6 hours ago
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Is it safe? Is it safe? For the past couple of months, Nigel Farage has been like Laurence Olivier in Marathon Man, wondering if he can come out of hiding. Tucked away in one of his five homes, living on handouts from benefactors and hoping the coast is clear. Free from troublesome reporters who insist on asking awkward questions about where his money comes from and what it’s for.
It’s tough to be the Man of the People when some of your money is coming from a posh convicted fraudster. Then again, Nige is a man who seems quick to forgive criminal behaviour. But – slowly, slowly – he is beginning to show his face in public again. And on Tuesday he took the latest steps on his Long Walk to Freedom.
Fed up with posting videos from random fields on social media, Nige was now ready to face a crowd of about 200 mega-fans in the garden of Kimberley Hall, a Norfolk country house often used as a wedding venue. For a speech, mind. Nothing more. There were to be no questions of any description. He might need his lawyers present for that.
This was just baby steps. The first part of a lengthy rehab plan. Getting his story straight about what the £5m was actually for would come later. Especially now sources say he told senior figures in Reform UK he would need “a million a year” to cover lost earnings if he stood for parliament in the 2024 general election. So today was all about finding his feet. Indulging the narcissistic wound that would never heal. Hearing the live applause again, for a dashed-off speech of little consequence. His bid to show he still counted for something, even when all eyes were on the new prime minister.
First, the warm-up act: Colin Sutton, the new Norfolk police and crime commissioner. A man apparently hell bent on proving he was a lot stupider than he looked. All Colin – a former high-ranking police officer – seemed to care about was stopping equality and inclusion training. As if that alone would restore people’s trust in the police. He also managed to confuse the Lib Dems with the Tories before welcoming Nige to the platform. “I don’t know much about policing,” he said. “But I do know he’s an innocent man.” Phew. That’s good to know.
On came Nige, relieved to have been given a pardon. Though he looked a bit bored. As if he couldn’t quite work out why he had agreed to do this. None of the main broadcasters were that interested, and he was just talking to a handful of the converted. The only plus side was that at least there was no sign of Count Binface. That would have been a humiliation too far.
Life has not been kind to Nige recently. Not so long ago, he had been riding high. Leading the polls, being taken seriously as the next prime minister. Now it was turning to dust as details of his financial affairs began to unravel. Nige always seemed to have believed that scrutiny was for other politicians, not him. Worst of all, he had been the architect of his own downfall. He had been the one to resign his seat in Clacton to engineer a showdown with a comedian wearing a dustbin on his head.
Nige began with a requiem for Keir Starmer. It had been Reform wot dun it. Reform that brought down the prime minister. It was also, unwittingly, a requiem for himself. Proof that you sometimes have to be careful what you wish for. Because in Andy Burnham, Reform now has a far tougher opponent. Someone who sounds credible. Someone to whom most of the country will give a decent hearing. You could almost hear the regret in Farage’s voice. Maybe he should have found a way of letting Starmer carry on as a lame duck leader.
“We need a general election now,” he said. But do we? That doesn’t seem to be what most of the country wants. Burnham had become prime minister without a vote. Hmm. Much like Nige appointing himself leader of Reform weeks before the last election. Dicky Tice, everyone’s least favourite beta male, just rolled over when Nige told him he was no longer in charge. “Whatever you say, Nigel,” Dicky may have simpered. The latest in a never-ending stream of humiliations.
The rest of the speech was just a reprise of some of Nige’s greatest hits. The sort of thing you used to be able to pay him £80 for in a personalised Cameo video. Nige didn’t even bother to pretend his heart was in it. This was Nige-by-Numbers. A man who sounded like he couldn’t wait to be somewhere else. He just wasn’t quite sure where. Everywhere he finds himself now seems wrong.
There was a random attack on the Tories. And the rightwing press. Nige can’t forgive the Telegraph and the Daily Mail for talking about the Kemi bounce and for even mentioning his financial difficulties. It was also outrageous that the media kept bringing up George Cottrell’s time in prison on a money-laundering charge. What was wrong with offering to help out a few major drug dealers? Surely it was far worse that Lou Haigh had failed to report she had found her stolen phone. That was the sort of crime for which people deserved to go down.
As the aimless ramble went on, the audience began to get as bored as Nige. Had they really made an effort to come to this? Then we had the “I’m not a racist, but” section. Nige loved immigrants. He really did. No one could love immigrants more. It was just a shame they were all criminals. London was now a no-go zone. No one dared to wear a watch any more, which is presumably why Nige’s own event had started 20 minutes late. Though it didn’t really explain how so many leading rightwing politicians had turned up at a conference in London the week before without being mugged.
Now things became desperate. Because Nige’s final complaint was that Burnham had used his notes 266 times during his half-hour acceptance speech for the Labour leadership. I mean, who cares? Surely what he said was what really counted. But Nige was having none of it. Style was all. Then again, none of us would really need notes to have made the speech he had just given. I’ve heard it so many times, I could have made it for him. Nige’s Mega Recycled Moanathon. He increasingly sounds like a man out of ideas. Whose time has come and gone. By the time he came to an end, half the crowd had beaten him to the exit.
