You’ve seldom seen Nigel Farage look quite so happy. Beatific bordering on ecstasy. And all because he had been cancelled. Something he has longed for all his career. Failing to be elected as an MP on seven separate occasions was just proof of the limitations of democracy. Winning the Brexit referendum was almost a disappointment. What was there left for him to do? Other than to sniff around the far right in the US. Hoping for scraps. A sense of identity. But on Tuesday all his dreams came true.
Last year’s National Conservatism conference in London had been largely forgettable apart from a few attention-seeking appearances from people most go out of their way to avoid. And even these were no more than period pieces, designed merely to preach to the couple of hundred of the already converted. An exercise in futility. No more, no less.
