The scene: an old banking hall in the heart of the City. The music: first, Richard Clayderman plays Bach. Then Pachelbel’s Canon, followed by the Adagio from Mahler’s 5th. Death in Venice, Live in London. Not the usual venue or playlist for a Reform press conference.
Could it …? Could it be? Surely not the latest defection? Step forward, Andrew Mountbatten Windsor. It would all have made perfect sense. A grifter joins a party of grifters. After all, Nige had come to Andy’s rescue last week when he called on the country to stop being so beastly to the alleged sex offender formerly known as prince.
Andy has time on his hands now. Plus he no longer has any royal titles, so he’s free to stand for parliament. Plus he could probably use the money. And don’t forget that Andy was once a trade ambassador. There’s probably no dodgy dictator or billionaire with whom he is not on first-name terms. Our next foreign secretary?
Sadly that would have to wait for another day. Only a matter of time. Instead we were told that Nige would be “performing” a major speech on the economy. Not “giving” but “performing”. The mock grandeur was for Nige and Nige alone. As if being in the City had somehow bought him extra credibility. His ego is expanding by the day.
Still, he had drawn a fair-sized crowd. Mostly young white men in shiny dark suits. Just the kind of audience of which Sarah Pochin would approve. There again, there was no sign of Sarah at all. Maybe she is still on Nige’s naughty step. She wasn’t at any of last week’s three press conferences, either. The only Reform MP to be absent throughout. That will teach her not to say out loud what she’s thinking.
Instead we got the familiar crowd of Dicky Tice, Lee Anderson, David “Diddy” Bull and Danny Kruger applauding themselves as they took their seats in the front row, closely followed by Zia Yusuf, once he had fulfilled his role of Nige’s fluffer-in-chief and master of ceremonies. “Laydeez an’ gennulmen, I give you …”
Nige bounced down the marble staircase looking every bit a dead ringer for Leslie Crowther on The Price is Right before taking his place at the lectern. Serious face for a serious moment. This was meant to be a BIG speech. If by BIG you mean BORING. Forty minutes of their lives that no one would ever get back.
This was really all about Farage trying to position himself as a mainstream politician. A person with views and policies that demand attention. Except all Nige really had to offer was some of his greatest hits. It turns out that four press conferences inside a week is at least three too many. He just hasn’t got that much new or interesting to say. He increasingly sounds like a broken record. One that now takes himself deadly seriously. The old Nige who could laugh at himself has been axed.
But a mainstream politician is as a mainstream politician does. And Nige is learning fast. Unafraid to contradict himself and gaslight his audience. If you had taken Reform’s manifesto pledges at the last election seriously, that was because you hadn’t been reading the small print. The bits where the promise to cut taxes were merely aspirations. Things he would quite like to do in a Panglossian world. If anyone had assumed he would do the things he said he would then they were mugs. It seems Farage is learning from Labour and the Tories. When things go wrong it is invariably the voters’ fault.
Nige got under way. His main theme was that the country was basically fucked. Largely because of Brexit. Weirdly, he has no memory of being the main architect behind the Brexit vote. He seems to think it happened in a world in which he played no part. Because if he had been involved he would have done it all differently. Deregulated everything and never traded with the EU ever again. Who needed the largest trading partner on our doorstep? For a politician demanding personal and fiscal responsibility, this was the height of cheek.
On we went. The current crop of Labour and Tory MPs were all know-nothings. Professional politicians, the lot of them. At which point you were dying for someone to point out that Farage has been a professional politician for more than a quarter of a century. He has literally done nothing more than be a gobshite. Only, Nige will always make an exception for Nige. He is the hypocrite’s hypocrite. Come to think of it, it’s hard to think of anything useful his MPs have done, either.
Next, a paean to the rich. Would no one think of them? How they suffer? (A moment’s silence for Andrew.) They needed as many breaks as they could get. Unlike those on benefits or the minimum wage – which was far too high. And pensioners could get stuffed. Them and their unaffordable triple lock. Nige had never met a pensioner who wasn’t taking several holidays a year to Barbados.
So there would be welfare cuts. Saving £9bn a year on a mental health budget that only amounted to £4.5bn in total. Go figure. Now we were on a road to nowhere, just to pad out time. It couldn’t be a major speech unless it was long. Time for some more pet hates. Immigrants could go. Everyone was too afraid to wear a watch on the streets of London. Mmm. Can’t say anyone has ever cast envious glances at my Casio.
Come the end, Dicky, Diddy, Danny, Lee and Zia were all nodding along. Desperate to find out if they were still wanted on voyage. They had all been written off as has-beens by Nige. In the new world order, most cabinet posts would be going to Farage’s unelected cronies. People who, Nige assured us, would know what they were doing. But not the present crowd. Nige was invited to name his chancellor. Dicky and Zia looked up needily. Farage blanked them. To be decided. Keep them keen, treat them mean.
A year in Westminster: John Crace, Marina Hyde and Pippa Crerar. On Tuesday 2 December, join Crace, Hyde and Crerar as they look back with special guests at another extraordinary year, live at the Barbican in London and livestreamed globally. Book tickets here.
The Bonfire of the Insanities by John Crace (Guardian Faber Publishing, £16.99). To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
