I read yesterday that Donald Trump’s obsession with The Wall has manifested itself as micromanagement of its design. He wants scary spikes on top, and he wants it painted black so it will absorb heat and, gloves apparently being unknown in the Mexico of his mind, be too hot for swarthy invaders to climb. So I propose this as The Wall’s theme song.
Seeing a wrinkle-free Mick Jagger brings up the good news that he’s back on his feet and dancing again after his heart-valve operation, and the band has rescheduled the shows for its postponed tour.