Quite a few people make noises about leaving the country if the wrong person gets elected president. I've been making discreet inquiries in the vicinity of Kinsale, County Cork, myself -- from whence my people emigrated after 1880. Picturesque, 18th-century harbor untouched by modern commerce -- the British made sure that the industrial revolution never happened in what's now the Irish Republic -- great walks, terrific restaurants, friendly, talkative people, and regular ferry service from nearby Cork City to Normandy.
But, alas, no baseball, no Arkansas Razorbacks, and chilly, rainy weather. My wife would get lonely without her small army of girlfriends and their complicated problems to sort. Also, what would become of the dozens of animals that wait expectantly for me to feed them every afternoon? Properly vaccinated cats are welcome in Ireland, but cows?
Anyway, like the dread specter of President Trump, it's only a fantasy. I'm too old to start a new life in the Old Country. Sufficiently aged to run for president in the current cycle, although younger than Bernie Sanders.