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3 hours ago
7
Another sweltering sub-Saharan summer’s day in late spring. If this is global warming, I say: “Bring it on.” I go outside to the van, turn on the engine and leave it running. This is the kind of day you want to burn as many fossil fuels as possible. Back indoors, I turn on the radio where Tony Blair is talking. There’s a politician who talks sense.
Bollocks to net zero. That’s what I say. It stands to reason. I mean, think back to the ice age. Let’s face it, there weren’t that many international flights a day while the Neanderthals were alive – five or six at most – and the world still got a whole lot hotter. So it’s all just woke nonsense. Make a note in my diary to ask if Tony is free to come up to Makerfield to do some door-knocking.
WhatsApp from Nigel. He’s running 10 minutes late and says he will meet me in the local cafe along with a couple of photographers and a tame reporter. Decide to check my emails while I’m waiting. There’s one from Carol Vorderman. Turns out she’s moaning about me saying how fit she was online. And the rest! Some women just can’t take a compliment. The world is going mad. I guess she must just be going through the menopause or something. What does she want me to say? That I didn’t fancy her? Make your mind up, love.
Then there’s the email from Danny Kruger. Of course there is. He messages me every day. Always the same. Saying how much he admires my northern, working-class authenticity and is longing to come out with me one day to service a boiler. He’s never been inside a council property before and is curious to know how the little people live and whether he should spray himself in disinfectant first. Then the “but”. There’s always a but with Danny. “I love your typically forthright banter,” he says. “It’s adorable. But it might be helpful if for the next three weeks you tried to rein it in a bit. Not everyone finds it so charming.”
Finally, there’s the Daily Hate from Zia Yusuf. That guy lives in a permanent sense of rage. Today he’s having a go at Robert Jenrick for not understanding that Reform’s policy is to deport any foreigner living in social housing. How thick must that Jenrick guy be? Thank God he’s not going to be running any department when we win the next general election. Now is not the time to go soft. Of course we should be deporting foreigners. That’s why we call them foreigners. Because they are foreign. Who wants to live in a country with foreigners in it? That Rupert Lowe guy knows what he’s talking about. Might suggest to Lee Anderson that we try to recruit him.
Drive the 50 yards to the cafe. Wander in and shout: “Give us the usual, please, darling and try to keep your hands off my stopcock.” Sandra laughs. Nigel is already there surrounded by his security and various members of the media. It’s good to see him so natural and relaxed. “What do you fancy, Nige?” I say. “And I’m not talking about Sandra. Boom, boom!”
Nige asks for the menu. “I’ll have the most northern breakfast you can rustle up,” he replies. “Make it the full English with extra black pudding. And none of your fancy cappuccinos. Instant will be fine. I’m not like that softie Andy Burnham. Bet he starts the morning with a croissant and an oat milk flat white.”
“That’s because he’s a middle-class metrosexual from Liverpool,” I snap. “He’s not properly northern like us.” Nige smiles and puts a large forkful of fatty bacon into his mouth while the snappers take pictures. He then sends the media away and starts retching. “That was fucking disgusting,” he says. “I’m never eating that shit again. But you can finish it off if you want.” Two breakfasts. Result! It’s going to be a cracking day.
Half an hour later, after Nige has had a couple of fags and his first pint of the day, we both get in the van and head out to go canvassing. Our first stop is one of my customers. “How are you doing, Jim?” I ask. “Not so bad,” he says. “Though the pipe is still leaking.” I go back to get my tools and while I’m fixing the leak I ask who he’s planning on voting for on 18 June.
“Back in the day, I voted for Boris,” he says. “So did I,” I reply. Boris was a great bloke.
“Just don’t talk to me about Brexit,” I say. “It’s been a total disaster. All those politicians like Boris and Nigel just talked pish throughout the campaign.” I feel a kick in my legs. It’s Nige. “I didn’t talk pish during the referendum,” he whispers. “Brexit has been a total success apart from the bits that haven’t. Reform is all for Brexit.” I do a double-take. I hadn’t realised that I now supported Brexit. Still, pleased to know that I now think something totally different. “I love Brexit,” I say. “The EU can go and do one. Along with the foreigners.”
It doesn’t take me long to fix the leak. “How much do I owe you?” Jim asks; Nige chips in. “That will be £5m, please. That’s my standard rate call-out charge. It’s to cover my security. I mean, it’s a donation. Actually, call it a gift. Just for the pleasure of meeting me. A chance to see Nigel being Nigel out in the wild. And, if it’s all the same, I would rather you paid me in crypto. Makes things easier all round.”
“Actually,” I say. “You can pay me in roubles. The cash will come in handy for my next holiday in St Petersburg. I love Russia. I was gutted when Ukraine tried to invade it. It’s a tragedy Putin hasn’t yet occupied Kyiv.” A dig in the ribs from Nige. “We no longer support Russia, you halfwit,” he hisses. “We are all Ukrainians now. And watch out for your laptop. The Kremlin might be hacking it as we speak.”
“Soz,” I laugh. That’s what I love about being the Reform candidate. You learn something new every day.
