely that he was very tired after a long day and, sorry, he couldn’t see fans. I hope they understood etc.
About 15 or so came toward the backstage entrance and most were OK with being turned away. But there were a few who were ready with stories to see them past my imposing presence. One pulled out a photo of a small child and said to show it to Slim because he’d been to her christening as a baby in some Queensland backblocks town years ago. “He’ll remember me, for sure”. He stood his ground, so I went in and summarised the situation to Slim. “Oh well, I guess I’d better be Slim Dusty for a while” he said putting in his hat and stepping outside to greet the beaming bloke.
Pat Cummins
In November 2023, I was with my wife and very young grandson at Clovelly beach about 9am. Its sheltered bay is perfect for toddlers to paddle in the water. There were four or so mothers with similarly young kids and a bunch of schoolboys doing some sort of drills on the sand and in the water with a teacher.
Suddenly Trish said “wow, do you see who that is coming out of the water? It’s Pat Cummins!” Nah, couldn’t be I said. He’s in India at the cricket World Cup. They just beat India in the final.
But hang on. He might have just flown home. The final was the day before. He could have flown home overnight. And I’d read somewhere he lived in Clovelly. Maybe went straight to the beach to have a swim and freshen up.
But the more I looked, I thought no. He seemed tall enough, but he didn’t seem to be as tanned on the arms and face as you’d expect after weeks in the Indian sun. He was apparently with his wife and child. Trish googled the wife and yes it was her.
But no one, including us, went near them. Just another family having a morning swim. Pat came along to the outdoor shower with his child when we were there with ours. Some light chat about what a great day it was but again, il silencio about the cricket.
Is there any other country where a national sporting hero, one day after winning the World Cup, could be with his family on a beach and be left alone?
Marlon Williams
We have close friends on the NSW north coast and have often done the drive up to the East Coast Blues and Roots Festival just north of Byron Bay. When these got ridiculously huge so that to see an act from a decent seat you needed to watch three or four previous acts before in the same tent who you didn’t much want to see , we decided to give gave it a miss.
Our friends felt the same and suggested we instead came up for the Mullumbimby Music Festival 15km or so north. Over the years we saw the unforgettable Canadians Jenn Grant and Frazey Ford and Dustyesky, the fake genuine Russian men’s choir.
So one year we were in the local RSL having a beer before Marlon Williams, the New Zealand folk crooner, was due on. The bar was pretty empty and then in he walked. Like a pathetic creepy autograph hunter, over I went and explained that Trish was a huge fan and would he ever so mind …? He was totally friendly and that was the last I ever saw of her.
Peter Garrett
When Australia’s Health Minister and later Attorney General, Nicola Roxon, led Australia to introduce plain tobacco packaging, Trish was at that time doing back-up vocals and keys in our cover band The Original Faux Pas. In 2011 She rewrote the lyrics to the Shangrila’s Leader of the Pack as a tribute to Nicola, Queen of Plain Tobacco Packs. Four in the band were having dinner one night, and sang it to an iPad camera, with Trish and Suzanne our other vocalist in cheap $15 wigs. We put it up on YouTube and over the next months it had 1500 hits.
Some months later I was with a friend, Melanie Wakefield, in a Canberra restaurant near Parliament House and in walked Nicola, soon to be joined by her parliamentary colleagues Jenny Macklin, Peter Garrett, Greg Combet, Kevin Rudd and Craig Emerson. We chatted with her before the others arrived and then continued our dinner. As we were leaving, I heard a voice behind me call my name. I turned and it was Peter Garrett who had followed us out. I’d never met him before. The next words of the world famous rock star turned politician were “I hear you are a world famous rock star!”
He said Nicola had sent the YouTube link to many of her colleagues, and thought it was wonderful fun. The three of us stood on the footpath swapping early bad gig stories. Later that year, he sent me a birthday note for my 60th birthday, referencing the famous Spinal Tap scene about “turning it up to 11” and insisting we continue to book a Bowral pub where I’d told him only four had turned up for a gig we’d played. “That ever happen to the Oils?” I asked. Plenty of times in the early days. It’s the Rule of 10: after 10 gigs in a pub, word gets around and it fills up.”
I told this story to Trish and she looked very sceptical.
A few years later, we were in Canberra staying with old friends, one of whom was the sister of Ian Moss, incendiary guitarist in Cold Chisel. She had comp tickets for us all in the VIP area for a Chisel/Paul Kelly gig. Tragically, Penny died suddenly in 2025.
Trish and I went over to the National Portrait Gallery in the afternoon before the concert. The first painting displayed near the entrance was a huge portrait of Midnight Oil. We moved close to it and as we did, two others who had been close to it turned to move on. The guy immediately said “Well, hello Simon!” It was Peter Garrett with his wife Doris. Trish’s scepticism died that afternoon.
Reading and writing are two lifelong passions. I’ve long been in the habit of looking up the meaning of interesting looking words that I’ve never encountered or have seen but don’t feel confident in using. I had a dull English teacher at school who was scornful of anyone using words that needed to be looked up. Good writing to him meant never stepping out of the comfort zone of some vocabulary you decided was good enough at some time your life.
Some months ago the trolling author of a parody account on Twitter (see screenshot above) spent time going through my Twitter feed and finding the selection of “big words” which obviously marked me as a deplorable wanker who chose words to “cower readers in the shadow of my towering intellect”.
Apart from ‘agnotology’ which I only discovered this year (the study of deliberate, culturally induced ignorance or doubt, typically to sell a product, influence opinion, or win favour, particularly through the publication of inaccurate or misleading scientific data (disinformation), all the others are in widespread use. So no guessing about the literacy of the troll. Vignette, imbibing, relegated, denigration? Orwellian? Really? Needs to get out a bit more.
As above, I posted the troll’s tweet on my Facebook page and in the last six months got into the habit of adding to it any seen-but-don’t-know words I encountered when reading. The Facebook post has been popular with people chiming in with “neither did I know!”, thanks and suggestions I might add. That seldom worked, as clearly we all know many words that others might not. So this is a personal list. Feel free to add yours in the comments. I’ll update the alphabetical list regularly, adding new words including any from readers that I didn’t know either.
Here we go … alacrity: brisk and cheerful readiness
doughty: determined, brave and unwilling to ever stop trying to achieve something. We can all think of people like that, and with those it fits for me, it’s always something very admirable that they are prosecuting. I can think of despicable people like that too, who are trying to achieve stupid or horrible things. But somehow, I think it’s meant to be more of a compliment. Dogged and doggedly, similarly.
effulgence– a radiance or a brilliant light shining forth (seen in an obit by Zane Banks) – NOT to be confused with effluence. Now how many people do you know where that word fits perfectly? I live with one! Here she is ..
Eyorish: pessimistic & gloomy, after Eyore the donkey in A.A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh. I have also heard someone use it about a mutual acquaintance who had a long nose & big ears who was a bit taciturn.
fealty : a feudal tenant’s or vassal’s sworn loyalty to a lord. “they owed fealty to the Earl rather than the Kin. As in a piece I just read about Australia’s attorney general flying to meet with the indicted war criminal Netanyahu
hock (when referring to wine): a British term for German white wine. It sometimes refers to white wine from the Rhine region (specifically Riesling) and sometimes to all German white wine. The word hock is short for the obsolete word hockamore, an alteration of “Hochheimer”, derived from the name of the town of Hochheim am Main in Germany.
inchoate: just begun and so not fully formed or developed, rudimentary
insuperable: (of a difficulty or obstacle) impossible to overcome. “insuperable financial problems”
irascible: easy to anger. Now, I knew that word but don’t believe I have ever used it Great word
kakistocracy: a state run by its least competent and least qualified citizens. Ring any bells?
lubricious: (1) inappropriately sexual: arousing or expressing sexual desire in an unpleasant, lewd or lascivious way (2) slippery: having a smooth, oily or slippery texture (3) sly or tricky: metaphorically ‘slippery’ or untrustworthy (eg: a lubricious politician.
manichean: to be manichean is to follow the philosophy of Manichaeism, which is an old religion that breaks everything down into good or evil. It also means “duality,” so if your thinking is manichean, you see things in black and white. I’ve know this one for a while, but underuse it — so many occasions where it’s perfect.
martinet: a person who demands strict obedience and discipline. But in looking for its synonyms I found a slew of older abusive names for women who are pushy, angry and uppity: termagent, harridan, virago, strumpet, shrew, scold, crone and harpy. I’ve heard all of those, but their usage brands their users as neanderthals so we seldom hear them. But wouldn’t it be great if lots of women proudly embraced these words, used almost exclusively by men to denigrate them, in the way the LBGTQI community often proudly embrace queer, poof, lezzo etc today?
panglossian: naively or unreasonably optimistic. Though he took a Panglossian view of the world in his youth, he became jaded as he grew older. (derogatory) Of or relating to the view that this is the best of all possible worlds.
picayune: A Canadian friend just used this is a message to me. I’ve seen it often enough in writing but never heard it in speech. It seems it’s a north American thing. It means petty, of little significance. Here’s how you say it
pinguid: of the nature of or resembling fat; oily or greasy.
prosaic: I always assumed it meant something that was nicely, or neatly, parsimoniously expressed. But looking it up, not at all! It means commonplace or dull; matter-of-fact or unimaginative: a prosaic mind. Synonyms: uninteresting, tiresome, tedious, humdrum, vapid, everyday, ordinary or having the character or form of prose, the ordinary form of spoken or written language, rather than of poetry.
pulsillanimous: showing a lack of courage or determination; timid
quotidian: of or occurring every day; daily. as in “the car sped noisily off through the quotidian traffic”
rebarbative: unattractive and objectionable, as in an ugly public building Never seen it before.
recumbent: lying down (aware of this one, but don’t recall ever using it.
risible: provoking laughter by being ridiculous. eg: Simon’s been making risible attempts to learn the saxophone. Another one that of course I’ve heard lots, but never used
simony: buying or selling church offices, sacred items or favours for money (heard in the movie Conclave.
stochastic: having a random probability distribution or pattern that may be analysed statistically but may not be predicted precisely. Seen this word many times, but never used it or looked it up
sybarite: a person who is self-indulgent in their fondness for sensuous luxury
uxorious: Just came across this is a Le Carre novel I’m reading: “having or showing an excessive or submissive fondness for one’s wife.” Have seen it many times, but never bothered to look it up. Great word. And I’ll proudly put my hand up for that descriptor. I’ve got a good one (only submissive when that is required though)
vertiginous: very high or steep. Can be used literally or metaphorically
vulpine: pertaining to foxes or fox-like characteristics
Simon Chapman AO 