It is bizarre to this antiquated pocketwatch-wearing Englishman that Iowa (Englishman: “Iowa? Funny name, that. Who’s that then?”) holds such prominence in choosing a presidential candidate.

Something seems amiss from the point of view of a foreigner in America who grew up with a democratic system that is, well, normal. A state of corn growers, where there are more dirt tracks than roads, with a population that is something like one percent of the nation, has such power?

To me, that’s like going back to the UK and asking a bunch of sheep farmers from Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, Wales (you bet your sweet arse it exists) to shout at each other for an evening about who they want for Prime Minister. Then, after the inevitable fight and customary sheep shagging has ended, I take the consensus and plaster it all over the front pages of every mainstream publication. This will then give credibility to some potential twit, all because he promised to make sheep-shagging legal and ban all beef so lamb prices skyrocket.

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