As seen in the Guardian
It’s the end of the hottest summer in British history, and the business reception at Reform conference is in full swing. Disaster capitalists schmooze with reactionary Cambridge theologians and tech bros over canapés and flutes of prosecco. Presiding over all is a grinning Nigel Farage, face bathed in the lurid purple–pink light of the VIP lounge as he works the crowd.
And in a corner is your humble correspondent. I’ve come on short notice, standing in for Anna Isaac, an old Tab chum who has been blocked thanks to her no-holds-barred investigative journalism. My assignment? To lift the stone and find the dark money crawling underneath. And what better place to look than here, where a pact between populism and the private sector is being brokered?
Presiding over all is a grinning Nigel Farage, face bathed in the lurid purple-pink light of the VIP lounge
The music is pulsing. The lights are dancing. A bout of hyena-like laughter erupts from a gaggle of City bounders and crypto shockjocks standing nearby. A waiter offers me a salmon puff – which I politely but firmly decline. The silhouette of Richard Tice comes into view. ‘Hi Clair, fantastic to see you,’ he says, grabbing my hand and shaking it. Be on your guard, Clair, I think to myself. That wideboy charm is how they get you.
‘Who are you here with?’ he asks. ‘The Guardian this time,’ I say breezily, ‘I couldn’t stand being on staff anywhere – I’d hate to be tied down.’
‘Yeah, great,’ says Tice. Then, a buzzing sound as Reform’s deputy leader reaches for his inner breast pocket. ‘Sooo sorry, I’ve just got to take this, but don’t go anywhere.’
He puts the phone to his ear and listens intently. ‘Look,’ he says. ‘Look, I’m busy, just take the, um’ – he glances at me – ‘just take the… merchandise… to Rotterdam like we talked about, then give me a call… steer clear of the customs officers.’
Ugh, boring old business talk. My mind wanders. But then I see Tice take out a notepad and jot down a phone number. His pen is labelled ‘Hilton’. My journo instinct is piqued. What is this shadowy venture capital house called ‘Hilton’? And what might its connection to Reform be?
A hush descends in the auditorium as another figure comes into view. Almost floating through the auditorium is James Orr, wearing a chryselephantine suit, embossed with an intricate scrollwork of niello. As he turns to face me, I see that his eyelashes have been replaced with flakes of jade. ‘Clair’, his voice booms, as his mouth forms to an arch smile.
‘Oh hi, James,’ I say, doing my best to sound standoffish. But then I notice something funny. Orr is wearing a tie decorated with a strange coat of arms. Squinting, I recognise it as the heraldry of the Sovereign Order of Malta. My mind races. What ties does this ultramontane organisation have to Reform UK? Wheels within wheels.
We are then joined by Farage himself, who greets me with his usual pep. I begin asking how he can combine his Thatcherite economic philosophy with a populist appeal to the Red Wall when he cuts me off.
‘Sorry Clair,’ he says, glancing at his watch, ‘It’s a bit awkward but I am now contractually obliged to speak to you for five minutes about Ethereum and how it is a prudent hedge for any portfolio.’ He smiles sheepishly. ‘Now, Clair, where have you got your money then? Stocks, bonds? Look, that’s brilliant, but with all this economic uncertainty, there’s never been a better time to get into tokenised asset classes.’
Then he changes tack. ‘Actually, d’ya know what, I’ll just give you the email of this chap I know, and you can get in touch with him about any questions – does that work?’ He produces a piece of paper and begins writing on it. Then I notice. The paper is House of Commons stationery. But here he is using it for private purposes. In clear violation of parliamentary rules.
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