As Walter Mitty characters go, no-one lives the dream quite
like Nigel Farage.
His party has never won a Westminster parliamentary seat and
he’s personally never polled higher than third place, yet he’s goaded squeaky-bum
Tories into UKIP tribute band mode, cranking up the xenophobia. On TV, his atrocious grasp of detail allows
even Andrew Neil to use him as a chew toy, but it’s still news editors, not
comedy producers, who have him on speed-dial.
When barracked by an irascible Edinburgh mob, he’s able to summon his
uncanny powers of pub detection to escape them, and the polis even give him a
taxi ride home. Burping contentedly, no
doubt, at his charmed life.
Still, when a jammy fourth place in the Cowdenbeath
by-election is comfortably the high point of the party’s week, it’s time to
wonder whether the Farage carriage is reverting to a pumpkin. UKIP’s lately been encountering increasingly stormy
weather, which is what happens when you disobey God by being a bunch of hateful
bigots.
Hang on, fair-minded readers will protest, surely there’s
more to UKIP than simply yelling about the EU, foreigners and whatever
sub-section of the population has disgusted them this week? Sorry, folks, we’ve
just discovered there isn’t. It turns
out Nigel can’t remember a word of what was in their 2010 manifesto, although he
does recall it was written by an “idiot”. But that’s OK, because he’s completely
disowned it anyway. (Bet Nick Clegg
wishes he’d thought of that one.)
Amnesia is an essential defence mechanism for Nigel. How else could he witness his colleagues’ constant
horrendous gaffes without waking up in a cold sweat to find he’s eaten half his
pillow? But, even if he’s truly blanked
out the manifesto’s contents, it’s a teensy bit weird that he managed to put
his name to its foreword without spotting at the time that the whole document
was drivel. Surely he’d have noticed
little clues here and there, such as the cover being decorated with glitter and
a picture of a pony, or the N and S of “MANIFESTO” being written the wrong way
round.
Could it be that Nigel – and, mind, I’m not implying this
was after a few pints - just scribbled down whatever popped into his head for the foreword, without
actually reading the manifesto? It’s a
daring time-saving strategy, to be sure, but it does lead to dodgy
results. Can you imagine if it were
standard practice? “Jeffrey Archer’s elaborate
word-pictures sparkle with literary virtuosity.” “Oedipus
Rex: the perfect Mother’s Day gift.” “The New Testament is packed with handy tips
on carpentry and wine-making.”
Nigel may not have known what was in the 2010 manifesto, but
he certainly knew where to find it, since no sooner had he confessed his
ignorance than it was deleted from the UKIP web site. That’s a shame, for it contained some charming
ideas, such as painting trains in jolly colours. Wouldn’t that be a huge tonic for jaded
commuters? Who’d give a monkey’s about
overcrowding, tardiness or outrageous fares if the front carriage were done up to
look like Thomas the Tank Engine? Let’s
stick to primary colours, though. Once
you begin mixing shades, you never know what sort of beastliness will follow.
The 2015 UKIP manifesto isn’t yet written, folks, so it’s up
for grabs. There’s a lifetime
subscription to the Daily Mail to be
won. Stop barking at the moon, put on your
tinfoil hat, dig out a felt pen and stick your suggestions on a postcard! (Please keep polysyllables to a minimum. Use
nuance only when making snarky comments about homosexuals. Entries postmarked “Bongo
Bongo Land” will be disqualified.)
There’s still time for UKIP to get their ideas sorted
out. They don’t need coherent policies
for the coming Euro elections, since all UKIP MEPs ever do is pick up their humungous
expenses and hurl abuse at Herman van Rompuy. Most MEPs manage only the first part, so that’s
pretty impressive productivity. Sadly,
however, the plooks erupting on UKIP’s puss go beyond lack of policies.
The party’s Scottish branch, which once startled everyone merely
by existing, is now providing a rollicking adjunct to the pantomime season by
hilariously falling apart. One senior
figure’s been sacked by e-mail, another’s flounced off in sympathy and a third
is currently dynamiting himself through Twitter misbehaviour. Six Euro election candidates have already
jumped ship, and it’s rumoured that the other three are waving at passing UFOs
to see if they can hitch a lift with the aliens.
Of course, Scotland is expendable for Nigel, since UKIP is
about as popular here as anthrax, and its name may well make no sense after 18
September. But there’s also plenty to
fret about in England, where Godfrey Bloom’s potty mouth eternally lurks, and you
have to keep watch for councillors talking to the hatstand, thinking it’s God. Of professionalism and “good, solid people”
there is not a sign. Is UKIP attracting
the wrong sort of candidate, wonders Nigel?
No, Nigel, it isn’t.
It’s attracting exactly the right sort of candidate. If we’re going to have deranged numpties
entering politics, it’s far better for them to join an unelectable shower of
half-wits than winkle their way into one of the mainstream parties and
accidentally get near the levers of power.
Our existing political classes give us enough bother as it is without an
extra layer of homophobia, bigotry and racism shovelled on top. I could go into more detail, but you’d
probably forget it, so I’ll keep it broad-brush.
Sorry if that seems a bit harsh. As an olive branch, remember you’re always welcome
to make your home in the new flourishing Scotland once you’re a busted flush in
politics. We’d need to avoid disturbances
on the streets, obviously, but we have plenty of uninhabited islands where we’d
be quite happy for you to be king.
In your Walter Mitty dreams, anyway.
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