QUENTIN LETTS: The encounter was electric with jeopardy... It was worse than watching a chess match when the pieces are live grenades
By Quentin Letts
Daily Mail
Aug 18, 2025
President Trump and Zelensky line up with European leaders at the White House
Zelensky
survived. The Ukrainian president’s Oval Office rematch passed without
diplomatic incident. The trap door under his seat was not activated. He
was not served poisoned tea.
This time
there was no muscling in on him by vice-president Vance. An elaborately
grateful Mr Zelensky - he must have said ‘thank you’ more than 20 times -
was even complimented on his black jacket by the Trumpian suck-up in
the press corps who previously attacked him. ‘You look fabulous,’
drawled the reporter. Mr Zelensky joked that the newsman himself was
wearing the same dodgy suit as last time. That elicited a laugh from Donald Trump.
Same setting: the two principals sat by a chimney-piece that has been given serious bling treatment since Joe Biden’s
day. A study in gilt. Below them, on two sofas, sat three sidekicks
from each side. A knot of reporters stood, shouting questions.
Ukrainian
president Zelensky meets Donald Trump in the Oval Office, joined by
Vice-President JD Vance, Secretary of State Marco Rubio and, standing
behind, Secretary of Defence Pete Hegseth
Mr
Trump loves it when they do that. The air fills with urgent squawks,
all aimed at him. He lets it continue, face froggy with satisfaction,
until he chooses one of the hacks. Pure, egomaniacal theatre.
Both men were fidgety. Zelensky, with
frowns and much dropping of chin to chest, could have been a man
fighting indigestion. Trump, hunched, swung his bullish head from side
to side, weighing options, controlling his demons, or maybe just bored.
The
encounter was electric with jeopardy. One wrong remark, one ill-judged
jest, and the touchy old bruin could be triggered. His vanity is a Ming
vase, to be handled only by qualified Sotheby’s porters with green-baize
gloves. One incautious trip and - smash - World War Three could erupt.
It was worse than watching a chess match when the pieces are live
grenades.
Meanwhile, all in a nearby
room sat the European leaders including Sir Keir Starmer. ‘Seven great
leaders of seven great countries,’ said Mr Trump with a straight face.
Volodymyr’s posse. Anxiety levels must have been hellish. As they sat
there, wringing their hands, waiting in frightful uncertainty, was their
ally Zelensky being pushed to the floor and given another kicking by
bully-boy Vance and his pals?
The
presence of the Europeans took an already unusual day to another level
of extraordinary. Here was Nato and western Europe dancing attendance on
a mercurial 79-year-old narcissist. The very future of the West was
swinging. No more could the United States be counted a steady bet. Had
Uncle Sam really joined the axis of evil? Why was Mr Trump so suddenly
sounding like a mouthpiece of Moscow?
'Once Mr Zelensky had survived the initial ordeal in the lion’s den, the
European leaders were allowed to join the action.' Pictured: French
president Emmanuel Macron and Sir Keir Starmer speak during the meeting
at the White House In the Oval Office Mr Trump appeared not
to be too fussed about the gravity of it all. He started talking about
how he had made the streets of Washington DC safe enough to allow rich
couples to go out to dinner. All while a murderer in the Kremlin makes
an entire continent shrivel. He even went into a long rant about postal
voting and the threat to democracy. Irony-meters danced crazily.
Once
Mr Zelensky had survived the initial ordeal in the lion’s den, the
European leaders were allowed to join the action. Everyone took part in a
televised meeting at a large, highly polished table. Mr Trump chaired
this meeting, calling contributions from the Europeans. They took it in
turns to praise him for his diplomatic brilliance, for his far-sighted
political genius, his munificence, his humanity. It was perjury on the
grand scale. Only one person was swallowing all this guff, surely. But
it was the man that mattered.
Nato’s
Mark Rutte, such an eager bundle of limbs, was officer in charge of
treacle. The French president, Emmanuel Macron, had dragged himself away
from his surf board. The president of Finland, Alexander Stubb, was
prominent. He plays golf with Mr Trump, you see. ‘It’s Team Europe and
Team United States helping Ukraine,’ said golf buddy Stubb. Fore! Balls
aloft!
By the way, don’t tell the White
House dress-code monitors but a male flunkey accompanying the EU’s
Ursula von der Leyen was wearing blue trainers.
Zelensky survived. The Ukrainian president’s Oval Office rematch passed without diplomatic incident. The trap door under his seat was not activated. He was not served poisoned tea.
This time there was no muscling in on him by vice-president Vance. An elaborately grateful Mr Zelensky - he must have said ‘thank you’ more than 20 times - was even complimented on his black jacket by the Trumpian suck-up in the press corps who previously attacked him. ‘You look fabulous,’ drawled the reporter. Mr Zelensky joked that the newsman himself was wearing the same dodgy suit as last time. That elicited a laugh from Donald Trump.
Same setting: the two principals sat by a chimney-piece that has been given serious bling treatment since Joe Biden’s day. A study in gilt. Below them, on two sofas, sat three sidekicks from each side. A knot of reporters stood, shouting questions.
Ukrainian president Zelensky meets Donald Trump in the Oval Office, joined by Vice-President JD Vance, Secretary of State Marco Rubio and, standing behind, Secretary of Defence Pete Hegseth
Mr Trump loves it when they do that. The air fills with urgent squawks, all aimed at him. He lets it continue, face froggy with satisfaction, until he chooses one of the hacks. Pure, egomaniacal theatre.
Both men were fidgety. Zelensky, with frowns and much dropping of chin to chest, could have been a man fighting indigestion. Trump, hunched, swung his bullish head from side to side, weighing options, controlling his demons, or maybe just bored.
The encounter was electric with jeopardy. One wrong remark, one ill-judged jest, and the touchy old bruin could be triggered. His vanity is a Ming vase, to be handled only by qualified Sotheby’s porters with green-baize gloves. One incautious trip and - smash - World War Three could erupt. It was worse than watching a chess match when the pieces are live grenades.
Meanwhile, all in a nearby room sat the European leaders including Sir Keir Starmer. ‘Seven great leaders of seven great countries,’ said Mr Trump with a straight face. Volodymyr’s posse. Anxiety levels must have been hellish. As they sat there, wringing their hands, waiting in frightful uncertainty, was their ally Zelensky being pushed to the floor and given another kicking by bully-boy Vance and his pals?
The presence of the Europeans took an already unusual day to another level of extraordinary. Here was Nato and western Europe dancing attendance on a mercurial 79-year-old narcissist. The very future of the West was swinging. No more could the United States be counted a steady bet. Had Uncle Sam really joined the axis of evil? Why was Mr Trump so suddenly sounding like a mouthpiece of Moscow?
In the Oval Office Mr Trump appeared not to be too fussed about the gravity of it all. He started talking about how he had made the streets of Washington DC safe enough to allow rich couples to go out to dinner. All while a murderer in the Kremlin makes an entire continent shrivel. He even went into a long rant about postal voting and the threat to democracy. Irony-meters danced crazily.
Once Mr Zelensky had survived the initial ordeal in the lion’s den, the European leaders were allowed to join the action. Everyone took part in a televised meeting at a large, highly polished table. Mr Trump chaired this meeting, calling contributions from the Europeans. They took it in turns to praise him for his diplomatic brilliance, for his far-sighted political genius, his munificence, his humanity. It was perjury on the grand scale. Only one person was swallowing all this guff, surely. But it was the man that mattered.
Nato’s Mark Rutte, such an eager bundle of limbs, was officer in charge of treacle. The French president, Emmanuel Macron, had dragged himself away from his surf board. The president of Finland, Alexander Stubb, was prominent. He plays golf with Mr Trump, you see. ‘It’s Team Europe and Team United States helping Ukraine,’ said golf buddy Stubb. Fore! Balls aloft!
By the way, don’t tell the White House dress-code monitors but a male flunkey accompanying the EU’s Ursula von der Leyen was wearing blue trainers.
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