Watching the second of the presidential debates the other night, I winced when I watched Biden speak, react, squirm, half-raise his pointer finger. He does not look well. It is not just his age; he looks frail. I thought he was older than Bernie, but the latter is more than a year older. Everyone knew that beside Mayor Pete, Biden would look about a hundred; but what no one had reckoned was how that young whippersnapper Kamala Harris would eclipse the vice-president like a bull at a meat parade. She took her bites laced in pink, but with a venom that stung into the morning and will resonate for years to come. Biden not only looked weak, but out-of-touch, old in the way my late mother (who died at 79) never did. His ideas were old, his approach was arrogant, and his self-importance wreaked. Bernie was better, and his youthful following will always love him. I am impressed by his vigor and vim, and like him more this time round than I did last time. But that may be because compared to