IT was some kind of luck that had sent me to Reform UK’s conference in Birmingham; good or bad, I couldn’t tell.
It was probably a bit of both. The bad luck should speak for itself. When I’d volunteered, I thought it might have been, if not fun, then at least illuminating to see the Reform membership up close and personal. Maybe it would be good material for the old memoirs.
As the fateful day of my departure drew nearer, however, I felt a sense of dread about spending two full days with people who refer to immigrants as “strangers” and think climate change is a small price to pay for the improved fortunes of English wine.
And it was bad luck that I had to take a very busy train to Birmingham while a small boy sitting across from me decided his entertainment for the ride was to intermittently kick my legs for the duration.
He was very young, so sleep got the best of him and just as my shins were beginning to recover I thought my luck was beginning to turn. Not a chance. It was announced that the train would now be stopping at Northampton, all passengers for Brum change at Milton Keynes, please.
Well I got there in the end. It was, as these things go, good luck that I was even allowed to attend in the first place. Reform had, earlier in the week, been revealed to have banned a raft of journalists from the event, in what appeared to be a retaliatory move for reporting on their activities in a critical manner.
Safe to say The National has not shied away from that in the past, but they might have thought that we would kick up such a stink about banning us that it wasn’t worth the hassle.
Whatever the reason, I found myself in Birmingham on Thursday evening, ready as I’d ever be to attend Reform UK’s party conference.
By my arrival in the West Midlands, I’d already dropped more than a ton for the privilege of attending. I’d had to pay a late registration fee – due to an admin cock-up on my part, though one I felt they punished with undue severity – of £120, inclusive of a handling charge.
I anticipated my time at the National Exhibition Centre (NEC), on the outskirts of the city, would not be altogether pleasant, given that I had not taken Reform up on their offer to book (and pay for) a place in the media pen.
Taken together, all this offered a frightening vision of what life might be like under a future Reform government; watch what you say or you’ll be cut off, all the while being rinsed for everything you’re worth by greedy fat cats masquerading as anti-establishment.
The NEC is a fitting place for Reform conference; it is where dreams go to die.
It sits right beside Birmingham International Airport, on the far outskirts of the city, and even once you are outside, you are still a prisoner of this sprawling complex of hotels, casinos and chain restaurants.
Maybe this is another insight into the Nigel Farage future into which Britain appears to be sleepwalking. Everything feels like an airport; even when you’re outside you’re directed where to go, hemmed in, studied by the weary eyes of security guards.
I was here for an interesting weekend, not a pleasant one, I reminded myself repeatedly.
