‘We love you, Nigel!’ In Clacton-on-Sea, there is little sign that the Reform leader’s star has waned. Campaigning with Farage here is a burst of cackles, quips, nicotine and selfies: a march through sun-kissed streets with a cast of canvassers, aides and minders.
A child clasping a teddy bear dances around, Reform’s rosette pinned to her top; a groaning assistant clutches two dozen poster boards. On the doors in Seawick, there is near-universal support, with variations on the theme which Farage has made his campaign slogan: ‘I’m with Nigel.’
In the middle of silly season, Clacton is hosting one of Britain’s most bizarre by-elections. Amid a barrage of unfavourable stories about financial gifts and past support, Farage quit parliament last month, saying it was for voters to judge his actions rather than journalists.
He wanted a proper contest – yet the Tories, Labour and Lib Dems all refused to play ball. They argue he will soon face a second by-election anyway, via the parliamentary watchdog. Farage now faces joke candidates: Count Binface, three Monster Raving Loonies and the actor Laurence Fox. In SW1 he may face ridicule – but here in Essex, he is embraced.
‘I don’t dump trusted friends unless they betray me – it’s as simple as that’
If there is such a thing as Nigeland then it is to be found in Clacton. The streets are a medley of horns as sole traders drive past and signal their support. One pulls up for the full Farage patter. ‘How are you? Good, good. Running your own business? Working hard, paying tax? Because we want to get VAT thresholds up and all the rest of it, you know. You gonna support me? Good man, good man. I’ll give you a poster.’ Farage loves to be on the doors: cajoling, charming, glad-handing, grinning. The residents, his people, confide their concerns: council cock-ups, drug dealers on bikes and illegal migrants next door.
A group of gawping children cluster round. ‘Can I get a picture?’ says one. ‘Are you famous?’ asks another. ‘On a good day,’ smiles Farage, dressed in purple, pink and blue. He spots one girl clutching an e-cigarette. ‘Vaping already? That’s terrible, isn’t it…’ ‘You were on the fags by then,’ laughs an aide. A trio of cheeky teenagers later stop him on the street, all requesting selfies. ‘Nigel Farage, I love you man,’ says one. ‘Stop the boats!’ cries another. The actual election and its rights or wrongs rarely come up on the doorstep. ‘It’s the most binary contest ever,’ remarks one canvasser. ‘He’s either the Messiah – or the Antichrist.’
Those he meets are more likely to mention a short video, released that day, of a woman crashing her car seconds after shouting ‘wanker’ at Farage. Within 24 hours, it had become Reform’s most-watched clip of all time. At one house, a lady comes out and giggles that she had heckled him, but ‘I wasn’t swearing, I promise.’
‘It’s her! It’s her, we found her!’ chortles Farage. ‘That is the best follow-up content ever,’ exalts his press man, Dan Jukes, bouncing around in a pink Farage football shirt. ‘That’s another million views.’
Occasionally, reality punctures the ideal. As Farage is embraced by an Indian woman, her neighbour looks on suspiciously. She enquires what is going on. ‘Reform door-knocking,’ I reply, unhelpfully. Disgust crosses her face. ‘It would be really great if you could piss off.’ ‘You get a mix,’ sighs a veteran aide. ‘It’s a kaleidoscope,’ murmurs another. ‘Absolutely disgusting,’ the woman yells, voice swelling, as the cavalcade marches by. ‘You’re only showing your face around here now, after you took all that money? Get outta our streets!’
Farage is unfazed: onward he presses, to the next supporter. Behind him follows a van, dropping off billboards. With 10,000 voters expected to be on holiday on polling day, Farage needs to drum up awareness. He wants Thursday 13 August to be billed as ‘Clacton vs the Establishment’. ‘I’m asking you to be my judge,’ he tells one lady, ‘and not the mainstream media in London.’
For him, the lack of opposition has proved to be a ‘godsend’, giving Reform ‘our chance, uncontested, to have conversations with people, to find out who our real supporters were, who our soft supporters were… By 13 August, we will have a map of this constituency that is astonishing.’
After three hours, it’s time for the pub. Over a pint of ale, Farage marvels at the collective decision of the main parties not to stand. ‘It was the uniparty, literally the uniparty,’ he says. ‘The reaction was that of the uniparty and talking up Binface. Extraordinary.’ Fighting this seat uncontested has given him weeks to obtain data. ‘They’ve made a huge error, huge error. They potentially freed me up for the general election.’ He will be able to tour the rest of the country in the knowledge his own seat is secure.
Farage juggles his campaign with wider party management. The shadow cabinet will shortly be expanded with ‘two or three more to come at conference’. He dismisses headlines about his £5 million gift from billionaire Christopher Harborne in 2024. ‘Ann Widdecombe’s death is five million good reasons, isn’t it?’ He reveals he went ‘under the knife’ for abdominal surgery the day before she was murdered. ‘The spooky thing is, of course, she was killed in the middle of defending me,’ he says. ‘She’d done two interviews that morning. Had another one coming up, all defending me. That’s a very, very strange feeling. I adored her.’
He expresses bemusement at recent reports about support given to him by his friend George Cottrell. ‘This “Posh George” stuff. I mean, what are they even on about? Of course, he’s a Tatler figure, an interesting bloke and a colourful guy. But these are trusted friends. I don’t dump trusted friends unless they betray me – it’s as simple as that.’
He is clear: his style of party leadership will not change. ‘I will keep doing what I do. And I will allow others to do what they want to do and give them enormous freedom to do things.’
With that, it is on to thanking activists, filming videos and debating the Metric Martyrs. Punters at the bar ask him for selfies; outside a vendor offers him a ‘Nigel burger’. In Westminster, there may be clouds, but here in Clacton, for now, it’s all sunshine.
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