I wake up early – earlier than Nigel Farage. Not drinking as much as him helps. But look, no shade. As I keep telling interviewers, I admire Nigel’s longevity. He can keep going for ever, can’t he, aged whatever-he-is and with that lifestyle, which makes his biological age only a couple of months more than Joe Biden’s was last summer. I’m a huge fan.
Then it’s a pacy run round the constituency, or one of the nicer bits of London or Herefordshire if I’m at one of my other houses. If I spot a lamp-post that hasn’t been flagged, I make a mental note to go mental at the team. By next week I want to be photographed St Georgeing anything over 10 foot: wind turbines, 5G masts, the giraffes at London zoo. Then we stick it on the socials. Run me up the flagpole and see who salutes me.
